It was at that moment that I discovered what kind of parent I wanted to be. My first impulse was to replay the parent tape that most of us grew up listening to: “Drink your ginger ale,” I almost said. “Don’t play with it.” But I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything. I just watched my son blow into his ginger ale through a straw. And it was quite beautiful-my perfectly sun-browned son, the straw, the glass, and the bubbles in the pale-gold liquid.