I took my two sons to Disneyland this week and you know what the best part of it was for me? 

Holding their hands all day long.   They’re 6 and 9 years old, so that’s a rare blessing, to hold their hands.  The younger one still holds my hand when I drop him off at school, but the older one has moved on, passing out of the time when he would permit that.  Often we don’t know when the very last time will be that we’re allowed to hold someone’s hand, either because we lose that person, or as with children, because they grow up.   

I honor the fact that my older son doesn’t want to hold my hand anymore.  The growing up of both him and his younger brother is a thing to be celebrated, not just mourned.  Nevertheless, I took a guilty, grinning pleasure in holding their little hands as we traipsed from one crazy ride to another.