I wrote the post I’ve resurrected below one year ago. It’s a charming little trifle about my son’s increasingly bad behavior. Little did I know that what I thought, last May, was the onset of the terrible twos – though I even admit in the post that I might be a tad premature in thatRead more about Zombie Post: Little Did I Know[…]
I’m a Red Sox fan. I watched Game 6 and I endured as much of the pre-aughts misery as any other fan born in the 70s. I’m also a Dolphins fan, and while I got to watch Marino, there hasn’t been a lot to cheer about since. But I stick around; I continue to root for my teams.
I stuck with “Lost” all the way, gritting my teeth through the meandering Seasons 2 and 3 and surviving until the end and I still have fond memories of the show, even after the terrible final episode. And I continue to hope the people in charge of Superman will someday recapture the magic of the first two Christopher Reeve flicks. Despite little evidence that they will.
I take all the crap my favorite teams and TV shows and movies have to give and I keep coming back for more. As a fan, you have to take a lot of abuse.
But it’s nothing compared to what you endure as a parent.
My son has been involved in a few violent incidents recently. And I’m not just talking about the constant finger-biting he does when we try to brush his teeth, though that is not fun either. I don’t care if you’re Batman, getting bit HURTS.
Thankfully, my son has not yet shown any signs of being a biter – it’s almost hard to blame him for the biting he has done, seeing as it only happens when we stick a bubble-gum flavored finger in his mouth.
No, the violence I’m talking about is the hand-to-hand kind. Well, the hand-to-face kind, as in my son’s hand and another kid’s face.