This was a great day in parenting world, and I didn’t even mean it to be.
Even as I work from home, I mix up worksites, and today I chose to sit on my bed and work. Ergonomists probably would cringe, but I have a back pillow, the view is great and it’s quiet there.
Enter my 22-year-old son, frustrated with his life. He came in and started talking. I must have seemed receptive, because he parked himself on my bed and kept going. I shut my laptop, put it aside and listened. He kept talking, lying down at one point. I occasionally offered specific advice, careful to keep it short and not reiterate it to death.
This went on for about an hour. Did I have work to do, something important he interrupted? Absolutely. Was it more important than giving him my undivided attention when he sought it? Absolutely not.
When he was done he left the room, calling back over his shoulder: thanks for listening, thanks for the suggestions. Anytime, I told him, and I meant it.
I would not trade this life for anything.