The Parent Trap

Friday night was date night in my part of the world.

It started off with a little dinner.

Carls Jr.

Then we moved across the parking lot to the movie theater.

Tangled.

And that was followed up by some dessert.

Dairy Queen.

During the movie we held hands.

Exchanged a kiss or two.

On the cheek, of course.

What kind of weirdo do you think I am?

And I held her drink whenever she was thirsty.

It was a perfect night for dad and daughter.

The seven-year old.

With my son at a sleepover and my wife and oldest daughter at a dance recital, this was the opening I was looking for.

My youngest and I have a great relationship, but it’s not everyday that we get to hang out.

As a couple.

There’s a lot of love between us, but it doesn’t take very long to see that she’s a momma’s girl.

And I have no problem with that.

My daughter confirmed the other day that I am not at the top of her list.

But it wasn’t my wife who was taking the prize.

“I love God more than I love you,” she told me.

“Well, I love you, but in a different way,” she added.

Considering our touristy trip to the St. Patrick’s Cathedral was her first footstep inside a church.

And she can’t remember the last time she was in a synagogue.

And she thinks a mosque is the way a New Englander pronounces what you wear on your face on Halloween.

I’m really not sure where this sudden burst of religion came from.

My wife and I contemplated having another child.

If contemplated meant trying without success.

We tried for quite a while, but unfortunately it didn’t work out.

So the little one is our final chance to get this right.

We are so thankful for what we have.

A 13-year old girl.

An 11-year old boy.

And that seven-year old gift.

All healthy.

All amazing.

All the reason I need to get up in the morning.

I can remember being a dad for the first time and having absolutely no clue.

And I can remember being a little better the second time around.

But it was the third time that I was expecting perfection.

From me.

And guess what, I didn’t get it.

All-in-all, I would say I’m a pretty good dad.

Sometimes spectacular.

But perfect, I am not.

I really try hard to be patient.

I really try hard to be loving.

I really try hard to be... perfect.

But there is rarely an hour that goes by with the kids that I don’t say to myself -- “why in the world did you just do that?”

Take this morning for example.

My son was pushing my buttons like it was a game of Battleship.

And unfortunately for him -- and unfortunately for me -- he hit the wrong button.

As a 43-year old man, I’m pretty sure I was once an 11-year old boy.

And I’m guessing when I was 11-year old boy I was NO different than this 11-year old boy.

So I would be The Time Magazine Hypocritical Man of the Year to say that my 11-year old should act different than I did when I was his age.

But somehow all of that analysis didn’t amount to anything when I lost my temper.

Sure, I can blame my lack of patience on a wide variety of stressful ingredients in my pantry of life.

But the bottom line is I should know better.

And I should’ve acted better.

But I didn’t.

And it ruined a good portion of my day.

And it ruined a good portion of his day too.

Being a parent is the toughest job I’ve ever held.

But unlike my last two real jobs, I’m hoping my kids won’t ever tell me that my services are no longer needed.

The nice thing about my kids -- probably most kids -- is that tomorrow is a brand new day.

If I can have a bowl of Cocoa Krispies waiting for them when they get up, we’ll be off and running.

Like Paul and John, I believe in yesterday.

But that’s only so I can make tomorrow a little better.