More Than Just a Simple Sponge

Middle school, SpongeBob, and a father's reflection on identity, presence, and how time doesn't stop

Last Thursday evening, as I lay in bed next to my wife, I reflected on the day.

The student musical was performed at our children's school earlier that night. This year's show was "SpongeBob the Musical (Youth Edition)". Both kids had roles in the production, with my daughter as Pearl and my son playing SpongeBob.

For nearly two months, they stayed after school four days a week for rehearsals, and each day they'd float to the car—bubbling with stories of laughter, connection, and inside jokes.

The storyline of the SpongeBob musical, on the outside, is the well-told one of friends joining together to overcome an enormous challenge despite the doubts of others.

But underneath it is the story of SpongeBob himself: a quirky, silly little man with a huge heart yearning for attention and to be seen as more than "just a simple sponge." Early in the show, he tries so hard to be noticed as a leader and someone of value in the community, and he's met with nothing but doubters and detractors in his quest.

SpongeBob gets discouraged, has a falling out with his best friend Patrick, and begins to internalize the doubts others cast on him.

Yet, SpongeBob and Sandy Cheeks, the squirrel scientist, forge on to try and save the town from what most believe to be inevitable destruction. SpongeBob and Patrick reconcile, and the three figure out how to save the town and its residents.

And it is Patrick, the one who knows SpongeBob well enough to see who he is below the surface, who helps instill the confidence in him to ultimately complete the task.

When SpongeBob stops listening to the doubters and follows his heart, he accomplishes the goal he sings about early in the show: and proves he is more than just a simple sponge.

It struck me how closely SpongeBob's journey mirrors what happens to many of us growing up. Each of us has a true self: that person we were as children. The one who is silly and has a big heart, who expresses love because it is what we felt, not because we felt obligated to do so.

Then we hit middle school, and things start to change. We start getting told to act and REACT a certain way (especially for boys regarding their emotions). We get told that things we like are dumb and get made fun of if we continue discussing or enjoying them.

In reaction to this, we start to change and even conform. We allow outsiders to influence what we like, how we dress, and how we act. All the while, our true self gets buried deeper and deeper.

In a way, middle school is a rite of passage, just as it is an education. Kids learn to navigate social interactions with far less adult involvement, developing autonomy and more responsibility than ever. They also build their identity through more freedom of choice: choices like clothes, hobbies, and friend groups. And, of course, there are the social navigations where kids are introduced to the full extent of the complexity of peer dynamics, and the good and bad that come with it.

Watching my son sing his heart out as SpongeBob wasn't just a core memory; it was a reminder that no matter how lost he might feel in the world of middle school or how unsure I might feel as a parent, there are still moments when the real him shines through.

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These last few weeks have been an intense time of reflection, with our son graduating from 8th grade next week. In September, he will move on from middle school and into high school.

The most common line my wife and I heard when she was pregnant with each of the kids, which continued into the early years of their lives, was, "Enjoy it; it goes by fast."

I didn't want to believe it, but they were right.

While reflecting back, I was hit with the thought that we could be preparing for our last full summer as a family just three years from now. I imagine us taking road trips that summer to visit different college campuses and trying to knock more Major League Baseball ballparks off our list.

He will graduate a year later and likely be off to college. I imagine he will come home for breaks and for a bit each summer. But the full summers, the ones that last through Labor Day? Those are numbered in our house.

Three years. Three years? That's it! It feels like a lifetime ago that I was taking that baby with colic in my arms at 3:00 am, walking all around the first floor of our house, talking to him about the Philadelphia Phillies like he was an old friend sitting with me at a game. Weirdly, at the same time, it feels like it was just yesterday. When he was born, it felt like we had an eternity before we'd reach the point where he was heading to high school. There were even days when I longed for that time to come.

The saying is that our children spell LOVE as T-I-M-E. With three full summers left, I intend to make good on this and spend as much time with him and my daughter, who is just two years behind, as possible.

So as you start to plan your summer and fret over the fact that your kids are out of school and you aren't sure how you'll get your work done AND see to their needs, remember that time goes by fast, and time is what they really want.

Your work is important. It's how you put food on the table and ensure your children have everything they need. But what they need more than anything is time with you.

That can’t happen “later”.

As much as I want to, I can't pause time. I'm not out here chasing some picture-perfect summer, I’m just aiming to be present for it. Because when they think back someday, I don't want Dad's work to be what they remember. I want them to remember that I was right there with them.