Nostalgia

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Those “Hey, You Just Grew Up!” Moments

January 1, 2013 at 11:14 pm , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Watching you grow up is like watching the minute hand move on a clock.

It’s not until I look away for a little while, then look back again, that I can see a change.

There were a few pictures that Mommy must have recently taken while getting you ready for school that I found on our camera.

When I saw them, I thought, “Hey, that’s Jack… I don’t remember him looking… like that… so grown up!”

I mean, it wasn’t that long ago were my “baked potato,” and before you were even a year-old yet, you were my cool necktie-wearing gummy bear.

Weeks of everyday life go by with all their routine and their seeming lack of uniqueness, but it’s in those doldrums that you’re growing up; even if I can’t see it as it’s happening.

A couple months ago one of the ongoing themes I focused on was how you didn’t really look that much like me or Mommy.

Well, now, I can clearly see you’ve graduated from  that phase where babies all sort of like the same to where now you are truly starting to look like a mix of your parents.

If this were a 1990 laugh track-infused sitcom, I would find it much more believable that you could be the son of Mommy and me.

But, I admit, it would sort of be like the 2nd season after the baby is born, where they suddenly replace the baby with a talking-toddler.

Like Nicky and Alex on Full House. Or Andy Keaton on Family Ties. Or Chrissy Seaver on Growing Pains. Or Lilly Lambert on Step By Step.

You and I have both become less generic and more mature people, since April 13, 2010, when I first started this blog.

Back then, you were a 3 month-old fetus who I best understood through a black-and-white sonogram. You’ve come a long way, kid.

But so have I. I learned how to become a dad.

Like Elvis Costello in 1983, everyday I write the book. We figure this out together, in real time.

Along the way, there have been things I’ve said on The Dadabase, that looking back now, I wouldn’t say; nor are they still accurate depictions of how I see things.

There were times I was so zealous about representing myself as a confident dad with a consistent parenting plan, that it probably came across as bravado, not confidence.

And I do regret my former tone in regards to controversial topics like abortion, circumcision, the cry-it-out method, and even politics in general. I see now how I was only adding to the noise of two extremely polarized camps preaching to their own choirs.

That’s not me anymore. Everyday, I’m becoming more like Jack Johnson. And everyday, you’re becoming more like Jack the boy… not the baby.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

 

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Of All The Little Boys In The World, I’d Pick You Every Time

December 30, 2012 at 12:32 am , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Last night I saw the new “momantic comedy” The Guilt Trip starring Seth Rogen and Barbara Streisand. While I acknowledge the movie hasn’t received the best of reviews, I personally loved it all the way through and already want to see it again.

It made me think of you:

At the beginning, as well as, the end of the movie, the mother tells her son that if all the little boys in the entire world were lined up and she had to pick just one to be her son, she would pick him… every time.

That may sound like a simple and passing statement, but to me, it holds a lot of weight.

I think of this heavenly adoption room where parents go to pick out the kid they want to be their own. As I walk through the hundreds of rows of little boys, I just keep looking.

Then as I begin to experience being overstimulated by all the bright lights and unorchestrated voices, like the way I do anytime I have to go to Wal-Mart, I finally see you at the end of the row, despite squinting my eyes through the dizziness.

It’s you, Jack! It’s you!

I’d know you anywhere, even if I’d never seen or met you before. I know that barely makes much sense, but it’s true.

If all the little boys in the world were lined up, and I had to just pick only one, I’d choose you… every time.

To say you’re special to me is an understatement. Maybe the best way I can say it is that you’re… mine.

And I know you feel the same way. You tell me in the way you pat me on the back as I carry you to the car when I pick you up from daycare, proudly saying, “My daddy.”

That’s right. I am your Daddy.

While you often liberally use the word “mine” to describe so many things that definitely aren’t yours, I’ll definitely be yours.

After all, I picked you out of all the little boys in the world.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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The Masculine Version Of A Tea Party, Part 2

December 26, 2012 at 10:15 pm , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

While I am quick to tell you all the things you’re good at, I have to be honest with you today: You’re officially not good at playing like a girl.

The picture to the right might imply that you are a 2 year-old boy who enjoys a good old-fashioned tea party. However, let me remind you what I said in The Masculine Version Of A Tea Party, Part 1:

“You are wired to choose action involving crashes and messes, not role-playing a sophisticated brunch.”

Turns out, I was right.

As you played with your cousin Calla’s new tea set on Christmas, you quickly pretended to eat all the icing off the plastic cupcakes and see how fast you could gulp down the invisible tea.

It was a cupcake cake eating contest, with tea to wash it all down… and you won, fair and square!

So uncivilized.

Immediately after, you moved on to Calla’s new dollhouse. It didn’t take you long to discover that there was a handle on the toilet in the bathroom you could press down to hear it flush.

Needless to say, the dollhouse quickly became more like a truck stop.

Later you decided to check out your cousin’s new Disney princess tent with her and Mommy.

As you can see in the picture here, you helped transform the event into Jack’s Jump House. It only took about 7 minutes before you bumped heads with Calla and ended the rockin’ party before its prime.

So while certain dads might raise an eyebrow to see their son so easily playing with pink foo foo girls’ toys, not me.

Because I know you simply make a joke out of anything a princess would find enticing.

Instead, you’re the king of the playground and all the world is your stage.

 

Love,

Daddy

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The Post-Christmas “No More Presents” Blues

December 25, 2012 at 10:01 pm , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Christmas is over. You are currently undergoing the culture shock of entering back into a world with no anticipation of an avalanche of gifts anytime soon.

That’s what happens when your birthday is so close to Christmas: You are bombarded with gifts for about a 30 day period, then suddenly… it’s back to reality.

I noticed how after you opened about 4 or 5 presents today, you started losing your ability to comprehend what the next gift even was.

Instead, you turned to me and said, “More gifts?”

And that’s what you said after every gift you opened from that point on.

I think in a few days, you’ll be able to comprehend that your Nonna and Papa (your grandparents on my side) got you the biggest Tonka firetruck I’ve ever seen- big enough to haul all your Thomas trains in.

Speaking of trains, you’ll also realize that your collection nearly doubled in a matter of a couple of days.

It’s like you just won a pie-eating contest. Sure, you won, but now you need to let everything settle and digest as properly as possible.

You need some time to settle back in to a world where instead of getting to hang out with family all day and open gifts, you are at daycare for the majority of the day with your friends and you barely get to see Mommy and Daddy.

I’m sure by the car ride to school tomorrow it will all start setting in.

It’s strange having a period of several days with virtually no stress, and then on top of that, receiving every toy you’ve been asking for.

Don’t worry, Son. I will be your guide back to the real world.

I don’t like it anymore than you do.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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It’s The End Of The World As We Know It… And I Feel Fine!

December 21, 2012 at 12:03 am , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

There’s a big joke about the end of the world happening today because the ancient Mayan calender ends on today’s date. However, the fact that we’ve been observing leap year for the past several centuries means that today, December 21, 2012, already happened a while back.

This is the first time in your lifetime that certain people assumed the end of the world was supposed to happen. This is your generation’s version of when I lived through January 1, 2000.

While it’s fun to laugh about, there’s definitely at least some subtle unease when we are forced to face the fact that eventually, whether collectively or individually, life does finally come to an end.

I don’t feel weird for admitting it: I think about death all the time.

There for a while I wondered if I was morbid, but after listening to an excerpt of Ray Kurzweil’s book The Age Of Spiritual Machines in a similarly named album by the Canadian rock band, Our Lady Peace, I realized I’m pretty normal to think the way I do:

“Death gives meaning to our lives. It gives

importance and value to time. Time would

become meaningless if there were too much

of it.”

The way I see it, at best, I’ve only got about 50 years left to live. Assuming an even better case scenario that I get to live those 50 years with you and Mommy, it shows that I’m a very optimistic person.

I simply can’t imagine my life without you, whether that means I leave this life before or after you. My mind isn’t able to process that.

So in accordance to all the Facebook status cliches about living life to its fullest, all I can do is attempt to make the most of every moment I have with you and Mommy, until God pulls the plug on my time here…or the end of the world really does happen, like today’s Mayan forecast supposedly predicts.

One of my many weaknesses as Superdad is that I’m not a very patient person.

I’ve noticed that every time I catch myself “not living life to its fullest,” it’s usually because of something stupid like being tempted to check my email instead of immediately taking you up on your invitation to play on the floor with you as you crash your metal Thomas trains into each other.

See, the inevitability of death (or the end of the world, whichever comes first) really does help give value and importance to time, and therefore, more meaning to life.

If we make it through today, I’ll continue spending the rest of my life showing you how much I love you, through my actions, words, and daily private letters which just happen to be broadcast on the Internet.

 

Love,

Daddy