Would've Should've Could've

There are plenty of things that I wish that I would have done while I was raising my little boy. I wish that I would have gone fishing with him. Not because I was such a fan of the sport, but because I remember going fishing with my parents. I also remember going to the theater with my parents. The good news on that front is that I did get my son to see American Idiot when it came to San Francisco. Or maybe there was enough DNA floating around that my son got involved in theater tech when he was in high school and ended up going to college to study theater.
So maybe that wish is one I could have back.
Or perhaps I should be quantumly happy that I have a son who seems to excel in ways I never anticipated. And happy himself. Happy doing the things that he enjoys. Do I wish I would have spent more time hanging around in the garage as he worked on his car, learning about catalytic converters and timing belts. I wondered how he managed to cram all that technical information into a brain that struggled so mightily with high school math. I wish that I could have tutored him more successfully. Maybe I could  have passed along my own adolescent disdain for math. Or that could have happened by just being in the room when he was born.
And all those nights when it was impossible for him to go to sleep, I suppose I could have let him struggle. Instead I carried him around the house and out into the back yard and talked to him about how all the neighbors had gone to sleep, and all the birds, and all the dogs and cats. It's what we do. Except when we don't. When we have trouble sleeping. When we are afraid or lonely.
Which is about the time my father came and told me that eventually we all sleep. It is what we do. And the days go by. Went by. Twenty-two year's worth.
Regrets, I've had a few. But they don't mean a lot. Not when you consider the big pile of sunshine and memories that stand in great mounds and stacks obscuring those little piles of what might have been. It is precisely what should have been. All the birthday cakes and trips to the zoo. The rides in the car and the toy store. Swimming pools and movie stars. We played catch in the front yard. We built things. We made a life.
Yours. Welcome to the best I could do.