By nature, I have a limited tolerance for people. This makes it challenging to be a father of two radically different, yet defiant boys. Considering that, at times I have been unreasonably hard on Son #1. It’s hard to look at him and not see a youthful, passionate version of myself glaring right back at me. So much of his personality and behavior are identical to my own. My wife says I am horribly impatient with him and alternately, I am all goo-goo-ga-ga with Son #2. She may be right on with this assessment. Son #2 doesn’t talk back to me. I think it’s hard at times when you are aware of your own deficiencies and see those in your child. You want with every fiber of your being to shake them and explain to them that those attributes will get them no where. But you can’t. For one, the ‘authorities’ seem to think that shaking your kid is inappropriate. Second, nature has to run its course and evolve in your own offspring.


I suppose I’m writing this entry because of my guilt and pride in an ever conflicting combat to find balance. Son #1 is a daredevil, a go-getter, and an exhibitionist. But he is also impatient, introverted, and in fear of failure. He wants so bad to impress, succeed, and be considered great. This is nothing like me (sarcasm). It’s easy to take for granted how special he is in our life. He’s a product of the pain and suffering of the past and the fortune and the future for a family that needs stabilization and a something to gravitate its last remaining positive energy. The pressure of this on his soul is unfair.

“I never tell you how much I think about you. I have so many hopes and dreams for you. But there are two things that scare me. The first is like any young father, I live with a fear that I’ll never be able to provide an environment where you can extend yourself and attain your dreams. I scratch and claw at everything to enable you to have a peaceful childhood. The second fear is much more difficult to explain. My expectations are so high for everything and get easily disappointed when they are not met. I have this vision for you that is fairly nebulous with no hard boundaries or distinct outcomes. It worries me how hard I could push you to push yourself to reach these levels and alienate our relationship.

I don’t want any elements of intolerance to morph into resentment. I really worry that I could be the oppression in your life that I have always fought against. In an effort to get the feeling out there, I want to simply explain how proud I am of you right now. It’s pretty easy to lose focus on the aspects of life that are most important. Cars, bikes, evenings out with friends, jobs, and vacations are just a couple of things that distract us. I don’t want to lose that focus on you. I am trying to do my best at taking stock in every moment with you because our days together are finite. For over five years, the vision of you and what you mean to me has carried me through some of my darker thoughts. You’ve given me a lot of hope.

My mornings are rough before work, and everyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person. Some people need coffee, I need punk rock. But each morning, I wake you up and take you to the bathroom to pee so you don’t have an accident. It has been months, and I could probably stop this routine in my before-I-go-to-work procedure, but I find that there’s something peaceful about being annoyed by waking you up EVERY morning. Here’s why: I woke you up this morning and things were no different than normal. You rolled over, rubbed your eyes, and sat up on you knees throwing your arms out signaling me to lift you up and carry you to the bathroom. You went about your business and walked under your own power back to your bed. I pulled the covers over you and gently rubbed your shoulder and told you ‘good job’ as always. Then, like one million times before, you smiled at me. And that’s it. That never gets old.

Moments like that remind me that no matter the setback or the accomplishment, I’ll always love you for everything you are and everything you are not. I may not always want to hear you ramble about the toys in the sandbox or the fact that your one billion Lightning McQueen toys are building a trail in my living room. But I’ll always want to see your smile and will always take stock in you being my son. I am hard on you because I know you are every bit of me inside that little body and behind those blue eyes.”

Son #1 is on to his next activity. Soccer. I’ve always felt it was the sport for the paraplegic because you didn’t need arms to play. But I have a new appreciation for the sport with the Sounders being in town. I’ve been watching the games, asking questions, and even attended a match. So I’m learning. My wife has been explaining to me that soccer is a great sport for learning teamwork and camaraderie. So is the Hitler Youth Brigade. I just see a lot of running and I have one rule about that. Only run when you are being chased by the cops. September 19th I will be a soccer dad. I’m kind of stoked about this and I’m now wondering what it would take to be a coach. Probably knowledge of the game, more patience, and less tattoos. I can work on the first of those. So maybe I set my sights a little lower and volunteer to assist the ‘real’ coach. No worries, I can still work with the players to carry a swagger. I’ll even supply some temporary tattoos for the kids (since they are not of age) so we can give them all sleeves. They’ll look like hooligans and we can scare the opposition into pissing themselves.