I keep coming back to the notion of moments in time are valuable, where time itself is not, and the more I come back to it, the more depth I see in the topic. Like, an entire book’s worth of depth.
A book I think I may have to write, but not until I’ve completed Navigating the Third Act Through the Grey Mist of Depression, Memoirs of a Depressed Engineer. Or some such title, but you get the idea.
Last night was the first night in 19 years that the Toronto Out in the First Rounds won a playoff series. Meaning several things:
- I need a new nickname for them.
- The monkey of multiple years of futility is off their backs.
- My sweet, wonderful boys (two of them) had a moment.
That last is precisely worded. Two of my three boys are Maple Leafs fans, and have suffered multiple years of heartache at the hands of that team.
I am not a Maple Leafs fan, so the epic collapse against the Montreal Diving Crosscheckers two years ago hardly affected me, but my (then) seven year old was devastated.
Last night he was having a rough night. He was hoping for a sleepover with his best bud, but said best bud hadn’t asked his father. Kid 3 already had it in his head as a done deal, and being denied was devastating.
Then the Leafs fluked out an improbable third consecutive overtime road win.
Both he and kid one were elated, and we watched multiple replays, and reaction videos, and interviews.
It lifted the little goof’s spirits, and I got to bask in the joy of his moment.
A moment to cherish, yes, but not my moment to cherish.