Change we can believe in

Over the last few days I have been teaching my oldest daughter (3) to sort coins. I bought a wood kit at the local hardware store that involved a pre-made project that when assembled becomes a box fit with slots for each size coin, properly marked with measuring markers for how much money each stack added up to.

She had to use the small hammer I bought for her sized hands to drive the nails into the pre-drilled holes while I, for the first time in my life, actually read the assembly instructions.

She did a great job quickly learning the difference between the coins. Pennies are easy, but the others are the same color and relied on size and texture differences. I was trying to understand the challenge she faced in order to best teach her and made sure she could call out the name of each coin as she selected the correct slot.

After the first handful of 100% success she just gave me a spontaneousness hug. The sort of gold currency a Dad cannot get enough of. It was fun for her to build the project and then use it to learn. She was satisfied and proud of her work and I was convinced that I had this exercise all figured out and thought through every possible angle.

When she ran out of coins she looked at me with a sad face and said "Dad, are they going to be the same tomorrow?"

It took me a few minutes to understand her concern; we were working with change.

The little red-haired boy...

Yesterday, I ran to our local airport to help my wife purchase several airline tickets for my middle son, the tennis player who will partake on a 5 week tennis tournament excursion this summer. As we sat in the chairs, waiting in line for a ticket agent, a young man sat next to me. With him, was his young, red-haired, son (I am guessing 3 years old), dressed in a scruffy shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops. The little guy was a bit impatient and amused himself by tossing his flip flops about 15 feet away at a garbage can trying to make "a basket." It made me smile. It made me think back to when my boys were 3, 5 and 7 and how they would just play with a passion like playing was the toughest job on the planet. I mean, it was hard work to play this hard.

Now, as I see my young men, ages 15, 17 and 19, I find myself watching them in a very different way. I worry when I hear an ambulance and one of them is out with the car. The discipline required is so different than it was back in those simpler times. Now it's about grades, keeping their room clean enough to walk through, and getting to bed at a reasonable hour. It is just a different world. Not a bad world, just different.

As I watched the little red-haired boy tossing his flip flops, and the sheer joy on his face as one actually went in the can, it made me think back to those simpler times. It made me think back to the times where I would think to myself; can I raise these little boys to become respectful men that will contribute in a positive way to our world?

It was just one of those moments that really hit home for me.

And as I look at them now....I believe we have done that successfully.

...and life continues on.