Courtesy of Flickr
FDR– The Only Thing We Have to Fear is Fear Itself
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SJ and I are lying in the grass. We are a few houses down from our own.
You may be wondering why we were lying on our neighbor’s front lawn.
Well, I pushed SJ down. It was for his own good.
Courtesy of Flickr
SJ and BR both had speech delays. Now, they talk constantly. In fact, I recently threatened to throw SJ out of the house and drop him off at his first speech therapist who lives around the block from us.
BR had little to no interest in sports and subsequently was left out from many activities that his peers were involved in. My wife and I bought him a book about baseball last winter. Now, he is obsessed with everything baseball – statistics, playing, movies, etc.
SJ hated amusement rides. Three years ago he cried on the merry-go-round with my wife on one side and me on the other. This summer he went on every thrill ride that he was tall enough for.
When my brothers and I were children, my aunt and uncle tape recorded/interviewed us. My oldest two brothers had a debate on football. My next older brother sounds listed the television shows he watched and the times and channels they were on – he sounded like a human T.V. Guide. Then it was my turn. My aunt and uncle asked me questions such as where I lived, who my best friend was, what school I went too, etc.
When they were ready to interview the next person, I asked to do it again. I said, “I can do it better.” I was no more than 6 years old.
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Do you ever wonder when do you become you? When do you display the traits that stick with you for a life time? Is it when you are five and you are headed to kindergarten? Or maybe, 13 when you hit your teens and puberty? Or is it 21 when you become of legal drinking age? Or is it when you become 30 and gain perspective? Or is it when you are born?
When BR, my 9 year-old, was first born his eyes were wide open. I commented on this to the nurse who told me, “Oh that’s common. He’ll shut them soon.” Well, we are still waiting. He is a ball of energy.
BR’s latest obsession is with baseball statistics. He carries around two statistics-filled books around the house (when he is not on the computer viewing MLB.com) as if he were Linus and the books were the blanket. His previous obsession, the presidents, seems to have faded away. Maybe, this obsession, statistics, sticks. He gets a job as a statistician, actuary, accountant – something numbers based. Maybe, he is a numbers boy who will turn into a numbers guy.
When SJ, my 6 year-old was first born, he came out plump with his eyes half closed. I commented about how he looked so sleepy. The nurse (a different one) noted that many babies come out with their eyes slightly closed. Well, SJ is a great sleeper. He is very content to watch television (though he does enjoy the park and his bike) and charges downstairs when I call out dinner time as if he were a bull exiting the gate at a rodeo.
Recently, SJ told me he wanted to be a meteorologist. He used to say Thomas the Train. When questioned as to why a meteorologist, he told me, “This way you get to be on tv and everyone watches you.” His instinct for showmanship is not something new. Every Friday night while we are eating our Sabbath meal, he shimmies on to the coffee table and introduces us to the SJ show. He will sing, tell jokes, and dance. He also bows, says “Thank you, thank you,” and insists that we clap. So, maybe he is a future entertainer of some sort. He is looking for that attention that second children see the first born get.
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Then, there is me. I think about that tape my aunt and uncle made. “I can do better.” This thought often goes through my head. It both boosts me up and knocks me down. I am proud of my desire to learn, understand, and grow. Yet, the feeling that I can always do better hinders my feelings of satisfaction. Contentment within myself is not something that comes to me easily.
Do you become you at some point and stay you? Recently, an old friend of mine contacted me – of course through Facebook. I had not spoken to her since my early 20’s – nearly 20 years ago. I wonder if we spoke to each other or to anyone else, for that matter, to whom we had not spoken to in an extended time, would they recognize or see the same qualities?
I suppose there are a core set of qualities, values and instincts, etc. that one retains throughout life. However, maybe you are becoming you every day. Every day you are you even if you are a new you.
Do you see his head?”
“I don’t see his head.”
“Now, do you see his head?”
No, you did not miss the message where I tell you we are expecting. We ain’t!
My family and I were at Bounce U. and SJ, my younger son, had struggled and ultimately made it to the top of a particularly challenging web-climber. Once he got to the top of the web-climber, he struggled over to the slide and came down. I had cringed when I saw him struggling to reach the top of the web-climber. The employee at Bounce U. had to help him and the other kids were growing impatient.
However, when SJ got to the slide, he had a big grin on his face. It was met by the smiles my wife and I had. When he reached the bottom of the slide, he jumped back up, whooped, and ran back over for another turn. As SJ ran by, I felt his head, and he was sweating from his earlier effort. I was thrilled by his determination.
BR and I were in a bouncer together. It had a basketball hoop and different size balls. Instead of shooting, BR and I ended up throwing the balls at each other. Well, we did until I finally tackled BR. We were play fighting and laughing.
My family and I were having a great time. Yet, part of me was sad.
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It was a beautiful Sunday morning – sunny, light wind, and 65 degrees. If you inhaled deep enough, you could smell the smells of baseball. The mowed grass, rawhide baseball, and the wood of a bat.
When I imagined being a father, it was always boys who perpetuated my dream. After all, I am one of 4 boys, and I have 6 nephews and only two nieces. In fact, when I called my oldest brother to tell him my wife had a boy, he said, “Yeah, I know.” He figured it was a foregone conclusion.
In my imagination, my son and I were always doing something athletic whether it was baseball, basketball, football, etc. We would toss the ball back and forth and bond at the same time. Maybe, I would coach his little league team or simply offer helpful tips on how to improve. I would fight the urge to be an over involved parent at his games. Either way, I would revel in his success and support him during the more challenging times.
Picture Courtesy of Google.com
Father and Son playing baseball.
I never even considered that my children would not enjoy playing sports. Neither of my boys is especially athletic or overly interested. Yes, they will periodically, after prodding, play sports. However, they quickly tire of it. When they periodically want to play sports, I am happy to join them. If they ask for instruction, I give it. When they sit inside on a beautiful day or refuse to accept assistance, I try to shut my mouth and bite my lip. I have learned not to push. I’m not a Tiger Dad.
My boys don’t love playing sports, and I have to be okay with that. However, it makes me a little sad. Some might say my reaction is wrong, and they may be right. Yet, I had a vision, and I wish it had come true.