Life has a penchent for providing serious disappointment. We are optimistic beings from birth, losing it gradually to the process of life.
Today I came home to find my middle child balled up on the couch wearing his University of Montana Grizzly helmet and holding a picture frame full of photos of he and his best friend from Missoula.
I didn’t need to ask him what was wrong, I already knew.
We recently decided to put our first home, the Missoula house, up for sale. I think the kids secretly held out hope that we might go back to that paradise that is northwest Montana.
Transition is tough. Just when you think you’ve settled into whatever you’re currently doing, old feelings come back to haunt you. We’ve seen this with the kids several times over our last year-and-a-half in Alaska.
When I was laid off from the newspaper, we argued about whether or not to tell the kids about it. But having me around the house more often than not didn’t seem that easy to hide.
We decided to manage the disappointment, hoping that it would provide some kind of strength conditioning for the kids. Remember, they don’t come with a manual.
They came through the layoff and a move of thousands of a miles to a land like Narnia frozen in perpetual winter. They’ve been disappointed. They’ve been rewarded. They know what to expect in a world that is often full of both.
So tonight I didn’t try to fix my little guy. I let him spend a few minutes mourning the knowledge that we wouldn’t be going back to Missoula or living in that house again.
He’s become a resilient little guy over his 10 years. And I love that about him.
He took the helmet off and put away his picture frame and came to the dinner table with a smile and told me all about his day.
I don’t worry about him facing those tough times that will inevitably come his way in the future. He’s got a few calluses built up.