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Two weeks ago, I let my 14-year-old son take a day off from school so we could go to the grand opening of our new Lego store.

I know it sounds frivolous. And I’m not the kind of parent who encourages blowing off school for a trip to the mall. But for us, it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment — one of those small, strange, wonderful opportunities to make a memory I know we’ll both hold onto.

Going to the new Lego store was a good chance to spend time together

My son was big into Lego blocks when he was little, but like many kids, his interest tapered off as video games became more appealing. And then, out of nowhere, it roared back with teenage intensity. He started following new releases, quoting “price per piece” statistics, and making regular visits to our local secondhand Lego shop for a “quick look.”

Until two weeks ago, the closest official Lego store was over two hours away, so the idea that one was opening practically in our backyard felt big. When he told me the date for the grand opening, I half-jokingly asked if he wanted to go. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.

So we went.

We stood in line for almost two hours just to get in the door — surrounded by a huge, good-natured crowd of mostly adults, some with young kids — but it honestly didn’t feel that long to me. My son and I spent the time chatting about everything from what he was hoping to buy to what we were looking forward to doing on the upcoming holiday break.

I realized in line why he was into Legos again — and why the day felt so special

It struck me as we waited in line: he’s clinging to Lego for the same reason I wanted to take him to the store opening that day. We’re both holding on to something that feels simple and uncomplicated in a world where everything seems to be accelerating for him.

At 14, he’s in this place between childhood and adulthood. He’s mature and focused, and more self-aware than I ever was at his age. He earns good grades, is on the student council and the Model UN team at his school, volunteers at the library every week, and has recently told me he feels like he has a lot on his plate. He’s busy in a new, adult way, and Lego is his way of decompressing, something that lets his brain (and emotions) take a break.

Seeing the little kids waiting with their parents, I was reminded of just how quickly time passes. My son and I often talk about the future and his college and career aspirations. He’s forming his own opinions and priorities, and I’m grateful that he still wants to talk about (almost) everything with me. But I’m also aware that the window for spontaneous weekday adventures is rapidly narrowing.

Taking him out of school for the day was about showing him that, as he grows up, there’s still room for joy and silliness. He got to experience the child-like excitement of being a kid with no responsibilities for a few hours — and I got to match his excitement just by watching him be completely in his element.

When we finally made it into the store, he took his time wandering around to see all of the displays and make his choices. He didn’t get the Gingerbread AT-AT Walker Lego set he really wanted — we would’ve had to have been closer to the front of the line for that coveted purchase — but he found a couple of other sets he liked, as well as one for his brother, and even one for me.

More than the stuff, we came home with a shared new memory. One that we’ll pull out at holiday meals and visits home from college — “Remember that time we waited in line for hours at the new Lego store? That was wild!”

I don’t regret taking him out of school for a day. In fact, I imagine I’ll do it again a few more times before he graduates. Grades matter. Attendance matters. Preparing for the future matters. But so does carving out space to connect with my kid before the time slips away.