I have two small sons, one almost 5, the other 18 months. I'll call them Ahab II and Ahab III. Ahab II is in his Power Rangers phase now; he's usually the red one because red is the color of lava, and everyone knows that lava can burn anything it touches! Therefore, the red Power Ranger must be the baddest of them all. I'm usually the blue one, though he let me be the pink Power Ranger one time, despite the fact that she's a girl. "It's okay, Dad," he said. "Boys like pink, too!"

The Power Rangers phase is remarkable not for itself, but because it marks the end of the phase right before it- the Buzz Lightyear phase- which I'll always remember with a bittersweet melancholy. Ahab II was a big fan of Buzz and for about a year was begging me every day to play "Buzz Lightyear' with him, and I often did. Oddly enough, I always ended up with the title role while Ahab II eagerly took the role of anonymous sidekick, named "Partner." Sometimes we would draw Ahab III into the game as "Silly Ranger," though he was never very interested in pretend games. Nothing to chew on.

For the unwashed among us, Buzz Lightyear is an action figure from the Pixar film, Toy Story. He is a space ranger of the universe protection unit, upholding truth and justice and defending the galaxy against his arch-nemesis, the Evil Emperor Zurg. In the short animated spin-offs, we meet Buzz's partner space rangers and follow them through various heroic adventures in which the good guys always win in the end. (I shouldn't say "guys," though, because one of the partners is a hot telekinetic princess space ranger named Mira-Nova. Big blue eyes. Tight space ranger uniform. But being four and not a sexist bastard, Ahab II is more impressed with her ability to float through solid matter.)

As Buzz Lightyear, my job is to approve all of Partner's plans and issue the orders that will start the action. We have stopped volcanoes mid-eruption, disarmed megabombs, had shootouts with Tarkanian Octopus Beasts, captured Zurg, rescued Silly Ranger, and because DD prefers to lounge on the couch, we have kicked Mira-Nova off the team many times. Several times during each game, often at crucial turning points in the action, Partner shouts out what became practically a mantra to him: "I'll always follow you, Buzz Lighyear!"

It used to melt me and I found it hard to stay in character. Thinking of it still warms me to this day. He didn't mean it metaphorically, of course, except to the extent required by the pretending. But it always made me unreasonably happy because I imagined I heard in his rallying cry a measure of admiration and awe that I know will be short lived. In his eyes I will not for much longer be the fastest, strongest, funniest, smartest superhero on the planet.

Those moments were often tinged by DW's presence and what I imagined her to be thinking. Mind you, she never hinted that this is what she thought, and we never talked about it, so I acknowledge the thought as my problem, not "ours." Ahab II was in his Buzz phase at the time of greatest religious tension in my marriage. I imagined DW cringing every time he said, "I'll always follow you, Buzz Lightyear," because she also saw it as a metaphor-a tragic one that would mean sorrow and damnation to Ahab II because of his admiration for a deluded apostate father.

Months passed, Buzz faded to Power Rangers, and Ahab II now insists on the starring role, which is as it should be when you're four and the center of the universe. Ahab III is one-and-a-half and picks up a couple of new words every day, though Mom and Dad usually have to translate for outsiders. I took him to McDonald's yesterday for breakfast while the rest of the family slept. He loves the "fruit 'n yogurt parfait" and would like to feed himself. But I'm too lazy to clean up the resulting mess so insist on feeding him. He squirms and jabbers between every bite because his little body can't contain the thoughts and energy produced by his growing brain and sitting still is just too much to ask. I know this and cope pretty well.

He has begun introducing me to strangers. At McDonald's he waves his chubby hand in greeting at the old woman in the booth next to us. "Haaaa," he says. When she answers and he knows he has her attention, he points to me and says, "Dada. Dada." People who are experienced with babies and baby talk know what he's doing. "Oh, is that your daddy? You're a cutie!" And because it worked once, he is eager to try it again; he waves at the people on the other side of us. "Haaaa. Dada. Dada." Pretty soon the whole restaurant is abuzz with his show- babies have that effect. I'm embarrassed, but mostly beaming. In the same way he introduces me to grocery checkers and people in the checkout line. "This is my Dad. He's the greatest thing on earth after my Mom, and I know you'll want to meet him."

The feelings each situation produces in me are much the same; each is a tiny thing, but immensely, irrationally rewarding. For a very brief moment, I catch a glimpse of myself through their eyes and wow! Do I like what I see! The main difference is that the experience in McDonald's was not diminished by my conflicted standing related to Mormonism. I consider this a very good sign of personal growth; it seems to show that I am no longer measuring myself by warped Mormon yardsticks.

These two experiences also make me think of the loss of Innocence ushered in by a metaphysical break with the church. People here have written of this before- it is normal and natural to mourn the loss of the rosy view of the world and our place in it which Mormon lenses present. But the rewards of Experience are so much greater, and some here have written about this as well.

Early English Romantic poet William Blake is most famous for two volumes of poetry, "Songs of Innocence" and "Songs of Experience." The first celebrates Innocence, childhood, redemption, and joy as in these lines: "The sun does arise,/ And make happy the skies;/ The merry bells ring/ To welcome the Spring;/ The skylark and thrush,/ The birds of the bush,/ Sing louder around/ To the bells' cheerful sound;" In it, old folks watch the young at play and laugh as they reminisce about their own merry youth. It is replete with Christian allusions and the poems offer comfort in the Hereafter for those who suffer.

The later volume, as you might expect from the title, looks hard at the face of Experience, sorrow, suffering, and the inevitability of death. It is very critical of Christian dogma and churches, and includes a poem in which a little boy is burned as a heretic because he "sets Reason up for judge / of our most Holy Mystery!"

It is interesting to read the two volumes side by side (they're very short poems and a quick read. Find the two compiled at Gutenberg.org) because they show in Innocence the ever present shadow of death, and in Experience the somber joy of a fully aware existence. Blake's "Songs of Experience" closes with a mournful and seasoned Bard calling to those still standing in Innocence:

Youth of delight! come hither
And see the opening morn,
Image of Truth new-born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel - they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.

I've posted before (probably too often) Wordsworth's lines in which he mourns such a loss and celebrates the incomparable gain, so won't do so again now. But thinking of Blake and Wordsworth makes those brief moments with Partner and Ahab III more enjoyable. The fruit tastes sweeter because I know it is only ripe for a heartbeat, and then it will drop to the ground, rot, and grow to produce life and fruit of its own. I know that Partner won't always follow me and that I won't always be Buzz Lightyear. I know that one day I'll embarrass Ahab III and he'll hope nobody recognizes me as his dad. Because I know this, I'll savor those moments now and sigh with a mix of sorrow and contentment when they pass.