Almost every night when everyone is asleep, I’ll rearrange my son’s train tracks. … . I sit on the floor in the semi-darkness and try to come up with an interesting design because I know in a few hours my son will wander in dragging me by the hand and the first thing he’ll do is study the new tracks before sitting down and playing trains for a while. He’s never asked why the tracks are always different, it’s just how things are in his world. It’s little my way of telling the kid I love him. Sometimes, like this morning, I’ll fall asleep on the couch while he’s there playing and when I wake up I’ll be covered in carefully placed cars and trains covering me from head to toe. I figure that’s his way of saying he loves me back.
Raul’s post really touched me. I think it shows a beautifully poetic side of what it means to be a parent.