Word to the wise: if you’re going to get into a tickle fight with a fierce 11-year old, make sure you’re not in stockinged feet and on a bare wood floor. That slippery mix is bound to send the older among us a strict reminder that gravity is everywhere and it’s the sudden stop that hurts. Luckily, X-rays showed nothing broken. Thus, all I have to show for my three-year blogging anniversary is an Ace brand wrist brace. Well… that and I still have the ability to type with both hands.
While my blogging habit didn’t exactly start here (it was one blog site ago), time waits for no one. Seemingly, the years chip away faster and faster as I log them on the web. My measure is not the posts I write, but the growth of my children. In fact, my daughter was prominent in the first blog post and here in today’s four-hundred-someteenth. Besides being the undisputed tickle champion in the house, she’s also great at getting the cold compress from the freezer for her injury-prone father. In its entirety from three years ago today, titled Father’s Day 2008:
“It’s 6:50 in the AM at a desert resort, and it’s Father’s Day. My wife and kids are still asleep — typical. Well, except for my 8-year old daughter, the fierce one. Her allergies have been giving her a bad time while here. The desert is no friend to her. Well, when all of the kids are up they’ll be clamor for going to the pool ASAP. My turn for that this morning — yesterday was my turn and I played golf (typical).
I wish I could come up with something more dramatic for my first blog post, but there it is. Up in the dark, typing and reading by the laptop screen — damn typical. However, I love being a dad, love my kids and she-who-must-be-obeyed (and if she reads that, I’m in so much trouble…). Hope all the fathers out there have a great day, especially Tiger down in at Torrey Pines for today’s final round at the U.S. Open. Go Eldrick!”
At the beginning, I didn’t know where I’d go with this blogging thing. That I’m writing about the popular arts of books, music, and film years later still surprises the hell out of me. Though, giving credit to where it is due, I have my good blogging friend Jen to thank for the push that started it all. If I had a Stetson (like author Craig Johnson), I’d tip it her way. For those friends and acquaintances who graciously stop by and read what I scribble online, my sincere thanks. And if you find a bit of the personal in what I write, it’s purposeful. It is all just an archive, of sorts.
You see, truth be told, what I really get out of doing this blog (hopefully) is a chance to put some of me out there in the ether for the benefit of my children. I won’t always be here, but maybe… just maybe, there is something I can leave/say to my kids when I’m not. You see, the hardest job I’ve ever loved, without question, is being a father. Hey, if I changed their poopy diapers (of my own volition), then it means I must really love them. No k-i-d-d-i-n-g. I came to this parent-thing from the inverse role-model of schools… such are the breaks in life. I’m always asking myself, “what would my dad do here?” Then, I know to do the opposite. Thus, to do this job even half-way decently, one must stay in the father character constantly to have any chance of perfecting it.
Needless to say, following this parent-path (which began in the mid-90’s) doesn’t allow much insight for the kids regarding their paterfamilias. Yes, my children are well aware of their old man’s persona (as crusty as that can be, at times). But, my role in the family makes it difficult for them to gather much beyond that. Certainly, having my children learn to make the right decisions (for later in their lives) means I have to be a father now, not their friend. Later (if Google and WordPress stay around, and they do a halfway sufficient job of caching this ongoing chronicle), they might find out what made their pop tick (or is it tick pop… whatever).
Now, where is that Advil?