I think I’ve forgotten what it was like to be a kid. Let’s face it. Times are different now for my 10 year-old than they were when I was his age. I remember making mistakes and doing childish things that got me into a little trouble. Nothing too terribly bad but enough to make my dad get frustrated with me. And I always wondered why he got so mad. I didn’t mean to do the things I did. They just happened as I was making my way in this world. I was just a kid. Doing kid things. Making kid mistakes. But he got mad. And so do I. Like when my kindergartner got out the container full of Goldfish crackers and decided to practice his baton twirling with said container in his hand. On the first flip, half the Goldfish spilled out all over the tile floor. And I got mad. I didn’t really yell, but I did raise my voice. And he moped on his way to the garage where the broom and dustpan are kept. In ten years it won’t even matter that he spilled the Goldfish. Heck, in two hours it won’t matter. Why is it so hard for us to identify with our kids? Why do we so easily forget what it was like as a kid?