"Cat's in the Cradle" Moment

Yesterday, when I was getting ready to leave for work, Henry was already up, in a great mood, and playing (much to Lori's chagrin, of course).  I had to sit with him for a few minutes just because his nature was infectious.  But time was ticking away, and I had to leave if I wanted to get ahead of the awful traffic on Hall Rd. that always backs up from Van Dyke before it dumps onto the M-59 highway portion.

I had my jacket on, just as Henry sat down at the top of the stairs leading down to The Pit and threw the vinyl basket that usually holds the small toys down the stairs (it was empty).  It's a game of "catch" that he plays.  Someone has to be at the bottom of the stairs to throw the basket up at him, and he throws it back down.

He wanted me to play "catch" with him.

As I started walking around him, he reached up his hands and tried to grab my hand to indicate that I should go down the stairs (remember: non-verbal, but not non-communicative).  I reflexively said, "oh, I'm sorry, buddy, but I can't play right now.  I gotta go to work."

He followed me into the kitchen as I stood by the back door, putting my shoes on.  He reached up to hug my neck (also to bring my head down for our customary head-bonk).

Then all of a sudden, that intro lick to Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle" started floating through my head.

That was a difficult roll out of the garage, into the driveway, and onto the street, and not because of the weird angle of the driveway and the size of the van.