I don’t know when it happened, far less why, but shopping with my teenage son has become something of a personal challenge for me.

Not so very long ago, I could do no wrong in the eyes of my children – at least when it came to being ‘cool’ and picking out the latest fashion.  Even my taste in music was treated with a degree of respect, despite being given a run for its money by Crazy Frog and Alvin and the Chipmunks.

The point is, I was the one setting the standard, making the rules and defining what was ‘good’. 

In an instant, though, something happened and I found myself wondering whether it was I who had changed or the young man who now sat opposite me.

One simple sentence.  But it was enough to knock me off my guard and lose my bearings for a moment:

‘Come on, Dad!  You are far too old for a pair of Converse!’

Standing in the middle of a shoe shop, somewhere in London’s Soho district, it was only a minor crisis of confidence, but the words rang out so loud and clear that I felt that somehow everyone was looking at me and quietly walked back into the busy street empty handed.

When did I start being ‘old’ in his eyes?  Did it happen overnight or was it something that occurred gradually?

And all this got me wondering about other parental milestones that seem to have come and gone, almost unnoticed or left unspoken.

When, for example, did I stop holding the tiny hands of my children when out shopping or when trying to cross a busy road? When did I become too old to help them brush their teeth or stop deciding what they should wear each morning?  When did I stop giving kisses before bedtime?  When did I start feeling self-conscious about giving them a hug or telling them that they are so wonderfully and uniquely loved?  When, precisely, did they stop running into my arms after a day at school?

A series of milestones – a never-ending series of losses; all part of what it means, as a parent, to ‘let go’ of our children in order that they might travel life’s journey for themselves.

And what I am thinking is that it’s all too easy to let this stuff slip by.  The rituals of childcare are so routine – so demanding – that we can forget to notice how important, how precious, they are. 

Until they are gone.

These glorious, if fleeting, moments in our lives, so filled with significance and meaning, relegated to the pages of dusty photo albums; until one day we look back and see how far we have come and how much the landscape has changed since those early days of sleepless nights, cutting teeth and much celebrated first steps.

Back in the shoe shop, somewhere in Central London, I look at my son and see a young adult starring back at me – a soon-to-be man enjoying the opportunity to flex his muscles and challenge his ‘old’ Dad. 

‘I remember precisely the moment when you took your first steps,’ I think to myself.  ‘I remember the look of joy on your face when you received your first football shirt and the look of fear on your face on your first day at school.  I recall the stories that made you laugh at bedtime and the nights we sat on the sofa together because you could not sleep.  So how did we get to this?’

Leaving the shop, there is a spring in my son’s step that is distinctly lacking in my ‘old’ shoes.

‘But that’s okay, ‘ I reasoned to myself.   ‘Just because of all those memories you have given me, I’ll let you keep your Converse.’

At least for this week.