The image caught my eye, but not because it was an unusual photograph of a baby elephant as it frolicked on its mother in a rare moment of semi-recumbence on a hillside. Instead, I related to the moment because I did this when my kids were little.
I first noticed after my oldest started walking. All I had to do was lie on the floor, and the kids knew. I have no idea how, but the second my sorry corpus hit the carpet, they stopped whatever they were doing and ran as fast as their little legs would take them to where I lay, then flopped on me, again and again.
Sometimes, they crawled on me before they got up, but all five of my kids loved standing with their legs touching some part of my body, before they toppled over on me. I didn't mind. I did this many times, partly to observe the phenomenon but, mostly, because I enjoyed it, too.
I remember the sadness when my youngest child stopped this game. Of course, it's both inevitable and natural that they outgrow a part of their childhood, even if they're still children when they do. Tricycles become bikes, then 10-speeds—then cars carry them about.
Parents lose importance as our children grow to prefer time with their friends, then become embarrassed by our presence before developing romance after romance until they find the one that will last the rest of their days.
If we're lucky, we'll witness the time they don't look back as they walk out of our lives. Years later, but always when we least expect it, we'll see an image that brings back the times when their legs were so little, but big enough to carry them from their pursuits, just to flop on Dad.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.