When my daughter and I were skiing the other day, we ran into the husband. He teaches skiing to kiddos every Saturday. One, he always wanted to teach skiing. He's a beautiful skier and is passionate about it. Two, we get a screaming deal on season passes and lessons with his job. (The money barely covers lunch, much less gas.)
My daughter saw him and screamed, "HIIIII DAAAAADDYYYYYY!"
He waved back, grinning at her and all the girls in his class waved, too.
And then my daughter, all of 6 11/12 years old, turned to me and said, "I just love Daddy. He's such a great guy."
And I found myself all choked up, bent over my snowboard binding in a foot of new snow, tears fogging my goggles. Sometimes marriage, life becomes about stretch marks, and gray in your goatee, and laundry, and making the bed and feeding kids and broken down cars (and motorcycles and snowmobiles) and running late and "Is it possible for you to get out of Target for under $200, ya know, just once?"
And then someone who barely reaches your middle reminds you what the hell life is really about.