April 23, 2014 at 6:23 pm , by Nick Shell
3 years, 5 months.
When you woke me up Easter morning, on my 33rd birthday, one of my immediate thoughts was not, “Man, I can’t believe I’m this old!”
Instead, it was, “Man, I’m 33 years old and have a 3 and a half year-old kid who thinks I’m in charge!”
I thought about how three decades ago in 1984, there were two different sitcoms that premiered which contained premises and titles featuring the uncertainty of the character with the assumed authority:
Who’s The Boss? andCharles In Charge.
Granted, just a few seconds earlier I was in a deep sleep probably dreaming something weird, but I think my subsconcious was making a good point:
I evidently doubt my credibility as your dad.
While it’s no secret that Mommy is the officer in charge of our schedule and budget, there’s a lot I’m in charge of, as it pertains to you.
I have to remind myself of that.
It may not seem like a big deal, but I am responsible for getting you to and from school (in Nashville traffic!) each day.
While you’re in the back seat, having fun pretending to have a cracker for an eyeball, I’m actually having to proactively keep us alive and well… not to mention get you and I to school and work on time.
Each night after you keep calling Mommy back upstairs (for the 3rd time) after she’s already put you to bed, it’s me that comes up there to truly sing you the last song. Because you know that my last song really is the last song!
You have a reverence for me that is much different than how you perceive Mommy. (And I don’t even spank you.)
If nothing else, you know that at any given moment, I may make you wrestle me on the carpet and then I’ll tickle you when you lose.
Yeah, and I’m sort of in charge of you. Isn’t that scary?
Who’s the boss? Me, actually. Not Tony Danza with his wonderful tapdancing moves.