Jackson sits down for a roll.

My son, Jackson, is now almost two years old. And while most of that time has been spent running from me and into the arms of his mother, it seems we’ve finally found some common ground. Jack likes to roll. He’ll grab one of his cars or trucks and wave it in my face – just waiting for the magic words, “Jack, you wanna roll that?” When he hears them, he smiles broadly and runs to assume the position at one end of the hallway. He’ll plop down and motion for me to take a seat at the opposite end.

And then we’ll engage in a game as old as the wheel – pushing something back and forth until we get tired of it. There’s no pretend involved. There’s little sound, no talking – just rolling.

This is the exact opposite of the games that his sister, Izzie, enjoys. Games with Izzie involve running from one room to another, chasing, singing, dancing, screaming… they are frantic and seemingly without plot or purpose. And I love those games. But sitting and rolling with Jack is calming, almost relaxing. And there’s a real connection to be made being involved in such a singular, focused purpose – passing something back and forth and back and forth.

I find myself initiating these games from time to time, now. In the middle of the standard family-of-four chaos, I’ll reach for Lightning McQueen, or a book he has that’s also a firetruck, and I’ll motion toward the hallway. The games will only last a minute or three, usually until Becky walks by, and he’s screaming for his mother. But I’ll take ‘em.