The other day Nevaeh and I were at a theme park. It wasn’t particularly busy, seeing that we were there on a weekday. Yet, for the life of me, I couldn’t manage to walk at a steady cadence in a straight line. I was caught in the weird type of stutter-step shuffle, bumping my way along the paths.
I was a little baffled, and had to dredge up some memories to figure out the culprit . . . but she was there with me the whole time.
Things Change: Even Walking
A little over eight years ago, my life turned completely upside-down. That’s right, I had a daughter. Actually, my wife had a daughter . . . I’m just lucky enough to be called her father.
From that very first moment, I knew there were many changes in store, and many things just wouldn’t be the same.
This is where I’m caught off guard.
Of all the things I knew would be different, I wasn’t prepared to have my ability to walk change. Sure, I can still put one foot in front of the other. But my world of moving in a straight line, at a steady pace, has been obliterated.
I find this whole ordeal fascinating, hilarious, and frustrating at the same time.
So for those in the same boat, you know what I’m talking about. For all of you in the first or second stage below, you have a lot to look forward to.
Here’s a little preview of how ordinary walking becomes topsy-turvy with a child in tow.
Infant Walking
When Nevaeh was a wee little one, things were relatively the same. She wasn’t walking yet, so that responsibility would sometime fall to me. It was easy, just like carrying a sack of groceries. I could still move at my pace, even in the direction I chose.
Obviously, there is bit more care to be taken when under motion with a tiny human. The mechanics involved may engage a newfound muscle, but adaptation to this constantly-carrying-another-person form of movement is fairly simple.
And then she started walking on her own.
Toddler Walking
Those were the good ole’ days. I remember when Nevaeh took her first steps, then began stringing together even more to traverse across the house.
This period was simple, for her at least. She’d pick herself up, take the first hesitant step, and then propel herself forward without a care in the world.
As parents, we had to be a bit more aware: moving obstacles, hovering with pillows, and moving in a way as to provide a mobile cocoon to protect our young charge from the inevitable fall.
Sure, we had to be alert, but that was to be expected. Our heightened state of safety was an easy adaptation that could be turned on and off when needed.
But now things are different.
Child Walking
You see, Nevaeh’s eight now. She moves just fine on her own: can run, skip, cartwheel, and even walk wherever her little heart delights.
What she lacks is situational awareness. That’s a fancy term the military and law enforcement uses to describe . . . well, here’s what the U.S. Coast Guard says:
Situational Awareness is the ability to identify, process, and comprehend the critical elements of information about what is happening to the team with regards to the mission. More simply, it’s knowing what is going on around you.
It’s that last sentence that that I’d like to reflect on. Knowing what is going on around you seems so simple as an adult: we look both ways, are aware of where we are going, and can react to any obstacles that may impede our progress. We can usually manage to do this without bobbing and weaving around like we just pulled a 27-pub beer crawl.
Walking Without Situational Awareness
So now I’m trying to figure out at what point will this situational awareness neuron appear in my child’s head. I don’t think she does it intentionally (unless she is a diabolical mastermind), but walking with her takes more focus than hurtling down the highway surrounded by a couple tons of metal and plastic.
It’s like she is purposefully trying to sabotage my forward movement.
When she’s behind, my heels are under constant attack. Heaven help us when she is pushing a buggy in the grocery store. Not only do I have to navigate what is ahead of me, but I have to be constantly quick-stepping to avoid any collateral damage in the rear.
The sides aren’t so bad . . . I just imagine that I’m practicing for a downhill slalom. Maybe I should have her tested for vertigo.
When Nevaeh walks in front of me, which is 90% of the time because all kids want to be the leader, is when my ability to walk is under the greatest torture. The pace varies between turtle and rabbit so much that as soon as I speed up/slow down, I’m already too late. I feel as if I’m stuck in a bumper car while waiting in the teller line at a rock concert.
Realizing That Walking Will Never Be the Same
There really isn’t much I can do at this point, except to wait. I’m interested to see what the next iteration of walking adventures will be. Will it be a shuffle, a sprint, a mad frenzy like the Tasmanian Devil? Probably all that and more.
Until then . . . I wouldn’t change a thing. After all, I still have my early morning runs.