The biggest thing that bothers me about not owning a house at my age is the inability to track the height of our kids on the wall. I don’t blame the economy or society, I blame me. It’s funny how much this bothers me. It’s like having peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth; the feeling lingers, and it takes work to quell it. Such a simple thing, but with the high costs and jobs that never paid enough no matter how hard I worked, home ownership has been out of reach. The concept of not having that little recording of their presence in my life bothers me. Maybe it’s because out of all my hard work, I’m the proudest of them.

I’ve watched these little people grow; and they’ve taught me more about human worth, empathy, and sacrifice than I could have ever known without them. While my better half is the rope that keeps me tethered, my kids are the reason I can’t stomach violence against strangers. I see them in everyone, and I want them to have more than I ever had.

The other day I was scrolling Facebook and reminiscing through each picture. I was surprised to see a measuring stick I’d never thought of. Picture after picture there was our old car Horton, a two-ton baby blue Plymouth. A purchase a poor car guy had to make. It didn’t make financial sense but turned out to be the best purchase I have ever made. The kids were raised in it, and for all its quirks they see it as a family member. Eight miles per gallon and two hundred thousand miles of memories. The car is not nearly as big to them as it used to be. From watching the fireworks on fourth of July across the hood after their mom and I divorced in 2011 to racing to the hospital when my mother in law was succumbing to cancer in 2017. A drive that nearly killed him .

It has captured every emotion in that interior and has released those memories through its old shiny paint. So many memories, so much more than a car it is my measuring stick. I can see my children’s faces in the seat’s rips and dented body work. I will never repaint it. Every worn corner is cherished. So, I guess I didn’t miss out it’s just that our families measuring stick is 18 feet long and seven feet wide.

Can you guess who stayed up all night gaming? Can’t blame him, gaming is fun.