There’s just something about dinosaurs.
Impossibly mountainous in size. Outrageously Herculean in strength. These long-extinct creatures have the capability of enthralling my 3-year-old’s imagination for hours.
Some days, he’s a raptor wrangler, chasing escaped dinos from a remote island. He uses “sleepy darts” to take them down safely. Afterward, they’re escorted back to their paddock, which is extensively covered in barbed wire.
Other days, he uses every building block he owns to construct T-rex cages, heavily guarded by none other than Batman and inspected by Blippi.
On the days he digs one hole every few feet in our backyard, he’s searching for fossils or bones. He has his heart set on finding a pterodactyl artifact. But, he’ll gladly settle for a triceratops horn.
My son is always on safari. He’s always on a quest.
My son: a young Aesop, telling and retelling countless dinosaur fables.
Dinos spark his creativity. They turn him into an inventor. He’s an artist, a storyteller, and a scientist.
Sometimes he’s an actor. Other times, an author.
I wish these dinosaur days would never end.
I wish he could play forever.
I pray, as he grows, his imagination will persevere. I hope his love for fun will continue to thrive, and his creative power will flourish.
I know, someday, he will be bigger. He’ll grow up, no matter how much I implore him not to.
But, I pray, he will always remember.
I pray he will always play.
I pray he remembers his dinosaur days.