Holidays tend to bring out the emotional side of people. I’m no different in that regard. But on an average day, I’m a little more ‘sensitive’ than your average dude, I drift into a mushy ball of tears around Christmas. I think a lot about the years that have past and the years that are ahead of me. The past is littered with the successes and failures of my choices. It’s also marked with the additions and losses in the family.


It’s funny how the additions and subtractions of the past create a new path for the future. The more you think about what the future holds, you begin to realize what will be missing as you move forward. That begins to pain you to the core. Because all you are is where you’ve been, you can’t help but get caught in a cycle of feeling disappointment in the results. Then, you step back, gain composure, and realize that the additions are intricately intertwined to the losses. It’s a universal balance, with subtraction comes addition. And with pain and disappointment comes peace and elation.


If it’s one thing I’ve learned in my limited years on this planet, it’s to innocently accept the fortune and the fate you are dealt. You are never given any more than you should have and you will have no more pain than you can deal with.

How do I segway into the final chapter of this trilogy? Well, it’s about thankfulness and it’s about ears and it’s about my boys. Being able to hear their laughter, complaints, and fighting are just one of the beauties that were born from disappointment and loss only a few years earlier. This final chapter is about being thankful for being able to hear the universe remind me about the balance. That reminder is in the simple form of what emotions ‘sound’ like. Music.


I think about my successes and none are larger than my two boys. And while struggling with the loss of my little brother and listening to one of our favorite groups, a kismet moment occurred. A song. W music, its enjoyment, and interpretation are unique to each listener, the song is a simple message from a parent to a child about moments in time. We take those moments for granted too often. Then they’re gone.

Harlow’s Song:
When you close your eyes and go to sleep tonight, I'll be right outside your door
Dreams will come and they'll take you away, let them bring you back to me

And tomorrow when you wake I'll be next to you, the protection from the day
When the tears fall down your face like morning dew, I'll be there to put a smile on your face

and I'll say;

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you. I can't dream without you.

Let your fire burn bright for the world to see, you are the better part of me
When you hold my hand I swear that I believe, I'm living in my wildest dreams

and I see,

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

Flowers for your hair
Rainbows for your eyes to see
Your dreams are everywhere
To carry you away from me
Away from me someday
Away from me someday

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

I don't wanna live this life without you, I don't wanna spend the night without you
I don't wanna know what it's like, I can't dream without you.

The song isn’t unique in its context or its message. Parent loves child, parent misses child when grown up. The uniqueness of the music is the moment when it hits you and you actually ‘hear’ it. That’s what happened to me. I was sitting there thinking about my next entry and thinking about the kids. I was down right emotional about the holidays coming up and doing as much as I could for them while still retaining any disciplinarian strength I had left.

Good Charlotte, while being pop-punk, is one of my guilty pleasures when it comes to music. The latest record, “Cardiology,” would’ve been my review for New Music Monday, but I opted to span a trilogy of thankfulness instead. “Cardiology” is the most mature album from Good Charlotte to date. Both in musical experimentation and lyrical content. The lead singer, Joel Madden, is now a married father and the music reflects the growth into adulthood.

“Harlow’s Song” was written about his baby girl. I think all parents can relate to the message at any time in their parenthood. But I think younger parents have a harder time grasping what the future will hold for them as parents of adult children following their dreams. For me, I find a lot of frustration in listening to my children scream and run like headless chickens throughout my house. At times, I can’t wait to put them to bed and having some quiet. As younger parent, you forget that these nights are finite and all too soon they’ll be a fading memory of noise in a quiet house when your two sons are married and out in the world with out you as their security blanket.



So I’m not only thankful for the nights when my children eat their dinner effortlessly, but I’m thankful for the nights when I could rip their arms off and beat them senseless until they submit to my pleas of silence or at least dull the roar. I’m equally thankful for my ears which allow me to hear the entire sound spectrum of them. And then, I’m thankful for what emotions sound like. That is music and being able to hear it at the precise moment in time. The timeline of life is less about the hours and days as they pass through our hands and more about the little moments that span from beginning to end during our existence.

Moving on now to the second part of the thankfulness installment. If you recall from the first entry, I’m thankful for ears. And it’s not that I have model-quality ears or elephant ears for that matter. I’m thankful for the functionality of ears; hearing. Keep in mind that hearing doesn’t equate to listening. My wife will tell you that I hear things fine, but my listening skills may be less than stellar or desirable by her judgment.

Son #2 is an odd duck. Now just cresting two years old, a majority of the spoken words that emanate from his mouth are incomprehensible. It’s amusing to watch people try and talk to him in public and he will spew forth a set of nondescript words that confuse even the most fluent of English speaking folks.


PART II
Son #2, while know significantly fewer words and lacking in the enunciation of spoken word, tends to jaw with his equally unique stories as well. Instead of gracing you the reader with any one of his intelligible diatribes, I thought it would be more useful to provide a translation document for your decrypting needs when communicating with Son #2. Think of this following list as the toddler version of Rosetta Stone for missing consonant sounds and incorrectly emphasized syllables.


Courtesy of yourdictionary.com and my general knowledge of his vocabulary:

mors (more) n. 1. a greater amount or quantity; generally used with candy or fish crackers.

ight (light) n. 1. a source, such as fire, that admits illumination.

moon (moon) n. 1. the celestial body that revolves around the earth in 27 days with reference to the stars and once in 29 days with reference to the sun, and that accompanies the earth in its yearly revolution about the sun OR anything bright in the sky.

fiss (fish) n. 1. the baked cracker goodness from Pepperidge Farms and only satisfactory item for all meals.

huggies (hug) n. 1. the act of embracing a friend or loved one when there is a need to coerce that loved one into giving you what you want.

gall gone (all gone) n. 1. the absence of a wanted object; nothing remaining.

gan gad (grandad) n. 1. the father of one’s father or mother who condones running and shrieking indoors.

ido (I do) n. 1. affirmative answer to all non-go-to-bed related questions.

gammy (grammy) n. 1. the mother of one's father or mother typically trafficking significant amounts of objects of play.

out (out) adv. 1. away from, forth from, or removed from a place, position, or situation.

bruz (brother) n. 1. a boy related to one by having a parent in common and one’s sworn adversary.

mom-mee (mommy) n. 1. the female parent of a plant or animal and source of comfort and punishment.

dad-dee (daddy) n. 1. a person regarded as a male parent seen as a punisher though possessing no real power.

cars (cars) n. 1. any vehicle on wheels

fuck (truck) n. 1. an automotive vehicle for hauling loads along highways, streets, etc.

ining (lightning) n. 1. a flash of light in the sky caused by the discharge of atmospheric electricity from one cloud to another or between a cloud and the earth OR the Disney automotive character one wants from one’s brother.

wardz (water) n. 1. the colorless, transparent liquid occurring on earth as rivers, lakes, oceans, etc., falling from the clouds as rain, and emitted through one’s refrigerator dispenser.

milk (milk) n. 1. a white emulsion secreted by the mammary glands of female mammals for suckling their young.

peetz (pizza) n. 1. a baked pie of Italian origin consisting of a shallow breadlike crust covered with toppings such as seasoned tomato sauce, cheese, or pepperoni.

buss (bus) n. 1. a large, long motor vehicle designed to carry many kids, usually along a regular route.

guy (guy) n. 1. a man or boy; plush stuffed monkey for comfort.

nannas (bananas) n. 1. the long, curved fruit of these plants which usually has a soft, sweet, whitish pulp and a thick, usually yellowish skin.

powerz (powder) n. 1. a dry substance in the form of very fine, dustlike particles, for sprinkling in a diaper.

blow cannles (blow out candles) v. 1. to extinguish any cylindrical mass of wax with a wick through its center by puffing small amounts of air through a thinly opened lips.

peez (please) n. 1. used in polite requests

gen (again) adv. 1. once more

tanks (thanks) n. 1. an expression of gratitude; grateful acknowledgment of something received by or done for one

eat (eat) v. 1. to put (food) in the mouth, chew if necessary, and swallow.

This is only an abbreviated list of the words and phrases that Son #2 tends to mutter. Now armed with these words, you the reader can successfully communicate with Son #2. Granted, your topics will be limited to asking for Pepperidge Farms fish crackers, ordering a mil, and negotiating die cast metal cars away from their oppression.


The great part is hearing him try to work his mumbling and sometimes incomprehensible words into phrases and stories so he can get what he wants. Son #1 and #2 aren’t all that different in that regard. Both want things and both use incredibly long drawn out stories ordering words in odd forms to attempt to get their points across. The difference, Son #1 paints a long drawn out picture with out using punctuation. This ultimately confuses the listener and out of listener fatigue, you submit to his needs. Son #2, with significantly less words but significantly more phonetic complicating sounds, uses burst of phrases emphatically delivered with varying intonation and volume. Again, it wears the listener down to the point of submission and/or insanity.


They must be related based on the above communicative efficiencies. Despite my near unending listener fatigue, I’m very thankful that I can hear Son #2 ramble his nondescript words in his own attempt to deliver value to a conversation.

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. I think John Lennon said that. Succinct and straight forward in its synopsis of our adult lives. Lately, I’ve felt like I can’t keep up with life’s speed. I’m busy scribbling down my ‘to-dos’ on a Post-It note so that when I get home I can knock them out one by one and feel some sense of accomplishment when two or three more things to consider pop up before I can even get to my first item. The list constantly gets longer and time constantly gets shorter.

For the last 30 to 45 days, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of that time trying to craft some vague representation of a list of ‘must-dos’ before we moved in to our new house. I ran out of time, the month was ending, and we had to be out of our rented ghetto-cage known as an apartment. I think we all suffer from some form or degree of procrastination. So that being said, it’s a good thing that we all run short on time and are forced to make decisions and execute on our plans before time runs out. If not for time being in short supply, we’d all sit on our couches with our Starbuck’s lattes, make our lists of things we need to do before we get older, and never get to what we had laid out to accomplish. I hate Starbuck’s and its laziness fostering brewed products.

So if life is what happens while you’re busy making plans, then parents are the dam that slows the flowing waters of life letting you catch your breath. There’s no way that any of our plans could have been successfully executed in the last month if it weren’t for my parents. Through every bend, around every corner, and next to every speed bump, they’ve been there to support me and my wife in our decisions. I’m so thankful, grateful, and appreciative of everything my mom and dad have done to support this difficult decision of starting new our next chapter.

That being said, I’m not always the most vocal about my appreciation and blessings. I’m more apt to externalize how much I’m annoyed by an individual’s behavior, profess my philosophical ramblings, or pontificate the inabilities of Washington drivers to operate their automobiles on paved or unpaved roadways in rain or shine than I am to issue a thanks. Now this isn’t because I don’t care or a result of being unappreciative. It’s just that I’m inherently negative. Smile? Why? Just try to not piss me off, please.

Moving on. I really do appreciate the support of my friends and family I’ve received over the years. Friends came out of the woodwork to be there for me when I lost my brother. It’s funny, I felt back then like that was the worst possible place to be in my life. Emotionally, it probably was. However, from the logistical nightmare of being the head of a household yet inherently hobbled by your immaturity, planning to sell a home, move a family, live in temporary housing, find a new location to begin our next chapter, and settle in to our new home was a daunting activity to go through. Painstakingly making your best educated decision on relocation while trying to mitigate financial damage and emotional distress of your little boys and wife all while starting a new job stretch you to your personal limits. Because of that, you need help. You need others. You need family and friends. I’m very lucky to have unconditional support from my mom and dad during this rough phase of stress and starting again.

It’s been much harder than healing from grief. Maybe that’s an unfair comparison but cerebrally now I find the stakes of life being much higher. But the rewards are that much more gratifying as well. But in both cases, the real key in successfully righting the ship and navigating those unstable waters of emotion and ambiguity is having a lighthouse to guide your way home. My mom and dad have always been this. But it has been much more distinct these last few months.

Unconditional. An overused word used too frequently to describe relationships. But I couldn’t find any more appropriate word to succinctly to summarize it all. A natural born writer, I’m not. An emotional rat’s nest of incongruent thoughts, I do represent that. My parents have really come through recently supporting all of this.

Support of moving, taking care of the dogs while they routinely escaped the yard, missing car shows and swapmeets, painting dining room walls, installing overhead storage, pressure washing walls, babysitting, sweeping floors, taking our shit to the dump, smashing cardboard, remodeling and destroying a well, providing meals and a place to sleep when our apt was less than desirable or when we need to be at the new house early the next day, co-piloting during the actual move, and providing hope that this decision will work out.

And that’s the short list of contributions in an effort to keep my words per entry down. I’m lucky. Feel like I’ve had some bad luck and made some questionable decisions at times over the years, but their guidance and values have always allowed me to sail away from the wake of devastation. That’s the value of having a bright lighthouse.

Son #2 has reached a new developmental plateau. Upright walking under the supervised assistance of adult figures and/or wheeled devices specifically designed for midgets. You may recall, Son #2 has been on his own development schedule since pre-birth. Fertilization, birth, satiation, and movement have all been driven by the unorthodox nature of Son #2.


To inspire the young lad to bipedal freedom, a wheeled walker was gifted to him at his first birthday. As expected, Son #2 had more interest in the sounds and lights of the device rather than the unique motile freedom it inspired. Over and over, the shrill sounds and annoying music spewed through our house at a mind numbing frequency. Son #1 had much to do with aiding and abetting Son #2 in this aural annoyance.

But that’s where it stopped. Son #1 brilliantly led by example and scooted behind the walker, once or twice for good measure, in hopes to lure his brother into an attempt. No such luck. In Son #2’s defense, no coaxing or incentive was going to work on his thick skull. Walking? Why? He had been pulling himself up on to furniture in our living room. He showed no fear in lifting himself up next to the CD case of the entertainment center. These all presented opportunities for destruction. Interestingly, an innocent laptop USB port was harmed during the development of this child’s walking skills.


But it wasn’t until his mother ‘gently’ coerced him to stand behind the walker and grab the handle. She left him there to his own devices and his tears. Tough love, mother style. And who knew? He walked under his own power. It was epic, apparently. He fed off of our cheering and the in-your-face hysterics of his brother. All of that was short lived as he traveled from on end of the room to the other. You see, while waddling like an old codger, we failed to explain to him Newton’s First Law of Motion. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion unless acted upon by an external force. And that force was a piece of furniture at rest in his path.

Yes. The walker, under the power of Son #2, immediately stopped when contact was made with our CD cabinet. While I found this event entertaining, Son #2 seemed to be much less amused by his obstructed progress. He made this known by the banshee-like howls and the crocodile tears. Son #2 needed to learn the art of steering. As he approached an object under his own power, we tried to gently turn him to keep him going. We were always a little bit late though. I personally think he accelerated to hit the objects just to keep us from assisting and granting him the freedom to scream. That’s what I would’ve done.

Visit this link if you can.....
http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#/video/video.php?v=249245982738

I had hoped that steering would be lesson two for him but we never quite reached it. At this point, Son #2 wants nothing to do with the business end of the walker. He prefers to sit in front of it and torment us with repetitive music and sounds emitted by this device. If he’s placed behind the walker now, he loses it, drops to the floor, and repeatedly beats his forehead on the ground. Not a problem on the carpet, but this leads to significant bruising and head trauma when performed on the kitchen floor.

Son #2 now has a new approach. He takes our hands and allows us escort him through the house. This is a nonnegotiable approach to mobility for Son #2. He’ll call for you but he doesn’t want you to pick him up. He wants your hands to help him walk around the house. Your only choice as this point is to facilitate the desire of the youth and escort him around until he reaches boredom and returns to making noise with the walker.

The parental-escort role which we now provide is actually pretty entertaining. Son #2 is proud of himself and this new technique. During the entire exercise in mobility, he is vocal about his enjoyment of being able to walk, even if it is under assisted parental power. The smiles, giggles, and screams are a clear illustration of his pride in being more self sufficient. There’s definitely a substantial amount of parental joy in watching the little guy develop. Granted, the schedule was no where near what it was like Son #1. Son #2 is doing things on his terms but needs your hands to do it. But God forbid you let go of his hands before he is ready to return to his crawling position. If you do, you will quickly be alerted by his air-raid like siren of discontent.

I’ve always been the most creative in my darkest states. I guess that’s why recently, I’ve struggled to drum up any inspiration. Happiness. My wife has always told me to learn how to be inspired by ‘happy.’ But I think as most creative, tortured souls go; our inspiration is fired from desperation. I used to draw and write music but those days seem to have passed. Just the other day, I was musing about how I haven’t come up with any truly engaging visuals in the last few years. I can only extrapolate this assertion to the current ‘happy’ chapter in my life where I’m now a husband, a father of two punk children, and work for the man.

Occasionally, I miss the days where I was stumbling and drowning in tears of frustration and fear. When you’re in the emotional basement, you appreciate the long climb out, even if it’s only up to the ground floor. The process of climbing is empowering, the milestones are huge, the lessons are epic, and the growth is immeasurable. This isn’t to say that I’m ready to throw a grenade on my current chapter and get back there. No way. What I’m saying is that I miss the emotional fragility of stages long since past. Out of them came great creativity and realizations of self.

A new year makes you think about the past and how shitty it was at times. Interestingly, I’ve been reconnecting with friends from my past. In that regard, I received an email from a blast from the past from my very first days at American Racing in 1999. It was a quick email looking for a favor to which I was quick to assist. But what got me thinking was that this email hit rewind on the tape back to 1999. I once was the man behind several brands of automotive wheels. I miss those days where I had a ‘name’ in an industry. While those days have passed, the essence still exists. It made me think about sketching wheels again after a five year hiatus to see where it goes. If they make it into 3D models, photo-realistic renders, or even tangible products remains to be seen. On another interesting note, I’ve recently networked overseas manufacturing. Despite all of that, I’m appreciative of hearing from this voice to reconnect me with old creative desires.

I also read a great blog entry from a close friend whose creativity, compassion, and inspiration are something to truly behold. 10 years ago, she, her husband, and several friends created a 1999 time capsule. They dropped in several mementos, assorted trinkets, and each wrote their innermost thoughts on index cards. Some took it seriously and others not so much. With the beginning of 2010, they reopened the time capsule to gauge their life in 2009 versus their life in 1999. Her writing was an eye opener on the dynamic changes 10 years can orchestrate when you are not looking. With that, each person wrote a new personal note and reinserted into the new time capsule which won’t be opened for another 10 years. The end of the entry was what really resonated with me. As she looked around her quiet house, and with the knowledge of the changes of the past 10 years, she came to grips with inevitable changes the next 10 years will impart on her and her family and embraced the future.

Very well written and inspirational:
http://scukanecs.blogspot.com/2010/01/y2k-time-capsule.html

Reflecting on my own growth without the aid of a time capsule, I’m much calmer and more objective now than I ever was as a kid. Hell, even more than just 10 years ago. But I think the message here is about trying to re-channel that youthful fragility and fear that once kept us full of desire. It just seems that, as adults, we have softened and lost that edginess where we felt we were on the brink of losing everything around us. There’s something pure in imbalance and the corrective action needed to overcome it. We, as adults, sometimes forget that common denominator.

Reflecting on the past is a good thing. Getting caught up in it, is another. I’m grateful for the reconnection with several voices from my past, two of which are mentioned here. The reflection has allowed me to leverage old memories into new creative energies for future ideas as well as re-energize old projects. I’m looking forward to some new sketching as well as continuing forward on a 20 year creative endeavor that requires new focus. More importantly, I’m really into the ‘happy’ phase. Apparently, it has some people around me a little shocked to say the least. I’m still learning how to channel the positive energy. It’s taken seven years to get to this point but it’s all about the journey, not the destination.

Opportunities to learn more about yourself always seem to crop up at the most inopportune times. I suppose that’s what makes these moments the most poignant. They stay with you longer when attention is brought at the moment of inconvenience. For example, if you like to drive with no pants on while texting your Uncle Bob and get in a car wreck doing it, the next time you’ll probably consider wearing trousers so that when you get out of the car to inspect the damage in your ill-contrived desire to be temperately ‘cooler’ when driving, you will not be embarrassed by your bare white behind in plain sight.

I digress. Now I don’t drive without pants nor do I have an Uncle Bob. Regardless, I had one of those moments today where I was educated by the universe on what matters.

A typical Saturday in my house is usually triple booked. There’s never a shortage for activities and obligations. This was the final weekend of operation of the Whistler Bike Park before winter. Wanted to hit that one last time. It was Homecoming at my undergrad Alma Mater. Despite my college football team’s inability to field a successful squad, I still held on to the hope of making the trip to Pullman. Beer flavored water. Lastly and most importantly, Son #1’s weekly ‘soccer’ game was on the schedule.

In the essence of full disclosure, I wasn’t too excited to head to the Panda soccer game today. I didn’t get too much choice in the matter. For one, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Son #1. In fact, he was concerned this morning that I wouldn’t be back in time from my bike ride to make it to his game. And second, I’m the assistant coach on the Pandas’ team. You see, the Pandas haven’t been real competitive over their three games. But the head coach and I continue to work with them on learning to dribble, pass, and score goals. I keep telling myself that they’re only four years old. This point alone has given me an unwanted lesson in learning patience and the appreciation for the purity of fun while playing sports long before winning, losing and statistics.

We’ve taken some beatings. Last Saturday we were trumped by a score somewhere close to 6-0. But we don’t ‘keep score.’ Today no bike jump or keg could have satisfied the unparalleled joy experienced while helping coach the Pandas to their first ‘un-scored’ victory. We saw our team mark their opponents, steal the ball, save goals, change directions, and score literally a dozen goals. There’s a kid on our team that you watch and just know he’s going to have a ton of success in whatever sport he chooses. He’s a great little kid who plays hard, takes instruction, and always gives you the thumbs up for approval. Today, he came uncorked and scored seven goals.

Four year old kid soccer is more like a swarm of bees than a soccer game. All of the kids, minus the ones who are dancing, singing, or not paying attention, create a scrum around the ball with elbows thrown, shoving, and body blows. But today, there were break away goals where our team decided that wrestling for the ball was passé. It was a break through. Son #1’s teammate had those seven goals, but he made many great ‘team style’ plays. Defending and passing to his teammates. But the big picture was that EVERY Panda wanted to play and participate. My position is on the sideline making the substitutions and keeping the kids who are not playing energized. Today, took very little effort to keep them fired up. All of the kids were ready and were constantly asking me to put them in the game. A complete team playing well and having fun is infectious and breeds more fun and excitement. The kids played so hard and had so much fun. As a coach, and a father of a player, I don’t think I could be more proud of our team’s success today, scoring or not.

That leads me to the lessons today. Son #1 had a rough morning. His latest thing is to try and negotiate when he ‘should’ do what he is told. That, getting him to eat his lunch, and getting him to get dressed were all challenges. My wife and I asked him, “Who is going to score a goal today?” God forbid we put too much pressure on our unfocused child. He responded with a despondent, “I’ll try but it’s just so hard.” That remark made me wonder if he was even having fun. I was worried that I was ‘that parent’ focused on pushing his child too hard to ‘ensure’ that the kid was having fun. Pushing to have fun is not right. Lesson #1.

We all wondered what the 7-goal Panda was eating at home to cause this. But he wasn’t the only one that surprised us. Son #1 scored today. As a matter of fact, he scored three unanswered goals and was the second highest scorer on the team. This is the beginning of Lesson #2. No matter what’s going on, when the unreal expectations you have set for your child are beat like a pack mule and are completely blown away, you feel totally throttled with emotion.


After stepping into the scrum and liberating the ball from its oppression, Son #1 broke free at midfield and headed toward the goal. All by himself, he booted in his first goal of the game and the season. Watching this happen was surreal. I wish time would have stopped for me to just cherish that small moment. It happened so fast. That first goal. I was on the other end of the field with the rest of the team but I saw the play develop and was beside myself. As he headed toward the goal, I worried he’d stop dribbling and start dancing. That’s his thing. But he kept on and booted the ball into the goal with authority. When the ball rolled over that line and hit the back of the net, my arms raised high and my eyes welled up with the largest tears of joy. For the next few seconds, I struggled to wipe the tears from my eyes and remain composed. There was cheering but I was so lost in my son’s action that I heard nothing but the silence of a smile all the way across the field. Absolute, undeniable joy and pride.

Son #1 went on to score two more goals today. After that third goal, he ran over to me during the game to inform me of his feat. Three goals. While I haven’t written too much about how I felt, know that no alternate activity could have compared to the purest sense of pride a father can have in his son. Yes, it was only soccer and only three goals, but his actions blew me away today. Lesson #2 is there is nothing more valuable than seeing your child succeed and knowing that he is enjoying that moment in his success. I will always love that.

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.