New versions

My sons are growing up.  I love to see them grow and change and I hate to see them grow and change.  As a parent, I want to do whatever I can to help my kids grow and mature and reach their full potential.  Also, as a parent, it pains me to see the previous versions of my children being replaced by the new models.  The new models are great, but I liked the old ones too, and we had some great times.

This transformation has been ongoing since their birth.  In the software world, we used to refer to it as incremental updates - little improvements and fixes.  Each on its own may not seem very significant or even noticeable but eventually they add up or are combined with a bigger change.  When that happens, you release a new version of the product.  Usually, the new version is better, but often it introduces its own set of issues which inevitably cause more updates.  Also, the new version is often different enough from its predecessor that it is difficult to work with initially.  I had a word processing program I used to use despite the fact that it had a few bugs.  I was excited when a new version was released because I'd heard that the most irritating of the problems had been addressed.  After I installed the new version, I found that the bugs were fixed but the interface was also changed.  At first, I struggled with the new version because it was unfamiliar.  I longed for the old one and complained about the new one.  Eventually, I learned how to use the new version and I came to appreciate and understand why the changes were made.

My sons aren't programs and they don't change in clearly defined update schedules.  Still, there are stages of their development that stand out.  Each of those stages is associated with a host of memories and moments that define them and me.  They are gone in the sense that they cannot be recreated.  Yet they exist in a very personal way within me.  Even now, if the weather is just so and I happen to be walking near a park, I'll flash back to a moment shared with a toddler version of one of my sons.  It's not the specific instances that I recall but more the way I felt back then.  Those were good days.  If I look back at my life, I can point to various times that were truly special and wonderful.  In many cases, I didn't realize it at the time.  Childhood memories, in particular, sometimes need to be seen with adult eyes to be fully appreciated.  Many of my memories with my sons don't need such hindsight.  I was aware when they were happening that they were special and significant.  Looking back at them only confirms what I already knew.

My sons are growing up.  With each change, I archive the old version, along with its accumulated experiences, and prepare to learn and love the new model.  These, too, are good days.