“Let me get the beer!” says my 4 year old.
Not sure if I’m doing this dad thing right. When we visit the local grocery store, there is a modest selection of beers that I’ve plundering more frequently over the past couple of years. My kids will often be with me when shopping and it has now become a routine where they b-line it straight to the cold brews as soon as we come in the door. It’s the first section you come across when you enter the store.
On one hand, it gives me pause, guilt(?), that the first thing they do when flying through the sliding doors is to snag a cold one. They battle to see who is going to get what, the one with the green label, “IPA” scrawled somewhere, or anything out of the ordinary.
On the other hand, the activity also gives me a strong sense of gratitude. They have a vague understanding that beer is something adults drink and isn’t good for kids, but they understand very well that it is something that pleases me during dinner time. They are finding their own ways of building that relationship between child and parent. It doesn’t matter that what sits in that aluminum can is off-limits to them for the next decade or more, it’s the thought that counts here.
So while I might get the odd eye from other patrons at the supermarket, my own eyes are twinkling with gratitude and pride.