Cars and Trucks

I woke up Saturday morning to Evan's greeting: Happy Birthday Dad! You're 56!" Funny, it doesn't seem that old.

Later I watched Ev playing with his little semi-truck, pushing it around the floor, making all the appropriate sound effects, having a conversation with all the make-believe parties involved with the action. At 56 I still have perfect recall of playing like that. I remember that it's not play. It's real. I remember that I was in those cars and trucks. The truck made those sounds, not me. The people I was talking with were real for as long as we played. They didn't follow me around away from that carpeted area, but they were there when I returned to the activity later-- whether it was a few minutes or a few days.

I can't do that anymore. Even if I wanted to my mind is too contaminated with life events, responsibilities, distractions, and the next waiting thing. Like Peter Pan and Santa Claus, when you let yourself get too old certain things slip away. Fortunately, I can still remember and, in my case, enjoy the play vicariously. I still love the sound of a diesel truck pulling a heavy load-- across the carpet in a hotel room.