I can't call it an epiphany.
More like a new understanding -- in the way that it's new only because I was the only one who didn't understand.
It's not a secret that I don't get my youngest boy -- 6 years old -- as much as I do my oldest -- 9 years old. There's nothing wrong with that, because I appreciate who he is. But oftentimes it's more as an observer of who he is.
I don't care if my hands are super-clean before I eat. I don't find comfort in rules or standard procedures. I want to be better than other people at things.
My oldest is virtually a carbon-copy of me. For the good and for the bad. The comparable traits are too lengthy to list.
But something happened the other night that offered me a remarkable insight into my youngest little boy -- the theatre kid, the uncoordinated one, the one who loves little girls and isn't afraid to put himself in the spotlight.
I felt the essence of who he is -- in a moment, the kind of moment that is transformative even if it is only a moment.
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Aden has never really cared about winning. He just wants someone to tell him he's done well.
I've come to learn that when he argues with his brother about who won something, it's not because he brought up the subject of who should be winning. He only argues about winning to defend himself from someone saying he has lost.
When he says, "Did we win the baseball game?", he only asks because it's what people talk about after a sports event. I tell him that I can tell him he didn't lose (because kids hitting a ball off a tee if they can't hit a pitch thrown to them by the coach doesn't result in a winner or a loser).
I remember when Asa first learned to play video games, winning was foremost in his mind. He's destroyed video games because he couldn't beat them. I always understood how he felt and understood what it's like to feel like you're not having fun unless you're winning.
The thing is, Asa has beaten me at things. And he lets me know it.
Aden never has.
That changed though.
Thanks to SpongeBob SquarePants.
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Aden had been begging me to play this SpongeBob racing game on the computer, one of those where you use the arrow keys on the keyboard to accelerate and drive.
I don't have a lot of practice at that.
He's played quite a bit.
He wanted me to play it because he thought it was cool. He wanted me to be a part of it.
But he didn't care about beating me.
As I slammed Patrick's race car into walls repeatedly and couldn't figure out how to back up and get straight and then went the wrong way ... he smoked me.
Two minutes -- two minutes -- after he crossed the finish line, I richocheted my way to the merciful end.
All the while, he told me I was doing OK. Every little wall I managed to scrape away from was a "good job."
When I crossed the finish line, I was "awesome at this game."
"High five, Daddy."
And that's when I understood.
I can't articulate exactly what it is I understand.
I just know that I do.
ADEN'S AMAZING BASEBALL SLIDE:
