For someone as obsessed with the passage of time as I am, I am strangely ambivalent about New Year’s Eve. When I was younger, it was just an excuse to go to a party. As I grow older, it’s just an excuse to get together with friends.
Then, as our children grow older, it’s become an excuse for them to stay up as long as humanly possible.
And a last stab at ice cream and chocolate overload.
Last night, I children did both. For L, it’s not much of a feat — she managed it last year, and probably the year before. For the Boy, though, to stay up that late. This is the kid that fell asleep at his normal bedtime at our Christmas gathering last week.
But he made it. And he survived the fearful experience of his first near encounter with fireworks.
“Daddy, I want to go back inside,” he said, a slight panic in his voice.
“What’s my job?” I asked him.
“To protect me.”
“So I would never put you in a dangerous situation, right? I would never put you somewhere that you could get hurt, right?”
After a few minutes, he was a different little boy.
“Daddy, I love fireworks.”
Overcoming a fear — a good way to start the year.