I wouldn’t expect you to understand. If you’re not from here, it must seem alien to you.
Around these parts we do things differently, and if you’re not born and raised in this culture, you’re probably never going to get it. We eat different foods, we use different slang, we wear different clothes, and yes, we discipline our children differently.
So I can’t condemn Adrian Peterson for what he did. It’s a part of his culture.
As you’ve probably figured out by now, I primarily use this blog to vent, to crack jokes, to scratch my creativity itch, and as an outlet for sarcasm. But when all is said and done, these posts will ultimately add up to one long journal. It will serve as a collection of memories from my son’s early life and a scrapbook of moments from my life as a parent, many of which might otherwise be forgotten in my son’s sprint through childhood.
I swear, he outgrows something new every day, and sometimes I just want him to slow down. He’s not going to, of course, which reminds me: Detective Munch turns four today!
This is probably the last blog you expect to get sappy – at least I hope it is. But if you’ve been paying attention, you might know that my son’s birthday is just about the only time a year I allow myself to go a little soft.
Starting today, I’m going to give you an opportunity to go soft with me. Wow, that sounds really gross.
Tomorrow is my birthday. (No gifts please, just Facebook likes. Trying to hit 10k!)
I don’t really worry much about my birthdays. Despite my steadily increasing amount of grey hairs and my steadily decreasing amount of all hairs (REVERSE JINX!), I’m not one to panic about my age. At least not yet. (Ask me again in two years, when I’m hitting 40.)
Of course, having a kid forces one to reevaluate the passage of time, and having a kid whose birthday is a mere six days after mine isn’t helping.
It’s almost like he’s chasing me.
Look, I don’t know if vaccines cause autism. Or Guillian-Barre Syndrome. Or seizures. I don’t think they do, but I could be wrong.
Believe me, I like a good conspiracy as much as the next person, and I hate Big Pharma as much as the next person, and I am probably more cynical than most people. And I believe there are plenty of smart, well-educated, equally cynical, equally sane people who have good reason to think vaccinations have harmed their children in a variety of ways. I don’t know if they’re right. I’m not a scientist, I haven’t done the experiments. Maybe they have (they haven’t).
But for me, right and wrong isn’t the point. For me, it comes down to risk.
The other day, during a particularly stressful endurance test at the dinner table, Mom and Buried chided me for getting so frustrated at Detective Munch’s eating (or lack thereof) habits. She told me that I needed to step back and realize that as hard as parenting can be, it’s pretty tough to be a three-year-old too.
My inadequacy as a father notwithstanding – although I would argue that no parent should be judged by their reaction to a toddler’s dinnertime hi-jinks – that’s some bullshit right there.
Things are going to be quiet around here for the next week or so, because Dad and Buried is going on vacation!
I’m actually a little reluctant to call it a vacation, since I’m bringing my toddler along. Yes, I’m taking the week off from work, and from my blog (I’ll still be updating my Facebook page every now and then, so be sure to follow me there!), and I’ll be at the beach. But I don’t know how much relaxation will be happening, as it’s not exactly my son’s middle name.
His middle name is actually “GET THE F*** DOWN FROM THERE YOU’RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF!”