My 16-year-old daughter is home this summer after years at sleepaway camp, which has led to unexpected parental pleasures like taking a walk together after dinner. We did this on Monday night, walking about 25 blocks in the pleasant, balmy night, much of which is taken up by a discussion of her favorite “Saturday Night Live” stars. [For those of you playing along at home, the rule is three men and three women; one round in which you’re not allowed to count Jimmy Fallon, Seth Meyers, Tina Fey, or Amy Poehler. One round with no restrictions.] Considering it quite likely that in two years she’ll be moving away for college, there’s a part of me that feels like these nights together are the beginning of the end of family life as we know it. On the other hand, my thoughts drift backward too.
Among my deepest parental joys when my children were very young was taking them outside after dinner, first in baby carriers, later just to toddle around the neighborhood. Why was this time so special to me? Not sure. I know I used to love when they were forward-facing in the carrier, and I’d steer them around by their feet while playing tour guide. I loved seeing them learn to walk up stoops with increasing confidence. I loved being outside with them. It was like another day had passed and this time together felt like dessert, one last bit of bonding before saying good night. I’m an urban wanderer and I’m sure part of my gratification is having a child with me without any conflict about where to go or what to do. It’s more about: “Let’s see!”
Sometimes there are soft agendas, like if our journey happens to take us to something else we want to do, then why not? We ended Monday night’s jaunt at the Buttercup Bake Shop on 2nd Avenue in the low 50s.
“This doesn’t feel like a coincidence,” Elena remarked, knowingly.
Eric Messinger is the editor of New York Family. He can be reached at [email protected]
