Cat’s in the Cradle

When you’re young, it’s almost impossible to grasp the rapidity of the passage of time. Time certainly doesn’t seem to be moving quickly to you as you’re plodding through each day, wishing to grow up. Working with such a small frame of reference, kids are doomed to believe everything remains the same.

Having an older father, I was always aware of time in a sort of concrete sense: he was older than other kids’ dads, so had lived longer. In that way, I had an awareness of time, albeit peripheral. I say peripheral because, although I knew and appreciated the concept that our time on earth is limited, I still operated as though I had plenty of it to waste – which is the nature of childhood. And adulthood, too, so it would seem.

A few weeks ago on a Friday night, I took my son and his friend out for pizza. We were joking and laughing and generally being silly. We were having a great time – creating memories. As we drove away from the restaurant, “Cat’s in the Cradle” came on the radio. (Yeah, don’t judge me for listening to the Bridge on Sirius. It’s corny – but it’s just the right amount of chill for a car full of squealing kids.) I didn’t have my sunglasses on. And I started to cry. Which I always do when that damn song comes on. Even when I was 10, like my son and his friend. Because I began to understand then, even as I am only beginning to comprehend now, there isn’t an unlimited supply of chances racing down the pike for all of the things you want to do, or say, or be in life.

So they saw my tears. “She always cries when this song comes on, “ Danny reported to his friend with an eye roll.

And I do. And I’m not embarrassed.

I wish I had so much more time with all of the important people in my life who have died. If only I hadn’t rolled my eyes long enough to ask my father why his mother’s name was Filomena. When you’re a kid, you always think there are plenty of moments left for all of the things you want to know.

There aren’t.

Thankfully, my father, being pretty clever, imparted a decent amount of what I needed to know without me ever even having to ask.

So I’ll keep listening to the Bridge. Because I know there’s always a pretty good chance I’ll hear “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and it will remind me – in that synchronous way songs sometimes do – to ask the important questions of the people who are still here. To listen for their answers.

It will remind me to give my son some of the answers, too.