Great Expectations

My son, like virtually every other nine-year-old these days, enjoys playing Angry Birds on the iPad — except when he doesn't. Except when he gets too frustrated by a difficult challenge in the game, and his inability to find a way past it. That's when he comes to me for help. I told him I'd try my best, but that I hadn't spent the hours (or days, or weeks) playing the game that he had, so I couldn't promise I'd succeed. But I'd try.

The first thing he told my wife, when he woke up the next morning, was that I had succeeded in beating this level for him.

These are the expectations set for me. Whenever there's a problem to be solved, Daddy will solve it. A question? Daddy will have the answer. Last minute Halloween costume? Daddy will create it. A broken toy? Daddy will be able to fix it (even when the pieces are strewn all over the kitchen table, and little tiny screws are rolling away in every direction). And he won't give up.

This is all my fault, of course. I haven't set up any expectations I haven't already lived up to. Miracles have (mostly) been worked. In the thinking of a nine-year-old, there is just about nothing I cannot do.

(I never did beat that level for him — not for a lack of trying — but I did explain a strategy for how I thought he might do it. And he succeeded, on his own, within about thirty seconds of trying.)