Can’t Wait to be Your Friend

Today we went down the slide together. You didn’t hesitate or overthink or test the edge with one foot. You just went with reckless abandon.
You’re fearless in a way I used to be and want to be again. I watch you climb up things too big, run toward things too fast, and trust my arms to hold you more than they probably deserve. And in all that bravery, I feel two things at once. First, is pride and the second is a kind of fear. Not fear of you falling, but the fear of losing that spark. The kind that makes you believe every hill is worth the climb and every moment is worth throwing your entire body into. I pray you never lose that.
I know one day you’ll outgrow slides and playgrounds and needing me right beside you. One day, you won’t reach back for my hand before you go. You’ll just go, and that’s good! That’s the point and it means I did my job. And I’ll be so proud of you then, too.
But I want you to know something now, while your legs are still short and your laugh comes easy and you still look back to make sure I’m coming–I can’t wait to be your friend. Not instead of being your dad because I’ll always be that. Being your dad is the greatest thing I’ll ever get to be. But somewhere down the road, when you’re a little older and come into your own a bit, I hope we find each other again in a new way. Not just as father and son, but as friends. The kind who choose each other. The kind who sit across from each other and laugh at the same dumb stories. The kind who go down the slide, even if we go a little slower.
Until then, I’ll be right beside you, cheering you on, catching you when you fall, and letting you go when you’re ready. I thank God for the wild, brave, adventurous heart He put inside you.
You’re already becoming someone I admire. And I am so proud I get to be your dad.