15 minutes, that's how quick it happens

15 minutes. That's how long it takes.

When my sons were younger, I used to take them to a playground not far from our house. They were five and 3 1/2 and would run and jump and swing and pretend...and then do it again. One night when I was standing off to the side watching them, another dad appeared alongside me.

"My boys were that young about 15 minutes ago." He said, motioning to where his two sons were playing catch with a baseball. They were teenagers.

That moment impacted me greatly and caused me to really appreciate every moment with my precious gifts--even the bad ones. Suzanne and I would drink in their lives, we'd enjoy the little things they did, the wonders they witnessed, the mileposts they crossed. As their innocence was slowly stripped away as the world impinged, we treasured the smallest bits of little-boy-ness that remained. I'm still glad to say that at 16 and 14, there is a little tiny bit of that left.

Last night I was working on the computer in a room that has a view of our neighbor's back yard. Adam, the dad next door, was working on a big project moving a bunch of firewood to the back of his lot. He had some help. Justin, who is probably 3 or 4, was wearing a full fireman costume---vest, fireman hat, boots---and was marching behind his dad as the logs were transported. I could see him talking to his dad. Soon after that, Luke--his little brother, also appeared. He mostly just toddled around the yard not far from his brother, but definitely part of the 'boy' work that was going on.

And, for a second--I saw my boys at that age. It was as if I was transported back to a time when my boys were 'helping' me---seriously and eagerly---and a little bit of my heart just went THUNK.

And I realized, again, the guy at the park was right. My boys were that young 15 minutes ago.