If it werenít for the children, I would get old. D.J., Dakota, Aiden and Kylie have revived me. Theyíve given me a shot at a second— no, third childhood. Without them I would waste away, turn inward even more than I already do and sort of consume myself with trying to crawl across the last bit of desert sand, until Iím gone, over the horizon forever.
Thatís an awful burden to put on four small children, one of whom hasnít even been born yet. The thing is, they donít have to do anything to keep up their end of the deal. They just have to grow and learn and become themselves. Right now all I ask is a glimpse of the world through their innocent eyes. Thatís enough to keep me young. Or at least alive.
The real burden is on the parents. I have no rights, and yet I am indulged. Whatever I bring to the mix, itís not nearly as much as I get back from it. Iíve got nothing to offer in exchange for stories about the latest advances, breakthroughs and epiphanies. With three (plus one), thereís something almost every day, and Iím grateful for occasionally being allowed to be part of the whole glorious process.