I had the opportunity to be reminded of certain important life things the other night. By an eight year old. Jason. My wife along with a dear friend (the boy’s mother - in the midst of a nasty divorce) went to gather another dear friend off the bus from New York; a friend who is most likely headed to federal prison for some sort of embezzlement scheme (”love the sinner hate the sin”). At any rate you’ll hear no more blog related to the story of those three; ’cause that ain’t blog stuff - that’s my book!

Back to the other night. It was my pleasure to provide the adult supervision required (babysitting does not seem an appropriate term for a person Jason’s age). Jason is bright and engaging as you might expect of an active boy his age. It is made a little more noteworthy though as Jason has recovered completely and remarkably from a life threatening brain tumor as a toddler. (I don’t offer this in a ply for sympathy - only a little note to keep in your pocket to retrieve when you think you are having a bad day.

There was some anticipation for my arrival as I had purchased a little gingerbread house kit that we could build together. The idea of me building something carries a bit of anticipation made all the more uncertain if you have ever seen one of my domestic maintenance projects. But build we did.
Neither one of us had built one of these before and we honestly had quite the time doing it. (I would highly recommend the one with “over one half pound of Willy Wonka candy!” The boxes promotional hype did not disappoint).

Now of course being eight one cannot just sit and chat while waiting the ten minutes for sugar cement to dry so off to the garage for a quick lesson on street hockey and the strategies behind three hockey sticks all of different size. It mattered less that none of the strategies really seemed to make any sense - to me - than the clarity in which they were offered. And the great caring he had for them.
Time to get back to the Gingerbread house and a bit more construction. Then off to his room for a quick demonstration of Detroit hockey prowess on PlayStation. Really good. I am old and do this day cannot fathom how one gets their fingers going so fast in such a coordinated way. A blur. Like a bad plasma screen.

So back and forth we went working on the house, playing hockey, eating candy, licking icing (really disgusting after awhile), playing hockey, building the house. Trying desperately - and successfully - to get EVERYTHING in to the allotted 2 and 1/2 hours before bed. We even got the tree un-netted. Truly a testament to his drive and focus.

And during the entire time - and I mean the entire time - he was into it. The new and the familiar. He was into it. Now I have always been a believer in the wisdom of children but there are things that I have - obviously - forgotten. And one of those things - a very important thing - is the passion for the familiar.

You are like me in that the new is easy fun. Give me a challenge! A new project! Or god forbid an idea should pop into my head! We’re going to visit someplace new? Holy S***! That gets the blood going. But the familiar? Passion infused routine? A bit oxymoronic. At least on the surface.
Remember when the now familiar was new? The ONLY difference is time. That was then this is now. She is the same person. He is the same man. Grown and different but the same. And those are the same kids. Friends. Hobby. Job. Church . . .

The point is that the things that are now - sometimes too - familiar were themselves once new. And there was that excitement and there was that wonder or passion or whatever it was that you experienced when you experienced it for the first time. Time to go visit. So right now take a deep breath. Now pick something familiar and the hot point of its original wonder. Exhale. Now a quick plan to recreate.

Me? I see a lovely candlelight dinner in a brand new 12 year old dining room with a new wife and 2 new kids. I couldn’t be more excited.

Jim
http://www.linkedin.com/in/jimreece
jimreece on twitter