Four Years

Four years.

Most people finish college in four years (I did it in three and a half, but who’s counting?).

A lot of folks pay off car loans in four years.

Four Years.

How can such a span of time feel so incredibly short and long at the same time?

I can remember being scared to death standing in that little apartment-turned-office in Kunming, my rising anxiety made all the more real by the dozen or so other people in that place making copies, signing papers, shuffling through bags to find passports and other documents. The only thing that kept me from going crazy was the same thing that always keeps me from going crazy, your mom. She knew what forms they needed to see, where I needed to sign.

There was this flurry of paperwork it seemed, then, all of the sudden, without confetti, without the celebratory pomp and circumstance such an event demands, you came strolling in the room, holding the hand of a woman’s whose name I either never knew or have long-since forgotten. You were wearing some striped, bear-themed get-up, and I remember my heart beating so loudly that I almost didn’t hear your mom telling me to take a picture as she held you for the first time, coaxing you into her arms with a blue dum-dum and (your now favorite) stuffed George. 

I took the picture, signed a few more sheets of paper, then your mom handed you to me-for the first time. I remember thinking how unexpectedly light you felt, how you looked at me, how I held you for hours from that point as we traveled back to our hotel, then walked to the nearest Wal-Mart so we could buy you a few things you needed, a stroller, and some seaweed-flavored crackers that you loved even though they smelled like death and made the worst mess.

I remember lying to your mom when I told her I could change your diaper (turned out it wasn’t that hard). I remember Sallie giving you a bath, the both of us laying with you in the bed as you napped, before taking you to the hotel restaurant, where our guide had arranged for the hotel to have a supply of congee for your dinner. Your momma, though, knew better (and she usually does), because she slipped you a piece of bread after you tried your congee—you didn’t touch the stuff again (to be fair, it was rather bland congee).

She got up to go get another piece of bread and a little fruit for you to try, and while she was gone, I did something (I don’t quite remember what) that made you smile, then laugh for the first time. I quickly took your picture, and to this day it is still my favorite picture of just about anything.

Over these last four years I’ve watched you smile and laugh countless more times. I’ve held you while you cried over shots from the doctor, broken toys, and not getting your way. I’ve watched you laugh and play with friends, how you bring a smile to people’s faces, how you can sometimes embarrass me in front of my friends, how you love your sweet dog Nakita, how much you love your momma and your brother, how you love to help me fix things (sometimes even when I ask you not to), how you dream so big, how you ask so many questions, how you fight so hard to go to sleep before giving in, how much you’ve grown. I’ve watched you, my son, grow so much in four years, and I know you’re going to grow so much more, and I am already so proud of you. I love you, buddy.

Four years…where does the time go?