Last night, the family and I had a wicked good time going to see Acoustic Side of the Moon at the Kent Stage. Yes, you read that right- Dark Side of the Moon, done acoustically. It was amazing, and we had such a great time!
Dwight and I are both Pink Floyd fans. I have fond memories of my dad playing it on the giant old stereo when I was a kid, Dwight liked them as a teen, and Ken has been to a few Pink Floyd-synchronized fireworks displays with us. We were all excited for the music, and I was especially thrilled to share a part of my childhood with Ken. Luckily, he enjoyed it as much as I had hoped.
But it kind of makes me wonder about how his name affects my perception of him. Ken's named after my dad, because dad died when I was young and I wanted to honor dad. It's a decision that has had opposition from some of my family, but one with which I'm usually comfortable. I'll be the first to admit that I see in Ken plenty of traits that I associate with dad, and this makes me happy. Am I seeing them because I want to, or are they really there? Am I taking away some of his ability to build his own identity by putting so many big expectation into such a little body? How does our interpretation of the past mold the future, and how much does our perception affect reality?
These aren't questions which I can answer, they just exist and I felt the need to mull them over. Part of the equation is my recent questioning of my parenting skills, as Ken expresses his own personality ever more so, and increasingly in ways that I don't find appealing. Did I set myself up for this when Dwight and I gave Ken his name? Am I over-thinking things because of the abundant patchouli incense at the concert last night, and there's no reason to worry? Or have I exerted a more than appropriate influence on the shaping of my child in his life? Ugh, as much of a joy as parenting is, it's that much worry multiplied. Then again, anything worth doing deserves the effort and thought to do it well.