The Balancing Act

Being a parent, even one as uber manly and cool as I, is definitely not without it's challenges.  I know that every parent out there faces the same challenges that I do, or at least similar ones.  You know what I'm talking about - what's the right age for the first sip of Wild Turkey, how do you know when he's ready to light a fire himself, what's the right combination of timing, coaching and self-discovery so she can fully appreciate the total awesomeness of not only smoking a brisket, but then slicing it with perfection... You know, the typical challenges.  Oh, well, yeah, then there's the challenge of right from wrong, manners, courtesy, tying shoes, sound financial habits, and being happy, productive and well-adjusted.  One of the challenges I'm dealing with right now is around the outdoors and shooting sports.

I know, I know.  How could I possibly be facing any challenges with that, especially since I'm the Uber Manly Provider?  Well, as difficult as it is for me to admit, it's true.  While my formative years were fairly well rounded  involving reading, sports, Scouting, fishing, and occasional summers at the family farm or Christmas tree farm, there was an unfortunate hole around hunting and shooting in my education.  While I'm very interested in both now and spend quite a bit of time in the outdoors (aka hunting), I'm challenged on how to balance Buddy's growing interest with the practical side of things (No Buddy, don't pretend to shoot dogs).

So, what do I do?

I take Buddy out whenever he's interested in going with me.  On those trips, we identify animal tracks and um, other sign, trees, talk about what we see, fish, make casts of tracks, and collect feathers and other treasures.  I teach him safety and talk about what I do when I'm out without him.  The Little Woman and I make sure he knows what's okay when he's playing and what's not okay.  (For some reason though, she doesn't seem to think that he's old enough for his own Red Ryder 200-shot carbine action range model air rifle.)  It helps that I have family and several friends who've been hunting and shooting for a long time, and that I'm a hunter safety instructor.  I know that I will teach him the best that I can and that he will at least know how to be safe if he chooses to walk this path with me.

For now though, I must attend to another challenge we've been working on together and check to see if he's rebuilt that carburetor yet.  

Time to Worry Yet?

So there I am, walking in the door having just gotten home from a 9 hour day at the office and a 1 hour commute.  The usual excitement happens - Buddy runs up and says, "Hi Daddy.  I wuv you."  Furry Beast (black lab) runs up with her tail wagging and practically knocking me over in her excitement to see me.  And the Little Woman greets me adoringly with, "Hi Honey.  How was your day?  You look tired.  Let me take your coat and get you a drink."  I smile and breathe a sigh of relief, glad to be home with my loving family.  Basking in this idyllic glow, I hear my beautiful bride say, "You'll never guess who Buddy said he's going to marry."  I smile, and say, "You, right?"  She responds with, "No, I've been replaced.  He's going to marry Dragon.  He loves her."

Scccrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeccccccchhhhhhhhhhhh


I open my eyes and reality sets in - toys on the floor, shoes everywhere, Buddy crawling into his castle, Furry Beast licking herself, my coat on the floor, and no drink in sight.  I look at the Little Woman and say, "What?"

Apparently, he is Sir Knight and Furry Beast is Dragon.  He loves her and wants to marry her. I think to myself, why can't he just want to marry his mother like normal 4 year-olds, or even the older woman two doors down (she's 6)?  It turns out that he watched Shrek 4 the other day with friends, and Donkey apparently married Dragon (haven't seen it yet) because Donkey loves Dragon.  Well, since Buddy loves Furry Beast, . . . there's a correlation there somewhere.  Trust me, I know this is all part of being a 4-year old and having an active imagination.  Buuuuuuutttttt . . .

Then there's the whole wearing Mommy's heels and necklaces.  And then the other day, he apparently said he wanted his toenails painted pink.  Now, he's had his toenails painted gun metal gray, cold iron blue, OD green and other appropriate colors before, but PINK?  I mean really now.  I've gotta draw the line somewhere.  I find myself thinking, "Maybe I should take him on a tour of a steel mill, take him hunting, or take him to a frat party or car show. Definitely time to get him an official Red Ryder 200-shot carbine action range model air rifle."

All of this flashed through my lightning quick mind (even without the lubrication of a pre-dinner drink) in the blink of an eye.  I looked over at my Little Buddy and saw him running at me with his arms wide open.  I caught him just as he leapt into my lap and said, "Daddy, I want to hunt wif you."  I thought, "Eh, who cares if he wants to marry Dragon, wears necklaces, and wants his toenails painted.  As long as someone else pays for the rehearsal dinner, and he learns to make sure his nails don't clash with camo in the woods, it doesn't really matter."

Now, if the Little Woman would just bring me that drink.