The fact that he wanted to walk with me didn’t sink in right away.

“No, you can’t come,” I said, while reaching for the dog’s leash. “I’m going to walk for awhile and you probably won’t be able to keep up.”

Freeze the scene right there. Sometimes I wonder if I learned my parenting instincts from Homer Simpson University. Even with years of parenting experience, I still resort to my Crackerjack box of fatherhood theories.

That’s why I think, if you really listen, there’s something deep inside helping you out. In this case, the voice inside was screaming at me.

“HEY DORK DAD! This a chance to connect with your oldest teen son. This is the boy that would have a crane move him from the house to the car and carries on deep philosophical discussions with no more than grunts. You’re an idiot if you pass up this chance.”

Of course I acted like this was my plan all along. So I invited him to come with me.

We barely left the house before I started trash talking with him.

Think you can keep up with me, can you? I’m going to walk at least a mile. You sure you’re not going to need some oxygen, son? Huh? Huh? Huh? I did everything but pound my chest.

He didn’t say anything and just kept walking.

In less than two minutes, he’s already several paces ahead of me with the dog. I waited for me to insist that we turn back early. It didn’t happen.

IMG00037-20100315-1925

See that little spec? That's my boy ... ahead of me.

I waited for him to start complaining. Nothing.

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re within a 100 yards from our house. I managed to break  into a trot and move past him until I reached the house.

Part of me thinks I can never let him catch up to me in anything. I’m Robert Duvall shooting baskets in the rain in The Great Santini because his son just kicked his butt in basketball. I resist the urge to challenge him to arm wrestling. Just to show him who’s the man.

But deep down, I know he’s growing older, stronger and he’s catching up.

And I’m OK with that.