Today is my son’s birthday.
This day doubles as the one time a year I allow myself to get a little bit cheesy on my blog, or, if you read my post last year, a lot cheesy. When you write stuff like this, the occasional corrective is a good thing. But don’t get used to it! I do it as a gift to my son, reassurance to the readers out there who think I hate him, and an eff you to my friend Tim who thinks I’m betraying the Dad and Buried mission statement.
Don’t worry Tim, I’ll get back to pretending to hate my kid tomorrow. Especially if the Dolphins lose while I’m at the park cutting his cake.
Today, we celebrate!
Weeks ago, I wrote a facetious post about why I hate my son. Despite the title, it shouldn’t have taken long for most readers to realize the post wasn’t about hating my son at all, but was actually about how he’s changed my life and why that’s okay.
But since there are so many literal-minded people out there who got upset at the suggestion, facetious or not, that I hate my son, and also dislike the fact that I put such language out there for him to one day discover, I thought – even at the risk of over-boarding on cheese – I should lay it out as sincerely as possible.
I mean, it is his birthday after all!
I may be a lot of things. I may be 34. I may be a Dolphins fan. I may be the funniest person my wife has ever met.
But I am not a pretender.
So I’m not gonna sit here and pretend the Fins will make the playoffs. I’m not gonna try to convince you I’m hilarious. I’m not gonna deny (anymore) that I’m actually 36. And I’m not gonna pretend I’ve accomplished all the goals I set out for myself.
And I’m not gonna pretend that matters much to me these days either.