Next, on the Discovery Channel

Case,

I'm about to mix some nature metaphors, so just go with it, OK?

Yesterday, we took you to the urban Serengeti — a place where wild creatures roam together in a state of tenuous existence. We took you to the mall.

By the time your mom and I finished our coffee, which adult animals need to keep up with their young, you had become typically restless. You wanted out of the stroller. So I picked you up and we started moving. But after a few steps I thought you might like a little ambulatory freedom. Your mom agreed it was a good idea to let you walk.

I thought you might be hesitant, maybe look back at one or both of us before moving forward with trepidation. Nope. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you took off like a drunken penguin, and seconds later you had speed-waddled your way to the river. I mean the children's play area.

Wanting to follow through on the whole freedom thing, it was decided that we'd follow you around for a while, despite our fear of the river. I mean the children's play area. (Seriously, if you ever have kids, you'll hate that damn place. There may even come a time you wish that an alligator would leap up, drag you away and put you out of your misery.)

You stumbled around for a few minutes — at one point trying to shove a hesitant child down a slide because he was in your way and you had run out of patience (you are your father's son) — and then, thankfully, you speed-waddled your way back to the relative safety of the open plains.

You spent much of the next 15 minutes reluctantly holding your mom's hand as you ventured through more of the mall. Along the way, I pictured you as a little baby on the floor of our old apartment. You were only a few months old and you'd lie on your stomach, occasionally rolling over but mostly struggling to move. At the time, I wondered aloud many times — to your mom's great annoyance —if you'd ever start crawling. Now, here you were, among a mass of people, carefree and mobile. It had only been a little over a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

You're 18 months old now, and you're growing up so fast. And, yes, it's a little sad, because I can't help but imagine you as an adult, doing adult things — like drinking coffee, perhaps to keep pace with your own child or children as you wonder upon a trip to the mall who the idiot was that decided it was smart to corral large groups of germ-ridden animals into a confined space. Those days will be here before I know it.

In my more selfish moments, I just wish you'd stay my little boy forever. But as I sit here typing with a cold, feeling as if it might be preferable for an alligator to come and drag me away, I am snapped back to reality (see what I did there?) by remembering that as much as I'd like for you to grow up slower (or not at all), the opportunity to watch it happen — at whatever speed — is one of life's greatest gifts.

Love,
Dad

Individuality (fine line) Stupidity

Case,

I've talked a lot so far — and will talk a lot in the future — about the importance of being your own man. 

I would love for you to grow up sharing some of the simple pleasures I enjoy in life, such as drinking milk straight from the carton (NEVER do this in front of your mom); annoying friends and relatives with talk of how criminally underrated Thin Lizzy is; and wasting an unhealthy amount of hours each day during the month of August lounging around the house while engaging in an unhealthy amount of fantasy football mock drafts. 

But, ultimately, it is important to forge your own identity and always keep your independent spirit at the ready. You don't necessarily have to lead, but don't automatically follow.

Having said that ... there's an old saying: "Sometimes you have to go along to get along." The idea is that you cannot avoid conformity your whole life, and that is true. Unless you work in the circus, but SO HELP ME GOD, IF YOU START HANGING CINDER BLOCKS FROM YOUR NIPPLES ... 

Anyway, you should cling to your individuality, but you need to be smart about it. 

For the longest time, I was not. I made a career out of doing things "my way." At times, it was fun. But in hindsight, it took me way too long to learn that there's often a fine line between individuality and stupidity (this is the basis of teenage existence).

For instance, when I go to work these days, I do so in a style of dress that would be considered "casual." I work with a number of people who dress up. They wear ties and tailored shirts. I'm not going to do that. But I know what I can get away with. If I were to come to work in my favorite sleeveless shirt, my tattoos in the face (literally and figuratively) of my co-workers and bosses, there's a good chance I'd be doing myself a disservice. I'd be giving people an excuse to use my individuality (and stupidity) against me. It took me many years and numerous bouts of self-sabotage before I realized I'd done similar damage to myself through the mistaken belief that doing what I wanted was ALWAYS the most important thing I could do. 

Your individuality, like your name, is something to be proud of. But your willingness to be your own man has to be tempered by the knowledge that the world is not easy on individuals (especially if you hang cinder blocks from your nipples). It takes work to be successful at anything. It also takes sacrifice. Making the small sacrifice of conformity (going along to get along) is sometimes the smartest thing you can do.

Bottom line: Be cool, but not too cool for your own good. 

I guess you can go through life
saying f**k you and your horse
And maybe you think you'll leave
... a good-looking corpse

But cool is a windmill,
a Quixotic mirage
And it ain't never been cool
to do the self-sabotage

You don't have
to play the game,
but it requires your attendance
When you don't play by the rules,
you and cool, co-defendants

You can dance with the devil
and the talent that brung ya
Just to find your approach
is the talent that hung ya

Ya cool is like water,
a mind's strange oasis
But it ain't never been cool
to turn your back on good graces

Often drawn to destruction,
a dumb moth to the flame
Go ahead, touch the burner,
same result, diff'rent pain

Show 'em all that one finger
and wear your heart without sleeves
Collect spite by the bushel
like the air that you breathe

But cool is a monster
that's living inside your head
And it ain't never been cool
to keep a monster well-fed

When's it's finally
over, if you still think you're right, 
all that's left is for cool
... to turn out the lights

And cool will survive
like a phantom in your dreams
But it ain't never been cool
to be as cool as it seems

Love,

Dad

Exercise in futility?

Case,

A little insight into your dad and his unique ways. The following is posted verbatim from the original Internet venue on which I wrote it (I wonder if Facebook will exist when you get around to reading this). This particular set of events happened last week. Sometimes you just have to make the best of a weird situation.

So Ashly was taking Case to the library about a mile or so down the road while I was going to the gym to show off in front of senior citizens. I waited until she was ready to go so I could help her with Case. I picked up the boy and we left the house. When we reached her car in the parking lot, I did what I always do — put my keys on the roof so I could more easily get Case into his car seat. It's become so instinctual to do this with my keys. I don't even think about it. Literally. Anyway, I placed Case in the seat, complaining as I am apt to do about the straps being twisted while Ashly stood behind me, presumably make a kicking motion toward my backside. After getting the boy secured, I closed the door, walked around to the driver's side with Ashly, said goodbye and started walking toward the gym as they pulled away. I was jamming out to Pantera on the way, free of any significant thought. Near the end of "Becoming," I approached the door to the building that houses the gym. I reached for my keys and ... "Oh, shit!" I thought. I knew immediately what I had done. So I started running. Across the lawn. Through the parking lot. Three blocks south to the light once I reached the street. Stopped for a few moments before starting up again. About four more blocks uphill. Stopped again to cross the street. A few more blocks to a major intersection. Stopped again to wait for the light. A few more blocks down a dead end street. Finally, after a mile or so, sweaty and in a surprisingly good mood, I reached the library. I saw Ashly's car. I jogged up and noticed -- hanging by the apartment security door fob in a crevice on the back edge of the hood -- my keys. I went inside, explained myself, told Ashly I had lost all right to ever question her about being scatter-brained, waved goodbye to Case, walked back outside and ran all the way back home. All in all, a great workout.

Love,
Dad