The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘father’s day’

A Love Letter

I’m only about ten months into this parenthood racket, and bound for trials and tribulations the likes of which I can’t yet fathom … but thus far, it’s all love, happiness, worry, and the only time I feel sad is when the kiddo feels sad. Dropping him off at daycare to see him look up, his face crumpled, his lips curling into a clear expression of sadness – I don’t like that.

But otherwise, it’s all love.

Every night my wife or I sing to him before bed (part of our bedtime routine) (… Really … We kinda sing to him all the time. After he finishes breast feeding my wife has a song, “you! are! a done-y-bunny! you are … a done-y bunny! done-y done-y bunny! done-y done-y bunny!” It even has dance moves to go with it.) Anywho, part of my modified version of ‘Over the Rainbow’ includes ‘I never want to be apart … mostly.’ Because I still do enjoy my down time, my do nothing time, sitting around with my wife just enjoying not moving, solo jogs, etc, etc, etc. I mean, I AM going to see the Han Solo this weekend (thanks, Mrs. Wife) and I’ll be, well, solo.

But! There is a heretofore un-experienced joy when spending time with him. I am writing this having experienced being up with him on and off from 1230 to 2 last night. He’s got a cough which didn’t quite wake him up but I’d settle to sleep then coughing fit, a brief bit of whining, silence … repeat. Eventually we got up, gave him drugs (sweet, sweet drugs) and then I held him to get him settled. While holding him I was treating to a bit of babble. It cracks me up. He has a different sleepy time babble which is a quiet, soft, almost whisper. And thank goodness it’s a whisper because his face is right up against my ear. But he whispered, ‘dada … da … da …’ (then you’d hear his mouth move but no words come out) ‘…da … dada …’

Today is Father’s Day, which is nice. That’s swell. We’re an overrated group, but it’s nice to have a day dedicated to cliches which are coming horribly true for me. (You know what excites me about this upcoming weekend? Trying to hang a kayak holder in the garage … oof. I’m so suburbia.)

My point is … it’s been a great joy being a dad. Again, he’s no teenager, and we’ve yet to experience something where *HE* is happy and *I* am upset, which will throw a new layer or add a bit of salt to this great big ball of love that took up residence in my person.

Celebrate love today, your dad, your kids, your friends, whatever. It’s a joy to feel such joy.

Thanks, kiddo, for bringing me that.

Happy (Belated) Clone Creation Day!

This is one of my favorite stories about my dad. Here are a few other stories about the pops. Now for another fun pops story …

Happy Clone Creation Day!

In the 7th grade my dad and I made a habit of playing a baseball game on the Nintendo. If I had to guess, I would say that my mom told my dad that he and I needed to bond, and to think up something. My dad, brother and I had played a whole season (which is fairly impressive) on Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball back when I was in the 4th or 5th grade. The baseball idea had come around again, this time with an upgraded system – the 64.

We played as the Arizona Diamondbacks, which was the first or second year of the team’s existence. I have no recollection of how often we played, but I remember sitting in the basement with my dad, playing that game.

  • He never swung at the first pitch. Usually not the second or third, either. He was always wanting to wear out the starting pitcher. With the game’s AI, you could expect with about 99% confidence that after three pitches you’d have 2 strikes and one ball on you.
  • The first two pitches were usually strikes. During them, he would sip his beer.
  • After the second pitch (which was usually your second strike), he would pick up his controller.
  • If he got a hit, then he got a hit.
  • If he struck out or had a bad pop-up the same sound would generally escape him – an aggravated, quick, “agh!”

On one particular day, we were playing the game and my dad was up to bat. After the usual ritual, he struck out. The familiar grunt/sound of exasperation came.

I smirked. My dad is a funny guy. He’s like a monkey over there with those crazy grunt noises. I thought, ‘ok, my turn … I can do better.’ After all, I’m young and I play a lot of video games – this is what I’m built for. I waited out the strikes like my dad, not because I wanted to necessarily, but because it was a good strategy. It’s a video game! It’s not the place where you exhibit patience and strategy! Nevertheless, I did it (when he was around).

What do you know – I also get out.

And what do you know, the same, “agh!” came out of me.

Holy crap, I realized, I am my dad.

All the times I’d laughed at him, poked fun at him (just in my head, not out loud) … those would all be coming home to roost. Shoot.

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