parenting

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting, Spirituality

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

 

Leave a comment Posted on parenting, Storytelling

Teaching An American 2 Year-Old To Kiss Like A European

December 27, 2012 at 9:14 pm , by 

2 years, 1 months.

Dear Jack,

Every night before we put you to bed, you know you have to kiss Mommy and me goodnight.

Right now, we’re helping you figure out how to do it just right.

“No tongue, Jack!”

That’s what Mommy has to remind you because you have this habit; instead of kissing us, you lick us, like you’re a puppy.

The goal is for us to kiss each other on the cheek, not the lips.

But several times now, you have leaned in to me with your mouth open like you’re about to take a big bite out of an ice cream cone.

Please know how hard it is for me not to laugh when you do that, but I know I can’t afford to as I’m trying to get you into sleep mode.

There’s this concept in my head of you and I kissing each other on the cheek as we say hello and goodbye, even as we get older.

I know that may sound a little bizarre at first; mainly because it is. Because we’re Americans living in America.

If we were in Italy or France, it probably wouldn’t be that weird.

Just picture us, 20 years from now, wearing cabbie hats as we greet each other with open arms and a classic European father-son kiss on the cheek.

(Just saying that out loud seems so un-American; like the kind of thing that Paul Rudd would do unsuccessfully in a Judd Apatow movie.)

But that’s how I imagine us; being totally comfortable with being physically affectionate.

Granted, it’s to be done with discretion; not the kind of thing to be executed in front of your friends when you’re in the 6th grade. After all, I’m no helicopter parent nor do I want to be associated with the term “attachment parenting.’

Aside from what I see as unfavorable extremes, I just want it to be normal for a dad to kiss his son hello, goodbye, and goodnight; even if it comes across as European.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting, Spirituality

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

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

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

 

Leave a comment Posted on parenting, Spirituality

The Letter To 6 Year-Old Jack Pinto, From His Best Friend John

December 21, 2012 at 11:43 pm , by 

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Last Friday, I wrote to you about how I was Processing The Newtown, Connecticut School Shooting As A Parent. A week later, the unthinkable event that happened at Sandy Hook is still on everyone’s minds.

There’s a lot of talk going on right now about how we as a nation can prevent another tragedy like this from happening again. I’m not ready to join that public conversation… yet.

Instead, today in my letter to you, I want to share a different letter to a different Jack. It has been circulating the Internet since USA Today reporter Yamiche Alcindor tweeted this photo of a letter to 6 year-old Jack Pinto, from his best friend John:

“Jack,

You are my best friend. We had fun together. I will miss you. I will talk to you in my prayers. I love you Jack.

Love,

John”

I’m predicting it’s pretty difficult for anyone to read the letter to Jack Pinto without being deeply emotionally reached; especially after seeing the pictures of Jack and John together.

For me personally, it’s tough not only because this story reflects how what happened last week affected innocent lives, but also because it’s pretty easy for me to imagine you in this picture.

It’s not something I want to say out loud, but the truth is that what happened in Sandy Hook could have instead happened in any other small town in America. Instead, I want to believe that you’re the exception to the rule and that I will always be there to protect you.

I wish somehow you were immune to chaos like this from ever getting anywhere near you. I wish I could promise you that our family would always be safe. Since I can’t promise it, I pray for it instead.

Like Jack Pinto’s best friend, John, I turn to God even in, and especially in, times like these. And from the sound of it, so is a lot of America.

I can’t remember the last time it was so popular to publicly talk about praying and trusting in God, like the way I’ve seen in the past week. It’s encouraging to see news anchors on major networks, without fear of being perceived as politically incorrect or unprofessional, so willingly interviewing priests, pastors, and churchgoers whose faith is helping them through this.

As I mentioned in my letter about this last week…

It’s times like these that cause some people to ask, “If there is a God, why would He allow such an unthinkable event to happen?”

Others ask, “How could an event like this not cause people to turn to God, in the hope that there is a saving grace stronger than the depravity of man?”

Son, we are of the latter mindset: We are not without hope in this life.

 

Love,

Daddy