My reflection yesterday dovetailed into a pretty awesome coincidence: Comic Con AZ is happening this weekend. As a kid I always wanted to go to a comic convention. I didn’t have the kind of parents that supported that sort of behavior. I was however allowed to read comics and even wrote a few in my time. Lately, at night when I slip in the kids’ room to see if they’re actually asleep, I’ve been finding comic books strewn all over the ground. They got around to checking out my stash and apparently liked what they saw. Sunday is kid’s day at the convention, which is an awesome opportunity to show them a con…. or is it?
Tonight I had a surprisingly deep conversation with my boys on the way home from football practice. The topic of Dad’s and sports came up and we talked about how sometimes parents try to get their kids to really focus and excel at a specific sport because they themselves wanted to play it, or failed it, or want to create a legacy, etc. My eldest asked me what sport I was trying to get him to play for that reason and I thought about my dad and my failure to be a basketball player and said, “Basketball”. My son shrugged and said, “That one’s okay.” I thought about it for a second and told him he should never play a sport or do a job to please me. The three boys all responded, “then can we all be pro wrestlers?!”
I love their innocence and jubilance and will for individuality. I worry that I am trying to make them tiny versions of me. They play football, they play video games, and they’re about a year away from straight up RPG action. I don’t want them to be me, but I want them to know me and know what I lived and loved and experienced. I’m taking them Sunday, but I’m letting them decide what they want to see.