On my wife’s birthday, I gave her a DVD of Titanic. Our three-year-old, Max, asked if he could watch it. I said, “Not this one, buddy. Just Mommy and Daddy.” At school he repeated: “Mommy and Daddy watch Titanic alone at night.”
His teacher asked if it was the ship or… something else. We laughed, but Max grew fascinated with the Titanic itself. He built Duplo ships, asked endless questions, and once told me, “When I was in Mommy’s tummy, you didn’t see your iceberg.” His words sparked the honest talk my wife and I had been avoiding. Slowly, we changed course—more time, less rushing. Years later, Max handed us that same DVD, with a note: Thanks for steering me through.
