Dad Post #228

I watched the newish, highly-acclaimed movie ‘Boyhood’ and thought a lot about Michael. I hope my son’s life is a bit more stable, normal, and healthy than the one depicted, although Michael has divorced parents, an untraditional home-life, and a deep, stoic sensitivity akin to the boy in the movie. He’s growing up fast, my son, and he’s big; he’s been long, tall, and sturdy ever since I met him at Northwest Community Hospital almost 12 years ago. His feet are nearly the size of mine, which is good; I won’t be sharing but he will (if he has any expensive footwear I like). I will, however, avoid shoes that are aggressively fermenting and noxious, which generally disqualifies everything worn by guys his age.

Michael and I have interesting conversations about certain things now. These talks are initiated by me, and mostly one-sided, but he doesn’t fidget or withdraw or radiate strong discomfort. He was noticeably struck by my candor a few days ago when we discussed language, specifically the kind you don’t fling around in front of your grandmothers and teachers. I was honest and not ignorantly rigid. Credibility is important to me. We talked about respect, class, intelligence, perception, reputation. But I also indicated I don’t expect him to be the PC- or pristine-language-police. I know he’s tried foul language on for size, and I told him so. I've never heard him, but I was his age once, and I know how it is. Michael raised an eyebrow but not a disputation. I said, "I hope you discovered it doesn’t fit or feel so great," and he nodded. He’s heard me say ‘shit’ for sure, but not often. And I've said worse, but again, not often, and never with him around. There's a time and a place. It's best not to be shocked and confused by our modern, real world. I told him it's okay to laugh at a dick joke once in a while, but it's not okay to put people down, or be lewd and disrespectful. I was believable. Life is full of battles and principles and moments. I try to pick mine carefully. Because I remember, like it was yesterday, looking at Michael in the nursery when he was twenty minutes old. I remember the overwhelming emotion. There is nothing more important. I want to parent him with high principles and morals – for his own happiness and well-being – but with a sense of reality and groundedness that doesn’t render me, frankly, unreliable or full of shit in his eyes. I want him to live this life, not fly above it or avoid it somehow. Being a teenager is a ride, baby! I'd like to be a place of truth and stability for him. Especially when he needs reprimand. Because he won't be perfect, and if he is, that itself will cause concern.