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.
It’s the one after No. 235, which says, “the dog really enjoys balancing on top of the microwave.”
This is the day I’m supposed to stop and look back in despair.
Normally, I would pass him by and move on to my other duties. After all, it’s his responsibility and he needs to complete it on time or else. That’s what they teach you in Taskmaster 101.
That’s the only reasonable explanation for what happens in our home.
No fights to break up at home. No arguments about clothes. You hear the late-night conversations in their rooms and think all is well.
Parenting lectures from your wife don’t carry college credit.
The phone call comes tonight like I knew it would. It’s my oldest boy.
He’s 14, working through the stretch in life where parents only get to see him during visiting hours. And only if nobody’s looking.
“Will you come home and take me with you to the store,” he asks, reaching me at my work desk.
I [...]
By themselves, the small steps don’t seem to matter. You wonder if you will ever get where you are going.
