I don't want to

Case, if you grow up to be intimidated by instruction manuals and break into a sweat at the sight of a toolbox, I'm sorry.

As I type, there's a box full of rocking chair parts sitting in your nursery with my name on it. But I don't want to attempt construction because I know what awaits.

Your Uncle Billy and Uncle Kenny got the "putting things together" genes. I did not. Instead, I got the "good with words" genes, which allow me the luxury of expressing myself in constructive ways like this blog, but also cause me to express myself in what could be considered socially unacceptable ways whenever I'm faced with any diagram consisting of more than a hammer and a nail.

I've been given a four-day reprieve by a power outage that won't go away, but your Grandma Pallister will be here in three days, and that rocking chair won't put itself together. Really, it won't. I've been checking every day and the parts just sit there.

Ultimately, fatherhoood means sacrifice, so with you and your peaceful slumber in mind, I'll do my best to put things together this weekend without coming apart. Just do Dad a favor, Magoo: Cover those oversized ears. :)