Category: Kids

Love them, sometimes get frustrated with them. Just don’t forget them.

What Should it Say?

I just finished my homework. Write a letter introducing my son–his dreams, strengths and weaknesses–to his kindergarten teacher.

Chance and I are very similar–we look alike; we’re both smart, stubborn and challenging to love. I often find myself frustrated with him. Or perhaps more accurately, I’m frustrated with my parenting of him. He’s wonderful and challenging and hard. I imagine he feels much the same way about me.

Someone is listening though. Yesterday the sermon was on patience. It’s a message that should resonate no matter what you do or don’t believe in. In a nutshell: Instead of rushing through, hurrying to get a job done, take your time.

So I took my time and wrote about Chance. His love of law enforcement, his dislike of bullies, his incredible knows-no-bounds imagination and the way he thoughtfully rations his hugs and seems to give them out when I need one most.

I understand my son better now. I love him more. I’m ready to be more patient. I’m prepared to forgive myself when I make a mistake. All because of that letter. It made me think. Or rather, I took the time to think about it. Had I rushed through I wouldn’t be in the place I am now.

What would you write about your kids? What would that letter say? Take a half-hour and write it. I bet you’ll be surprised.

In turn, I can’t help but wonder what Chance’s letter about me would say. Surely that I struggle with being patient. That I raise my voice at him sometimes; but also hopefully that I sit down and apologize when I make a mistake. Would he remember sitting on my lap operating the backhoe? Me doing pushups next to him after he’s pushed his sister? Reading his favorite story to him? Working with him to help him read a story to both of us? Building legos together?

I don’t know what Chance would write in his letter introducing me. I do know what I would like Chance’s letter to say, what it should say, if you will. I want a letter that I would proudly put on the fridge. That’s what I’m going to be thinking about the next time I feel the pull of impatience.

The Black Helos Are After Us

A Blackhawk helicopter in the midst of practicing landings and takeoffs near Deep Lake in Colorado’s White River National Forest.

“Dad, Dad, Dad! It’s a helicopter!” My five-year old son is excited by some of the same things I am: food, all things military, mountain biking and beer.

After his customary pretend sip, he usually gives a critique of the beer-du-jour that sounds something like this: “That’s a pretty good beer.” A pause…and wait for it. “And it’s disgusting!” Afraid to be contrarian, he is not.

Seeing a Blackhawk landing about a mile from our campsite on the military crest of the nearest mountain top was neat. Seeing it 10 times a day for 3 days was even better, especially with the helicopter circling right around us. I got a shout out from my son every time we heard it.

Our campsite at Deep Lake. Beautiful but the 30 miles of dirt road to get there is a hard pill to swallow.

Later that afternoon, when four Blackhawks and a Little Bird were RTB’ing and flying in line just above the horizon, my son, daughter and I stood and unabashedly stared. What a sight.

His only complaint: “Dad, it’s not a Backhawk. It’s not black.” With logic like that, it’s tough to argue with him.