My inspiration

If you had asked me a few years ago to describe the relationship between a parent and a child, I think my answer would have been fairly standard. Parents provide security and guidance. Children find comfort in this embrace, but grow by expanding their tiny world and testing the veracity of their parents' world view.

From this friction tiny humans grow into somewhat functional adults, while adults get to spend their old age in the warm comfort of knowing that they've dedicated their lives to something beyond themselves. Not a bad deal for all parties involved. But utterly lacking in capturing any of the intricate dynamics between a parent and a child.

Today my son turned six.

For the first few years of his life, being a parent wasn't far from what I'd expected. Tiresome, demanding and filled with sacrifice. But it was more than made up for in the tiny moments that are almost impossible to describe, but will be recognised by any parent reading this. First steps. Talking before talking in a way only you can interpret. Being met at the door with a boundless smile radiating unconditional love after a hard day at work.

As he's grown, however, he has continued to challenge my preconceived notions of what the relationship between a parent and a child entails. Over the past year in particular, he's made gigantic leaps towards becoming what I can only describe as an amazing person. One I admire. Not just in the sense of parental pride, but in the sense that I feel lucky to get to spend time with this little guy who truly inspires me. To be kinder and more patient. To be more persistent, and even more stubborn. And to smile more.

My first experience with this came about a year back. We always ask him about his day and who he'd been playing with today around the dinner table. Never one to embellish, he usually just drops a name and that's it. For days straight, weeks even, he would only mention this girl two years younger than him. She was new to his daycare, and he had apparently taken a shine to her.

Eventually I even started worrying. Why isn't he running around, shouting stuff and throwing things with the kids his own age? I even talked about it with my wife, who — sensible as always — told me not to worry. It'd all be fine.

Then, one morning, as I was dropping him off, I saw the new girl for the first time. On the lap of one of her parents, she was obviously having a hard time saying goodbye. And why wouldn't she? Three years old and in a brand new place, with brand new people. I'd be scared and hesitant myself.

And then she saw my kid, broke out into a jubilant smile and they went in and had breakfast together. I felt ashamed. Here's my son doing the greatest thing you can ever do for someone else: Being a safe spot in scary surroundings. Being a friend to someone in need. And I'd been questioning why he couldn't just spend time with people his own age.

The girl eventually settled and found her place. He went back to playing with his regular friends for the most part. But the happiness I saw in that little girl's face when he was back for a visit the other day reminded of the first time he taught me a lesson about what it means to be a decent human being. I've been trying to live up to that ever since.

Over the summer, he's made great progress in his physical prowess. When we spent a couple of weeks in Spain, he was relentless in the pool. He put in hours and hours of practice — or was it just play? — to get comfortable with the wet element. He jumped and dived and swam. Along the way he swallowed a whole lot of water, suffered more than a few belly splashes. But towards the end of the vacation, he could jump into the pool, plunge to the bottom and get back up and swim to the edge on his own.

And, after probably 500 unsuccessful attempts, he could now do an actual dive from the edge. I always identified as someone who couldn't dive into the water. The times I'd tried in the past, I'd gotten a bit banged up and I just gave up. I accepted that I was someone who couldn't do that. It was just the way that it was.

Seeing him relentlessly try to do it, never giving up despite not getting it quite right (despite the occasional insistence that there was something wrong with our eyes, because this time he clearly got it right) made me question why I'd just given up. Why didn't I just keep trying until I could do it?

So, as he'd gotten it right, I decided to try myself. Starting on my knees, I rolled out into the pool. Arms first, pushing down, as I'd told him. Surprisingly, after watching and trying to help him "get it" for so long, I felt like I had learned from seeing him practise. I could feel what I was doing wrong, and had an idea of how to correct it. After a couple of hours and many failed attempts, I stood at the edge and dove into the pool. Perhaps not elegantly, but I had my wife record it and it was an actual dive.

Maybe that'll go down as the one day I could dive. Maybe I'll never do it again. But that's something I would've gone through my entire life thinking I couldn't do, had it not been for my son leading the way and convincing me that it was something that even I could learn.

Yesterday, my son had his first day of school. It was a big day. He's been looking forward to it for months. Eager to learn, he wants to know all the maths (I tried to break it to him, but he's adamant...) and how to read, and English, of course, so that he can play Zelda without me having to live-translate the dialogue for him.

Parents got to join in and see our kids in the classroom for a few minutes before the school day started. Walking in, I found myself chatting to the parent of another child. We were talking about how excited the kids were, when they suddenly said "I'm so glad my child is in the same class as your boy. He's always happy and smiling and spreading joy, and lights up the room with his grin whenever he walks in!"

Caught entirely unprepared, I didn't quite know how to respond. I just said thanks, and that yeah, he's mostly happy at home too. Yeah, I know... But it was all I could muster. I like my kid. I think he's awesome. I just don't stop to consider exactly how great he is quite often enough. And so when this parent volunteered a statement to that effect, I was taken aback. Because even though I usually take compliments with a grain of salt, the cynic that I am, I knew that this one was absolutely, one hundred percent bang on the money. He's actually that great.

Going into work this morning, I tried to smile at everyone I met. It was a genuine smile, too, because I know how happy my little boy makes others. And if he can do it, I should try doing it too.

I write and publish these words not to brag. Not just to brag, anyways! I write these words and publish them here today, because I need to remember them, and I need to know where to find them in the future. Because I know there will come a day when he's no longer six. A day when the world gets to him, and makes him doubt himself and what he's worth.

When that day comes, I need him to read these words. To show him that he's been making the world a better place all his life, just by being himself. And that's all he ever has to do. Whatever that means.