Mark Pavilons
Love is the fuel in our tanks!

The other day I stood, somewhat dazed, watching traffic speed by my particular corner of the planet. I watched as SUVs with chrome spinning wheels wandered by.

The haste in which people went about their daily routines was obvious.

This rather unimportant scene likely plays out continuously on literally millions of street corners around the globe each and every day of the year. It's modern man, in his finest hour - rambling around in fossil-fuel-burning contraptions that cost a year's salary; mothers, fathers and teens babbling on cell phones, filling the airwaves with nonsense; people buying coffee, pizza and lottery tickets. The only thing missing from this Warhollike impression was a well dressed elephant directing traffic.

It hammered home just how fleeting it all is - this existence, our accumulated wealth, everything.

If our Earth is only a grain of sand on the beach of the universe, doesn't that mean we humans are just momentary ticks on the massive galactic clock?

Every day on this planet, hundreds of thousands of people die, and hundreds of thousands are born. If you try to quantify that figure, it's like 10 towns the size of Bolton vanishing, and then magically appearing, every single day.

It's much warmer, closer to home.

The other day, a rambunctious girl shouted with glee: "I can't believe I'm nine years old!"

Her father smiled, and thought to himself, "You can't believe it, imagine how I feel!"

Nine years. Insignificant to be sure in the grand scheme of things, but immensely important in the lives of family members.

I can't remember Lexie's beginnings with any clarity. There are photos and home movies that document her first words and early baby steps. There are annual photographs that account for her growth and there are even a few painted handprints.

The older generation has often commented how "time flies," and most of us, born in the past four decades, have often shook our heads in disbelief. Time progresses as it always has, I used to say, one minute at a time.

Maybe it's age, or perhaps it's wisdom, that provide a different take on things. Maybe it's just that time catches up with us - there's no avoiding it (I check my rear-view mirror less these days). You know you're past your prime when you say your teen years were much more exciting than your 40s.

I have, from time to time, mentioned to Kim how we did this or that B.C. (Before Children). Life just hasn't been the same since.

It's almost a blur, the past nine years. In that time, Kim and I welcomed three younglings into this world, said goodbye to a beloved family dog (one year ago Monday) and were forced to bid farewell to several family members, many of whom were taken from us prematurely.

Is it time that gives us our unique vantage point from which we view the world? Or is it how we process our experiences, in our limited brains?

Either way, we are the sum of our encounters. To change the past would be to alter our very essence.

When I met and fell in love with Kim it was remarkable. A veritable cornucopia of heightened emotions, experiences and adventures. The fireworks, real and imagined, were as vibrant as my collection of summer shirts.

Our early life together was rather ordinary, but it seemed like our own bestselling novel, or sold-out play. There were few hardships, out-of-control credit card bills and mortgage payments that took the wind out of our sails. We were free, baby, to have fun and make mistakes.

We never fully realized the power of our love, until our children arrived - first Lexie, then Liam, and finally, Kyleigh. Precious cargo each and every one of them.

While I knew I was special and had certain talents, I never believed I could help create such beauty, such wonder. I still have to give my head a shake from time to time, as I watch my awesome threesome engage in a tickle fight. There is no doubt in my mind they are the reason for my existence.

They don't realize it, but they give me hope for the future.

Of course, any remaining egoism is quickly shattered by these same younglings. They not only help ground you, but they will be the first ones to point out you're acting weird; you can't sing and your clothes are no longer in style.

It's like having your own posse or entourage of little voices, following you around, pointing out your shortcomings. I find myself smiling, smirking and frowning. At least I'm using all my facial muscles to their fullest!

Nevertheless, these tiny humans will one day command larger audiences as they learn, explore, challenge, rectify and cure.

I worry constantly about them. Will they all rise to the challenges they will surely face, and will help break some rules and create new ones? Will they find peace of mind, career success and a modicum of financial security? Will they find love?

I have little doubt that what Kim and I have created and set in motion will impact the world, on a small or large scale. Many parents believe offspring provide a smidgen of immortality, but it's not that at all. Perpetuating the species is one thing. Creating a domino effect of all that is good in humankind is quite another.

While I'm somewhat distracted with helping to raise my children and trying to make a living, my love runs deep. It's a dependence that's quite addictive. It's as vital as food and water. Without it, there would be no reason to carry on.

Behind my finger waving and stern looks lives a little boy, thrown into adulthood without a manual. He's often scared, and finds he's powerless in the fast-moving current. He tries and he cares deeply.

I've heard that in order to be remembered, you must live a memorable life.

The same can be said about love. It's in us to give!