Yesterday, I was having a parental breakdown. I was doing my best to not completely lose my #!@!. I just wanted the sound of my son’s voice out of my head! I was suffering from a total loss of patience, and on the verge of being a complete A-hole to my child.
I don’t know exactly why I lost my patience, but I was hanging onto friendliness by my fingernails.
This is my confession….
My son Will is 7 years old. I would throw myself in front of a train for him without a moment’s hesitation. He is everything wonderful and good in the world, and completely innocent in this story. But yesterday, I was utterly annoyed by his every utterance.
Recently, he hit a new phase in his development. I call it, “Never stop talking, ever, ever, Say everything I think, I talk therefore I am, When it doubt, say it, The best thing about life is talking, Silence is Death, Dad who do you think would win?”
For the past 4 days, it’s been like being locked in a room with Robin Williams – while he’s on LSD! I’m hanging onto my sanity by a thread.
I usually love the sound of my son’s voice. I am usually present to his every question and conversation. I usually am calm, loving and nice.
But I’ve been with my son, non-stop, morning to night for 96 hours. My wife’s away in Cancun at a resort drinking Mai Tai’s… whatever… And my son’s school hasn’t been in session since Wednesday… So say this with me slowly, “N-o-n s-t-o-p, R-e-l-e-n-t-l-e-s-s, H-e-l-p-M-e-!”
Imagine being locked in a room with Robin Williams while he’s on LSD… Really, let that soak in.
And then please, immediately come over to my house, and club me unconscious.
These are exact quotes from my son yesterday in a single hour.
“Dad, Dad, what would you do if a friddle frog came into our front room?”
(followed by chanting “friddle frog frog frog frog frog frog frog frog” for I believe to be a year and a half.)… [I have zero idea what a friddle frog is and nor do I care].
Followed by…
“Dad, Dad, look. Dad, look! DAD LOOK! Look at me throw the ball. Look at me touching the cat. Dad, look at the cat looking at the ball I threw!”
Then without pause or a breath…
“Dad, Dad, do you know what Swinter is? It’s a combination between summer and winter!”
Followed by YET ANOTHER ROUND of his new game called, “Dad, Dad, Who do you think would win?”
(The rules are simple. Ask Dad who he thinks would win. Propose two options. Tell Dad if Dad’s answer was right or wrong! The following is but a miniscule sampling of the surveys I have undergone whilst locked in these rooms with my boy over the past 4 days…)
“Dad, Dad who do you think would win, Superman or Batman?”
… Batman. “Right.”
“Dad, Dad who do you think would win, Bernie or the Pope?”
… Win what?! “Bernie would win!”
“Dad, who do you think would win, A fork or a spoon?”
… I don’t know, the fork? – “Right!”
“Dad, who do you think would win, A ball or a football?” …
Huh? – “The football!”
“Dad, DAD who do you think would win, the Sun or The Hulk?” ….
The Sun?? – “Wrong!”
“Dad, DAD DAD who do you think would win, my foot or my face?”
… I don’t understand. – “My face!”
I know YOU read these remarks and your heart is warmed. You think they are cute, I get it. But you have the luxury of READING them, in your own voice – once – and then moving on, perhaps to a far-away, silent corner of your mind where no other voice or sound can reach. Me… No such mercy. I was being bombarded with this game all morning, all afternoon, all evening. It was like Chinese water torture.
Secondly, you have the luxury of a full tank of patience as you read them. Patience, that battle-hardened quality every, I mean EVERY parent, needs to develop in order to make it through each day without breaking a LOT of things. Patience, of which every parent quickly learns is a lot like a tank of gas – it is an exhaustible resource. And many days, it will run out! And when it does, you’re screwed!
Patience officially turned to fumes in my being on Saturday at around 11:30 a.m, somewhere between the questions, “Dad, Dad, who do you think would win, Minions with their Fart Machine or Dr. Suess?” and “Dad, what would you do if a piece of bread came to life with arms and hands and started running around the house?”
I told you, Robin Williams on LSD. I wanted to shoot myself.
This must be why someone invented the Serenity Prayer.
Now, lest you think I’m a parenting wimp, WRONG. I’m a battle tested veteran. I’ve been a stay-at-home father for five years now. I live on the front lines Monday thru Sunday! Battle-hardened stay-at-home mom’s are my comrades. So I’m hard, but somedays, I just want a way out.
Maybe it got worse because lately my son is prone to continually circling me. Tightly. Orbiting my body so close that I have to say, “Will, h-o-n-e-y, please back up, because you’re stepping on my toes.”… Yes, 7 year old boys show their love by proximity and word count. I get it…. But I’m a quiet, writer type and I feel like a monk at a Metallica concert.
At about 5 p.m., my son and I were driving to the fish store, and he was just talking and talking and talking and talking and talking, about past, present, future and Dr. Duffenshmarz, and dinosaurs, and Home Alone, and Legos, and our pets, and Bernie, and fish, and possible fish names, and The Odd Squad, and bagels, and God knows what else because I was just trying to hold my shit together and keep faking interest with “Mmm”, “Interesting,” “Yes,” “I don’t know” – when suddenly I look up and see a Wine and Liquor Store, something I never go in, a dirty place I think of for alcoholics – but I SO WANTED TO GO IN.
I would have, anything to dull the sound, but for a small voice inside me, still fighting to be heard over the clamor that whispered, “No. NO! Way over the line! Suck it up Patrick. Drinking, is NOT an option – Till he’s in bed.”
I come home from the fish store and find throw up on the kitchen floor – green leafy hurl – because our asshole cats chewed up the plant my son was growing for a school project. I have to clean the litter box and make dinner, unpack the groceries, unload and load the dishwasher, help name the new fish, remind my son to not circle me so closely, play 19 more rounds of “Dad Dad Who Would Win?” and 3 rounds of Hide and Seek which ends because I step in a small lake of dog pee. Make no mistake, I want to return all the pets to their rightful adoption shelters, but there’s no time, because I have to get my son ready for bed, and read him a book, and answer the question, “Dad, do you think we should name the new fish, Rainbow or Rainbow Road?” for which my internal answer is “I don’t give a shit,” but my external answer is, “I don’t know son, what do you think?”, for which his external reply is, “Dad who do you think would win, Rainbow fish or a Shark?”
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, somebody, please, quickly put an I.V. of wine into my arm!
My nervous system is flashing red. I would kill for a happy hour. I have failed to be a really loving, fun, good natured dad today. I have faked kindness since morning. My only victory is not being a complete a-hole to an innocent 7 year old, very sweet, boy who completely lacks all ability to read another person’s social cues.
I tuck my son into his Star War’s sheets, give him a kiss while secretly, internally counting down the seconds till I can be alone in silence with a drink in each hand. But he’s not done talking…
“Dad,”
“What Will?”
“I love you.”
And there it is. The reason I wouldn’t trade the job of Dad for anything in the world. But Dear God, please turn this water into wine.
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