Posts Tagged ‘
father and son ’
Monday, November 5th, 2012
From what I remember about the Eighties, and maybe I’m making this up, but I feel like there was this plush parrot toy that immediately repeated whatever you just said. You didn’t even have to squeeze its wing to make it do it.
Well, that’s what my 23-month-old son currently reminds me of.
One night Jack had just gotten out of the bath and was stumbling around the bathroom, in desperate need of sleep.
“He’s like a drunk baby,” I commented to my wife.
“Drunk… baby,” Jack repeated.
What made it especially hilarious is that he said it so monotone and melancholy, like Ben Stein, or at best, a sad cartoon puppy.
Now I know I can’t say “drunk baby” out loud in front of him.
I also realize now that one of my wife’s catchphrases is, “That’s creepy.” Whether referring to a segment on the local news about a haunted ghost tour or just driving down the road and seeing vultures eating the remains of a possum, Jack recognizes the phrase as something he needs to include in his vocabulary.
There’s something funny about a toddler saying, “That’s creepy.”
He doesn’t know the word “scary” yet, but he knows “creepy.”
Last weekend while on vacation in California with my wife’s family, we had to keep reminding everyone that Jack would definitely repeat any new words he heard.
And he did.
Hopefully he’ll forget all about “the s-word” for a while.
While Jack can decently repeat any phrase he hears, that doesn’t necessarily mean he knows the meaning of the words he uses. I assume that eventually comes next.
As for now, he is having fun repeating the words he hears adults use. And to be honest, I’m having fun hearing him repeat all the random stuff I say throughout the course of a day.
For example, at this point could I probably teach him to say, “Beam me up, Daddy?”
Yes, and I shall.
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Saturday, September 15th, 2012
Back in April, I chose to become involved in a “Big Brother” type of program called Men Of Valor; a program to mentor children whose fathers are incarcerated.
I was matched with a 15 year-old boy who was known for keeping to himself and playing “shoot-’em-up” video games online.
For those first couple of one-on-one meetings I had with him, I really didn’t know what to do.
But then he told me he was considering becoming a sniper in the military.
Coincidentally, I had just finished a book called MicroTrends, which had a chapter called “Aspiring Snipers,” explaining how the the popularity of shooter games like Halo and Call of Duty have spiked a trend in high school boys surveyed, saying that they are interested in becoming US military snipers when they graduate high school.
I racked my brain on how I could use his interest in shooter games and his inspiration to become a US military sniper as ways for us two to get to know each other better.
Then I thought back to a classic game in which I have been looking for a good partner for years: Chess!
In chess, you can use pieces like the queen, the bishop, and the rook to “snipe” the other player from the other side of the board.
Essentially, those pieces are best used after you have distracted your opponent with a threat on one side of the chess board, then in the likeness of a sniper, you slide in from the other side and take out one of the player’s pieces.
I began thinking, “Aspiring snipers should play chess.” I’m now convinced that chess is indeed the most archaic version of today’s online shooter games.
So every other Thursday, I pick him up to take him out for a Frappuccino at Starbucks and we play our 3 chess matches.
It took him about 7 or 8 chess matches to finally beat me for the first time. Like I told him, I wasn’t going to let him win nor would I go easy on him at all.
But as of our last meeting a few days ago, it was the first time in 3 matches that I finally beat him again.
That’s right. He’s a well-matched chess partner for me now.
As of our last meeting, he mentioned to me that he may be interested in going to college to be a History Major, or maybe even an English Major like I was.
But whether he ends up fighting for our country in the military, or becoming a historian or a teacher, I’m here to support him; and I say, it all began with a classic game of chess.
I now invite you to read my instant sequel to this article, 5 Reasons To Play Chess With Your Child.
Top image: Two knights face to face on chessboard, via Shutterstock.
Bottom image: Chess coffee, via Shutterstock.
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Wednesday, September 12th, 2012
Yes, my wife approved.
I’m not exactly sure why she did, especially without any hesitation, but needless to say, she now has a mohawked husband and toddler son; for no good reason.
Our ‘hawks go all the way down in the back, to a point. No sissy “faux hawk” stuff here for this father and son duo.
We mean serious business these days.
Jack and I are surely only the first of many to support the matching “soccer mohawk” this fall season:
A 3 guard on the sides blended into about an inch and a half on top.
It’s subtle enough for people at work (yes, I work a “real job” in an office besides writing The Dadabase) to ask: “Wait, do you have a mohawk?
This is usually followed by a 4 second delay, and then:
If that question has a valid answer, it would be that I wanted to have the same kick-awesome haircut as my son.
He and I never keep the same hairstyle as the haircut before, yet we always seem to have the same hairstyle as each other.
A mohawk should be no exception.
Plus, I wanted to spread “Matching Father And Son Mohawk Awareness.”
But instead of making a special ribbon magnet for the car, fathers and sons just have get matching mohawks to prove they mean it in their hearts.
It’s a movement I can get behind.
So much for my son not looking like me. We are now like Spike and Tyke, the father and son bulldog duo from Tom and Jerry.
Okay, fellow dads with a son: Now is your chance to finally have that mohawk you always wanted.
Just send your wife a link to this blog and show her the proof of what is normal and acceptable in the culture of modern American fatherhood.
My wife let Great Clips do this to her husband and son. There is hope for you, my fellow dads.
Fist bump out.
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Wednesday, August 1st, 2012
I don’t envy new dads.
There’s that token “I’m holding my kid for the first time” picture on Facebook that automatically gets like 53 comments and “likes.” I know, because here’s my version of that picture posted 20 months ago.
And then comes the culture shock and the learning curb.
Months later arrives the anger resulting after someone pulls you aside and tells you that it’s normal for an infant to start sleeping through the night at 3 months old and that “crying it out” is just a natural part of it.
“You mean all three of us could have been getting sleep this whole time?!”
Even worse, no one really tells you how to get your baby to sleep through the night, anyway. Meanwhile, the extreme parents try make you feel guilty for even exploring the idea.
Again, I don’t envy new dads.
Hallelujah, I am well past that stage now! I’m no longer a “new dad.” I’m a father of a toddler.
New dads, I am writing you this from the future. It gets better.
A lot better! It took me a while, but I’m finally at that point where I can proclaim, “I LOVE being a dad!”
In fact, I kind of have a man crush on my son.
I add him to my current list of man crushes: Ron Paul, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and Bruce Springsteen.
What really propelled me into this state of fatherhood nirvana was probably this past weekend.
There was nothing monumental about it: We took Jack to swim lessons, and on a wagon ride, and just hung out a lot with him.
But the whole time, he was cool. Not high maintenance, not needy in an annoying way, just chillaxed like Jack Johnson.
Sure, it’s easier to feel good about myself as a dad when my kid behaves well the entire weekend. But his 48 hours of perfect behavior which allowed our family to have fun and stay in good moods was largely a result of my diligence with him.
I love to see those moments of “it paid off!” in parenting.
What topped off this perfect weekend was when my wife handed him over to me to put him to bed for the night. He ran right up to my face as if he was going to awkwardly kiss me like Paul Rudd or something.
Instead, he gave me an “Eskimo kiss.” (My wife has been working on teaching him to do that.)
I can’t explain it. But that somehow melted my heart… but in the most manliest of ways, of course.
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bromance, Bruce Springsteen, father and son, man crush, my son, Ron Paul | Categories:
Deep Thoughts, Must Read, Nostalgia, People, Storytelling, The Dadabase
Sunday, July 8th, 2012
“Jack is just a little version of Nick!” is something people never say, nor should they say. Whenever I post a new picture of my son and me on Facebook, no one compares the two of us. Because, really, there’s nothing to compare.
I look like the token Jewish actor from any and every sitcom you’ve ever seen in your life and my son looks like he stepped out of a time machine from the 194o’s… from Norway.
While I’m an olive-complected (I’ve got a green tint to me; it’s more noticeable when I wear black) and have dark brown hair, my son has a porcelain shine to his skin, along with undeniable blue eyes and (for now) blonde hair.
My physique makes me the kind of guy you’d expect to play the super hero before he turns into the super hero.
Meanwhile, my son, who is in the 75% for weight, is a strong and sturdy boy who inspires people to ask me what sports I think he will play when he gets older.
(Rugby, wrestling, football… all of the above.)
Yesterday I was at the pool with my son and my wife. While it didn’t feel like anyone was staring at us, I thought how if anyone there was people-watching us, they would surely assume our son was adopted.
It doesn’t matter to me or bother me that my son is keeping alive the rarest genes of my wife and me. It’s simply something I’ve noted from the beginning. And now at 19 months, the lack of physical similarity is still very evident.
Yeah, it’s weird and it’s funny to me, but for some strange reason I sort of like the unpredictability of it.
Every time friends hang out with us who haven’t seen us in a while, they always look at Jack, then at my wife and I, then back at Jack. Then they say us, “Who do you think he looks like?”
They say this thinking that because he’s our flesh and blood, we’ll have some magic intuitiveness that helps us see some resemblance they apparently don’t.
Well, no magic here, folks.
I imagine there’s a decent chance that as my toddler son transforms more into a real boy and eventually a young man, he will begin to look at least a little bit more like me.
Or at least his Mommy.
Either way, it’s safe to say that at least, physically, he’s no “mini-me.”
I think if he and I were given a “resemblance score” we would get 0%.
But hey, I’m open for a second opinion.
If you, the reader, see more of a resemblance than I do, let me know.
Would you give us a score higher than 0%?
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