It’s the final night of a long trip with the family.
We’re all exhausted to the bone.
It was a half-day of travel followed by a half-day at a water park. The boys needed a few hours to burn off some energy and we enjoyed a great afternoon in the sun. The oldest one almost fell asleep in his spaghetti at dinner.
My oldest son is almost 5 years old, and all along this trip I’ve wondered what, if anything, he’ll remember about his early childhood.
And especially about trips like this.
Will he remember his grandma reading to him every night of the trip and teaching him how to pet her cats? Will he remember the snake hunts? Will he remember the new, single-serving playgrounds we visited? Will he remember the alligators?
As I wondered about all these things, I thought a lot about my dad.
Did he think about those things? Did he care what I thought about my childhood? What would he think about retail investing and fractional shares?
And I wished he were here to see his grand babies.
I wish I could see how proud he was of them. I wish I could see that bemused smirk one more time; the one that always seemed to suggest he knew more than he was letting on. I wish he could see how I’ve grown up in the last few years as well.
I guess I wish a lot of things.
Don’t wish for things.
Make them happen while you still can.
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