Maybe it’s the “Hootie and the Blowfish” reunion, but lately I’ve noticed how my kids hold my hand. My 7-year-old daughter often takes it as we walk down the street to her camp bus, while answering my questions and telling me about the highlights of her summer. My 2-year-old son often grabs it when he’s feeling clingy. He’s at a stage where he spontaneously says, “I love you dad,” and “you’re my buddy,” multiple times a day, in a row, and I never get tired of it. We’ve even had a few times this summer where we walk hand in hand as a family of four, and it seems such like a great photo op, but even I know that taking out my phone to capture the moment will ruin it. Every time I find myself holding hands with one of my children, I’m aware of this specific moment in time that they are willing to reach out in this way, and I hold on for dear life.