My youngest son Sean turns 16 years old today.
In honor of his birthday I'm posting a few old Father Knows Nothing columns from his youth. These two columns didn't make the final version of the book, but they remain very good insights into the boy...
The first one was written in 2009, when he was 7 years old.
The other morning when I woke up my youngest son Sean, it was immediately clear he was waking up on the right side of the bed.
“You know, Dad,” he said, as he rubbed his eyes. “Life is good.”
I laughed, and agreed.
“I really mean it,” he continued as he climbed down the stairs of his bunk bed. “Think about it. I’ve got it pretty good here. I mean, this is a nice house.”
I nodded. “Nice enough, I suppose.”
“And look at all my stuff. I’ve got a lot of pretty cool stuff.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I concurred.
Our dog Ivy came up to lick his hand. He let her lick his left hand, while he patted her head with his right.
“And this dog. We’ve got a beautiful dog. Look at how awesome this dog is.”
“Are you sure you’re not sleepwalking?” I asked.
“I’m awake, Dad,” he said. “It’s just that sometimes you have to remind yourself how good you have it. I’ve got everything I ever needed.”
“OK,” I said suspiciously, “Now I know you’re up to something. What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Honestly. Nothing. Everything is great.”
He walked into the kitchen and began to make himself some breakfast. I followed him.
“Don’t forget, you have great parents too,” I reminded him.
He put his cereal box down, and looked up at me. “You know what,” he said. “That’s true. You and mom are awesome parents.”
“And you have great brothers too,” I added.
“Dad,” he said, showing me his palm. “Don’t push it.”
I should have quit while I was ahead.
The second one was written in 2010, when he was 8. His brother Johnny was 12 at the time, and his oldest brother Tommy was 15.
Sean calmly told me that the fighting that used to consume every waking moment in our house would never happen again. He seemed pretty confident about it.
“And how are you going to manage that?” I asked.
“I figured out a way to protect myself and make Tommy and Johnny laugh at the same time,” he said. “Want to see it?”
So he ran into the basement, fiddled around with a few things, and then called me downstairs to unveil his incredible new invention. His voice was a little muffled, and I soon discovered why.
“How does this work?” I asked.
“Well, when Johnny gets mad, I just put on these rolled up sleeping pads. If he stays mad I can block his punches and it won’t hurt. If he pushes me over, I’ll land on pads, and it won’t hurt. But mostly he just laughs at how stupid I look, and the fight just ends.”
You may mock this device, but I should tell you that we’ve now gone two full months without a fight in my house. That’s nearly Guinness World Records worthy.
