97% percent of the time, my son can do no wrong in my eyes. He’s a great kid; curious, personable, friendly, affectionate, athletic and amazingly witty for a three-year-old. As far as children go, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s everything my wife and I wanted when we conceived almost four-years ago. Some may say that 97% is a high number for a perfect child but I do mean it. Even when he does things wrong at school or at home, I am learning to forgive him because 1) he’s still three and 2) who I am to judge his faults when I have more of my own. And it’s these faults, or even personality traits, that we have in common that make up the three percent that are excruciatingly frustrating.
I love myself and, simultaneously, I hate myself. Sound familiar? I am a leader in a certain situations but have been known to follow knuckleheads in others. I am a husband, father, educator, mentor, moral-authority, devout church-goer and tither yet I cannot stand talking to my own mother. I am a walking contradiction. I cry at almost every movie from The Karate Kid to 8 Below (the movie about dogs surviving in
Why does he have to be like me?!!! (Well, duh…) I would love for him not to be so sensitive. I want him to be “tough” and play football and not wince in phony pain when he is hit in basketball or baseball. I’m a hypochondriac and he is too. Everything needs a band-aid and we both love medicine. While my wife is the poker-faced, non-emotional partner (shouldn’t that be the dude?) my son and I carry the burden of being cool dudes with emotional issues. Studs who cry. I so want my kid to be himself and not follow in my footsteps for this three percent. But I think it’s too late. My twin was born thirty years after me.
