#243

The other night I had my own Cats in the Cradle moment.

One of my kids is in the midst of learning the ropes in an expanded role. Big step. Long hours. New expectations.

We’d talked about catching up to watch some of the opening games of the new NRL season.

“Yeah, not sure I can make it tonight, Dad” was the text.

Too busy.

Too busy doing exactly what they were raised with.

Be responsible.

Work hard.

Take opportunity seriously.

And as I sat there reading the text, I felt it – my own Cats in the Cradle moment.

Not as exact as “"You see, my new job's a hassle and the kids got the flu

But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad. It's been sure nice talking to you"

But it did provide perspective though.

Because there was a time when my ability to be present was challenging.

Building. Providing. Saying yes to work.

Telling myself it was for the family.

I wasn’t absent. Or so I thought.

But I was often stretched.

And now here we are.

One of my kids is building. Providing. Performing.

And I’m the one waiting for the free evening.

Life can often mirror us.

The insight wasn’t guilt. Or resentment.

It was clarity.

Busyness may have been inherited.

Not genetically but behaviourally.

What we model as normal becomes what they live as default.

It made me wonder:

> Where am I still choosing busyness over presence?

> What rhythms am I modelling now that may be reflected in future relationships?

>What have I found myself immersed in without even knowing it?

> Where am I stuck in I’ll be happy when…?

> If someone lived exactly as I live, would I admire the balance?

We’ll watch many footy nights this season.

That’s not the point.

The point for me is this:

The very traits I was proud of instilling – ambition, discipline, drive - can quietly crowd out presence if I’m not intentional.

My Cats in the Cradle moment wasn’t about regret.

It was a timely reminder.

Presence is chosen and there’s usually a cost to pay on either side.