For the last month, I’ve had to travel extensively for work, coming home only for the weekends. Inevitably, in the security line or at the gate or inside the plane, there will be a family with a child about the same age as mine. The child will be crying or on the verge of tears — flying, after all, can be scary. The parents try desperately to shush the child. All those emotions are fine, the say, but can you please express them quieter?
I don’t mind the crying. I used to, pre-parenthood, but not anymore. I see those kids and I just miss my own. Usually in life when we miss something, our brains conveniently edit out the most uncomfortable or negative sides of them. It’s why we keep drinking one glass of beer too many, forgetting the hangover that follows. It’s why we keep getting back together with the ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend who’s no good for us.
So, it’s a powerful thing when we can see one of the toughest aspects of parenting — comforting a child who can’t be comforted — and say, “I miss that.” That’s real love.