Asher is approaching the age where little boys become obsessed with something - balls, trucks, trains, hammers, something. Asher has a few loves in life - boats, guitars, flags, and balloons. He discovered balloons on his own, but everything else that he loves is connected to a man that loves him. His PaPa (Brian's dad) has an American flag in his front yard, which began the flag frenzy; Big Daddy (my dad) walks him down to the lake to watch the boats (which is so incredibly impressive that given the choice between cake - a treat that is rarely offered - and boat, he will choose a boat every time); and, of course, his dad plays the guitar. So I wonder, does Asher love these things, or does he love the men with whom he associates them? Is it really boats that are that exciting, or the chance to stand by the water with Big Daddy? Would he care one iota about flags if PaPa didn't have one? Probably not, is my guess.

It's made me think of how our families shape so much of who we are, not just habits but what we consider beautiful, what we love, what we want. I have a clear memory of paint brushes rinsing in a glass jar at my aunt's house. The water is tinted green from paint, and the sun is shining through the glass, reflecting onto the brick wall of my aunt's kitchen. It was the first time I ever noticed something was beautiful. Twenty five years later, I always choose shades of green or red for my home. Brian and his dad bonded over air shows and motorcycles. Lane has mentioned buttermilk and baseball. My mom took me to hear classical music, local orchestras or touring pianists, and to the library. Would I love Chopin apart from her? I can't imagine that I would.

So Asher loves flags, but mostly he loves his family, and he associates them with objects. I wonder, in twenty five years, if he'll put a flag in his front yard without fully knowing why, or if he'll watch a boat cross the water and smile.

I will.