Its Uggs or the Chefs. A Raider Fan's View of a Not So Super Sunday

 

Sometimes these posts get a little light and sometimes I aim to make people smile.  This is not one of those posts.  You see, last Sunday both the Kansas City Chiefs and Tom Brady were able to make it to next week’s Super Bowl. 

Sure, to some of you this is a fairly innocuous situation.  Those who aren’t particularly bothered by this aren’t fans of the Las Vegas Raiders. 

You see, as a Raiders fan, there is no good option for the Super Bowl.  First of all, there are the hated Chefs making their second consecutive appearance in the big game.  In the Raiders division, there are probably no bigger rivals.  Unfortunately, for the last, two decades-ish, The Raiders have been less than equal competition.  Last season, watching the Chefs raise the Lombardi trophy, was akin to watching your kid sitting the bench while the opponent hits a game winning home run.  It was stomach turning. 

Kansas City not only broke a decades long drought of Super Bowl squalor, they also look primed to do the same thing over and over again.  They have the best quarterback in the league, perhaps the best tight end and a ton of playmakers on offense.  It’s terrible.

Their opponent is the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  I am able to ignore the fact that the last time the Raiders were in the Super Bowl it was against them and I can dismiss the throttling the Raiders took. 

The bigger issue is the quarterback of the Bucs.  In the off season the Buccaneers added Michigan alum and all-around dung heap Tom Brady.  Speaking on a personal level, years ago Tom Brady replaced The New York Yankees and intestinal flu as things that turn my gut.   

You see, January 19^th, 2002 Tom Brady was the quarterback of the New England Patriots.  He was nothing remarkable at the time.  The legend of Tom Brady should have started a season later as the Raiders seemed to have knocked Tommy Uggs out of the playoffs.  Late in that game at Foxboro Field Charles Woodson stripped Brady of the ball assuring the Raiders of a win.  But as the celebrating started, something awful happened.  Something so terrible that it was clear that the football gods had conspired against the Silver and Black.  The officials got together searching for a way to take the game from the Raiders.  They uncovered a little-known statute called the “Tuck Rule”.  The rule basically states that any time the Raiders come close to any modicum of success the officials are required to yell “Tuck You, Raiders” then take a win away from them. Tom Brady went on to win the Super Bowl, the Raiders went on to a few decades of obscurity.

Of note, I had tickets to that Super Bowl assuming the Raiders went.

The lesson here girls?  Probably not a great one.  Let’s try, if you aren’t cheatin’ you aren’t tryin’?  Nah, probably a bad lesson.  How about this.  “Sometimes you’re going to lose no matter what you do.”  I can live with that one.  Be it on the soccer field or on your bike or in the classroom, despite your best efforts things are bound to go against you sometimes.  You may fall on your bike or play a team you just can’t beat.  You will be in a no-win situation here and there.  I guess that’ll have to be the lesson.

Yeah, the Chiefs will win, or Tom Brady will win, and the world will keep on spinning, I guess. In the meantime, we can hope that there is a problem with the stadium’s plumbing and the game has to be cancelled.  A boy can dream.

Judging By the Scale, I Ate A Wildebeest In 2020

 Every year I post my New Year’s resolutions to my blog site.  I am one of the few people I know that sees January one as a means of hitting a hard reset on myself and generally do pretty well about accomplishing the goals I set for the new year. 

Most years are not 2020.

I have had a lot of successes over the years.  I’ve replotted my career, run marathons and one year I lost 20% of my body weight. 

But none of those years were 2020.

Last year’s resolutions were easy enough to remember.  I had a race I was going to run, I had weight I wanted to lose, I had career goals I wanted to hit and I had a book that I had done the research for that I wanted to write.  I trained for the race for six months, but along came COVID.  Weight? COVID. Career? COVID.  Book?  Oh, I’d love to blame COVID for that one. 

I should have known if I was going to pull a hamstring, it was going to be playing adult kickball in 2020.  I should have known if I were going to train for an out-of-state race in 2020 that it would get cancelled while I was packing for it.  Didn’t get to miss a single training run.  Go to hell, 2020.

So, generally speaking, I spend the days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve going over my results and plotting next year.  Lose weight?  I was ready to run a tough race in March, now I sweat when I use the steps.  Fail.  Run a race?  I can’t run to the mailbox.  Fail.  The book?  Ugh. 

It felt like the disappointment I was feeling was one last kick to the undercarriage from 2020. 

Frustration led me to skip writing my New Year’s post. Then this week I had an unfortunate epiphany.  Why would I only post my year end post when it’s positive.  I began to write the post and it felt okay.  A couple of nights ago I went to bed with finishing it and posting in the morning butt lo an behold, I woke up to a computer that decided that I shouldn’t post it.  My writing was no where to be found.  I see what you’re doing 2020.  Nicely played. 

It wasn’t until last night that I decided that I should post something.  I guess, here it is.  My resolutions are ~drum roll~ the same as last year (insert disappointing wa-wah sound).  Twenty pounds, a ton of miles and a book that needs written. 

Here’s the thing, girlies.  You can look at failure a few different ways.  It can beat you into submission or you can stand up against it and try to rectify.  Not writing a post this year, at least to me, was akin to not setting resolutions.  Seemed like a great idea, too!  But that wouldn’t make good messaging to you little pumpkins, so I suppose I should stick with the alternative. 

Another thing, little ladies, is about giving yourself a break.  2020 was a weird year.  It kept offering things that were difficult to get around.  I failed on a bunch of things.  You can beat yourself up about it or forgive yourself.  The trick is, to forgive yourself but allow a little space for constructive criticism.  Yeah, I put on some weight.  A medium sized dog’s worth.  But I can drop it, too.  I didn’t run as much as I would have liked, but I can sign up for a race and get trotting. 

I also didn’t write as much as I should have, and that I have to come to grips with.  That one falls square on me and I have to fix it. 

One final note, I’ve loved spending the year with you guys and mommy.  It’s made 2020 a whole lot more bearable.  That being said, I want to expand on it and start to try to harden some bonds with some more extended family.  Looking at you, Philadelphia.  Like so many other things, you can beat yourself up or fix it.  I’ll take fix it, at least 70% of the time!

Uh Oh, Someone Left Some Ceiling On The Floor

 There are times where this blog is tough to write, where ideas don’t pour out or the subject matter is a little difficult.

Today is not one of those days.

Yesterday morning I had a planned run with my wife and some friends.  My middle decided to tag along and we headed off to the Colorado/ Wyoming border for some windy, high altitude running.  I was reluctant.  I hadn’t been training due to a hamstring injury I endured playing, wait for it, kickball!  My God I’m getting old. 

Needless to say, running at eight thousand feet, undertrained and less than motivated was not a recipe for success.  I was nervously drinking coffee and driving north.  Macy had fallen asleep in the back seat and Adrienne sat quiet, nervous as she hasn’t been trail running either.  The car was unusually quiet.  I was considering the fact that I hadn’t taken my allergy medication and that a few ibuprofens may have made my back feel a little better for the run.  Did I mention that I am getting old?

I reached down for my coffee and noticed Adrienne is a weird position.  Her phone was in her lap and she was looking at the roof, crying. I’m an idiot for not immediately knowing what had happened.

“It’s over.” Adrienne said, “They called Pennsylvania.”

I knew instantly what she was saying.  This wasn’t a “trash the current administration” thing.  It wasn’t a “Go Biden” thing.  Those tears were tears of joy because a ceiling has been broken.  A glass one that she thought was going to get broken four years ago.

She woke up Macy and told her what had happened.  Kamala Harris had won the Vice Presidency.  The first woman to hold the spot.  A woman of color.  A black woman.  An Asian woman.  It shines a light for many people across this nation.  In my car, for my wife and daughter, it was the ‘woman’ part that really struck home. 

Adrienne called my other two daughters, who didn’t get the news firsthand as they did not want to get out of bed to run(decisions have consequences).  She was beaming.  The looming run had all but been forgotten.   We parked and met our friends, who were having a similar morning.  We talked gleefully in a way that I don’t often do before a run like that.  My wife made a friend at the bathroom of a woman who was also grinning from ear to ear. 

I kept that joy in my heart for the first quarter of a mile until I saw exactly what kind of run I had gotten myself into.  Side note: Jon, you are a bad friend and I should not let myself get talked into your ideas.  See you next weekend.

 

The lesson here girls?  This is a big one.  You can do anything you want in life.  The last election left us all licking our wounds a little.  I remember you three questioning why our country would elect someone who seemed “mean” and wouldn’t vote for a woman.  I remember trying to explain that wasn’t really what happened, not totally believing it myself.  I remember my sister saying that our country would never elect a woman for national office. 

Those conversations are over.  An overdue, two hundred-year-old wrong has been righted a bit.  A woman is in the White House, at least in the West Wing.  So, to those who begrudge the election, I get it, we all want our team to win, but for a moment, just a moment, think of the women around you.  Think of the people of color.  Let them have their moment in the sun. 

So, to my wife and daughters, to my mom and my mother in law, to Lisa and Aunt Rosemary.  Today is a good day.  There are plenty of struggles in this country, to be sure, and plenty of work to do.  For one weekend, we should set that aside and celebrate the election and what it means to so many marginalized people. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie on the couch and ice my legs.  I’m not getting any younger.

 

A Calm Within The Storm (with and assist from beer and football)

 Election Day was a few days ago.  There still isn’t a result.  Like so many Americans, my family has been locked to their televisions and Twitter accounts like there was a pandemic keeping us home.

No matter what side of the political spectrum you fall on, people feel like the outcome of this election will shape this country for decades to come.  Perhaps those people are right.  In a moment of introspection yesterday morning, I had a bit of an epiphany, that and a ringing hangover, but let’s keep focused on the epiphany. 

Here it is.  I can’t change anything. 

That’s it. 

No amount of nerves and Twitter scrolling will change whatever outcome is headed our way.  Full stop.

That’s not to say that I don’t care who wins.  I absolutely do.  I am someone who believes that the decision made this week could affect my kids twenty years from now.  I’m sick of the craziness of the last four years.  But none of that will affect the outcome. 

I work from home and usually have the news on in the background, which is the worst brand of ambient noise, but yesterday I listened to music all day.  It was delightful. My wife and I went out for a beer with a lovely couple last night.  We sat for a couple of hours talking about running, and football, and kids, and work.  What we didn’t talk about was the election.

There are bigger things at play to be sure, but I now realize that it doesn’t have to overtake my life.  Its freeing.  Today I listened to music from all over the world while I worked.  I never tuned into the election.  Tonight, I intend to watch football and hang out with my kids with full knowledge that the country is on fire in more ways than one. 

I’m hoping that I wake up in the morning and its, at least for the most part, over.  I’m hoping we as a country learn to agree to disagree better.  I’m hoping that there is a return to dialogue and decorum. I’m praying for normalcy.  Finally, I am hoping that my wife gets to tell my girls that a woman is the Vice President of the United States. 

The lesson here girls?  Pretty simple, actually.  Its important to stand up for what you believe in.  Its important to fight the good fight.  Its also important to know what you can and cannot control.  I don’t think it’s a secret that I am not a supporter of the current administration.  Girls, you know exactly how I feel about it.  But sitting around wringing my hands and cursing at the television won’t change anything.  The fact is that there is a bigger picture to me.  Since you girls have been walking the earth there have been three women on major presidential tickets.  I’d just as soon as not have them go 0 for 3 in those elections. 

So, girls, America is ready to have a woman run it.  If not now, soon.  And if not soon, then maybe one of you will have to do it.  Now, excuse me, I need to generate another stinging hangover so I can keep this chipper outlook.

So, It Just Comes in Threes, Right?

Macy had a week.  She had an absolutely craptastic, shit-fest of a week.  It was one of those weeks that through ten-year-old eyes feels like being knocked down and then kicked and kicked. 

Macy found out that one of her best friends was moving out of state.  It was really weighing on her.  She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but truth be told, this friend encapsulated what Macy thinks of as ‘cool’.   

I remember kids like her when I was young.  A kid that always knew what was cool before the rest of us.  They were the ones that pushed boundaries.  It was like they had a special report on ‘hip’ that I was never privy to. 

Macy’s friend shaved the side of her head and always had a different hue hinted in her blonde locks.  She is a paddleboarder, a skateboarder and was among the first in her grade to have a cell phone.  Macy couldn’t help but look up to her and I think got a little star-struck when her admiration was returned.  They were a good pair.  I get why Macy was upset.

That week, Macy also had soccer tryouts.  It wasn’t merely a formality, but it was close.  Macy’s team was very good, and I could hardly see the league disbanding them.  The Rapids had informed us that they were trying to limit tryouts due to Covid, but we were later informed that, in fact, all three of our girls needed to tryout for their individual teams.  Avery, my eldest had the first tryout.  She struggled.  In an unfortunate turn of events, due to scheduling, all three girls had to sit and wait for the others to complete their tryouts. Avery was in near tears when her tryout was over.  I didn’t think it went as bad as she did, but I didn’t love her odds either. 

Then it was Darby’s turn.  More often than not, my youngest didn’t seem to realize that soccer is a competition.  I assumed that she would A) not make a competitive team or B) care.  She had a fair tryout and then immediately left the field to play with her puppy without a thought of making a team.

Macy went last.  Her tryout was about an hour.  In the spirit of transparency, she was slow to start.  After the first five or ten minutes, old Macy came out and I was very comfortable with her performance.  I worried about Avery and Darby, but Macy?  Not so much.

Best laid plans of mice and men.

Avery would find out that night that she had, in fact, made the team she wanted to make as had a few of her close friends.  She was overjoyed and proud of herself.  We were told that it may be up to 48 hours before we heard results, so we were thrilled to get early notification.

Darby and Macy would have to wait….and wait….and wait.  They waited long enough that the other local organization’s tryouts came and went.  No coincidence, me thinks.  The evening after the other organization’s tryouts we got a phone call.  Darby had made her team.  Macy had not. 

We were floored.  Someone somewhere had made a mistake.  Macy had long thought that her coach had a problem with her.  I dreaded to think that the ten-year-old may have been right.  The exponential problem was that one of her best friends was moving and many of her other friends were on the team she was just cut from. 

The next day was a morose one around our house.  Macy was trying to get a hold of her friend before she moved but for a few days she was sent straight to voicemail.  My suspicion is that they already moved.  We tried to keep her spirits up, but she decided to take a nap. 

She was only upstairs for a couple of minutes before she came down, her hands cupped holding something.  Her tears were fresh. 

What she held was her hamster.  I don’t know why, but the little guy had passed away sometime that morning.  Ham Solo was a good hamster, short of the fact that he picked the worst week possible to shed his mortal coil.

The look that was on Macy’s face was one I’ve never seen in one of my kids.  It was resignation.  It was helplessness.  She was upset to find out that her friend was moving.  She was crushed to find out that she hadn’t made her soccer team.  The hamster left her defeated.  She asked if we could go for a car ride. 

We took a ride around a mountain lake a few miles from our house.  She said that she was feeling something she hadn’t felt before.  That she felt like she was waiting for the next thing to happen.  Like something was stepping on her not letting her catch her breath.

I understood. For a ten-year-old, that’s a lot to deal with. 

There is a lesson here, girlies.  Yeah, it was a bad week.  It was.  By hook or by crook the world conspired against Macy.  She had no control over her friend moving or her hamster dying, and truth be told, I don’t think she had a ton of control over soccer either.  It’s how you deal with it, and Macy dealt with it great. 

My wife was able to talk to someone at the Arsenal soccer office and got her a one-on-one tryout.  She killed it. The coach was floored by her performance.  He said that he couldn’t believe that the Rapids would have let her go.  She wound up making a team a level up than the one she was discarded from.  She let us know that she would use this season to get better.  She would make her old team next time around.  She may, she may not, but I love her pulling herself up and saying so.

We also got her a new hamster as well.  Derp Vader isn’t quite the pet that Ham Solo was but he’s working on it. 

My Dad wasn't a Great Golfer, But That's Okay

My dad was a crappy golfer.

I spent round after round with him playing golf.  I took golf vacations with him. He never really got better.

I tried to help him. It was about weight transfer.  It was that he lifted his front foot and was inconsistent on his swing plane.  None of it really stuck.  But he kept plugging along.

 

It was actually during a golf trip in Florida where he told my brother and me about his diagnosis.  He then called my sister and told her as well leaving my brother and me to discuss the ramifications of what we just heard over beers in an open-air sports bar. 

Dad seemed relatively cavalier about it when he told us.  He said that the brand of cancer that he had was very curable and that he would be fine.  He talked to my sister and came back to the table.  He was more upset after talking to her.  A bit of the confidence faded from him.  My sister had that affect on him. 

This isn’t about my dad’s cancer diagnosis.  Its about golf and my father’s inability to hit a golf ball consistently.  Dad took lessons and made some strides, but muscle memory would take over and his bad swing would return.  He was a very strong, healthy guy.  He lifted weights and ran daily.  It wasn’t a physical issue.  Like all of us, bad habits overruled his good ones as it related to his golf game. 

I suppose the questions becomes, “yeah, he wasn’t a great golfer, why write about it on Father’s Day?”

Here you go.  Dad was a bad golfer but kept going because it was a means of meeting his sons where they were.  He took time and absorbed great expense because it gave him a chance to hang out with his kids.  Frankly, those were some of the best times with Dad.  As I’ve detailed before, in my younger years we didn’t always get along.  He was very structured and very business minded.  I tended to be a free thinker and ideological.  But on the golf course all of that faded away.  We were all relaxed and funny.  It was literally my favorite times with him.

I sense it’s why he played fantasy football as well.  Every year he stated how little research he had done and leaned heavily on my brother and me for advice.  That meant phone calls for the entirety of the season.  Phone calls with no politics, no history, no arguments. Just football.

My sister had this same bond with him as it came to running and travel.  He understood her drive to run long distances long before anyone else in the family did.  I would think that I’m not stepping on her toes here.  I remember her saying last year that the thing she missed most about dad is her post race phone calls to him. 

He was a great runner.  He was a crappy golfer.  He did both to meet his kids where they were. 

The lesson here, little ladies?  Grandpa was a lot of things; a great golfer was not one of them, but a proud guy was.  He was a proud guy but was willing to set that aside to golf with his kids.  So, while we may not have seen eye to eye when I was younger, my dad made strides in his later years of bridging any gaps we had.  To my credit, I made my own moves to meet him in the middle.  Obviously, neither of us were completely innocent all of those years ago. 

It took me a long time to figure out the golf part of all of this.  I couldn’t figure out why he was always the one proposing golf.  I think I’ve got it now.  He didn’t need to be good at golf to enjoy the time together. I think he enjoyed his kids most when we all let our guards down and the times we did that best was when we were running, or traveling, or drafting Ryan Leaf in fantasy football or even skulling a 7-iron.

 

So, Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  Hopefully, you’re up there hittin’ them straight, or at least visiting the 19^th hole. 

5'10" Pudgy Guy Just Trying To Help - A Working Title

Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another.   ~ Desmond Tutu

I don’t generally write posts in a back to back fashion but the events of the last week spurred something in me and for the parent, husband, friend and writer in me, I have a few words to say. 

Here’s the thing.  I have consciously raised my children to be more than ‘tolerant’ of other’s differences.  To me, to be tolerant is to accept someone else’s flaws and love them anyway.  For example, my wife is a fan of the Denver Broncos.  Sure, its unbecoming but I tolerate it because I love the rest of her.  I think that saying you are tolerant of someone’s gender, or race, or orientation or anything else that makes them different than yourself is saying that you love them despite being a woman or gay or black.  It shouldn’t be ‘despite’ it should be ‘and’.  I love you AND you’re gay.  I love you AND you’re Jewish.  I love you DESPITE you being a Bronco fan. See?

Up until this week I thought I had done a good job I this regard. On some level I have, but it just isn’t enough.

I can give examples for each of my kids and how they deal with people different than them.  My eldest had an African American friend in grade school (still does, but that’s not the point).  We wanted to invite her to a birthday party, but Avery didn’t know her last name.  We had her describe her.  “Curly hair, tall, brown eyes, really nice”.  Tons of descriptors, just not the color of her skin.  In talking to her about it, we found that she didn’t use that as a descriptor because she simply didn’t notice.  She knew she was black, she just didn’t think of it as something different.  The girls go to school with kids from every walk of life.  When I hear their names I generally can guess about where their families stem from.  The kids just don’t care. Frankly, the only time we hear any of the kids talking about someone’s nationality in any capacity is the “Immigrant Program” where the kids dress up in their heritage's traditional garb.  Side note, all three of my kids chose their mother’s German side completely ignoring my way more fun Irish side. 

In a previous post I talked about my youngest realizing that my next-door neighbors were a lesbian couple.  Her question about it was not about their relationship or the fact that they were both girls. It was whether or not their dogs are allowed to get married.  From the mouths of babes. 

My kids are fine.  They simply judge people for how they make them feel.

Here’s the rub.  It’s not okay just to fail to notice our differences anymore.  I recently read a book featuring Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama.  I was moved by the simplicity of their thoughts.  Tutu said,

“To be neutral in a situation of injustice is to have chosen sides already. It is to support the status quo.”

And that’s it.  Too much sitting on the sidelines for most of us.  Too much for me, anyway.  I’ve watched my mother and my wife and my sister protest.  I’ve seen my aunt write and call her senator.  My sister actively campaigned for several candidates she supported.  None of that may seem like a lot, but they’ve done something.  They were moved enough for change to go out and try to extract it themselves.  I need to show my daughters that I can do more as well. 

I haven’t fleshed it out yet.  Truth be told, the images of protesters being tear gassed in D.C. are still all jumbly in my stomach.  If the last week has made me feel naïve about the world, the situation in our nation's capital made me angry. I'm open to suggestions.

I’m sure I will return to this subject over and over in my mind.  I need to talk to my kids about this week, so that by itself will keep it fresh in my mind for the time being.  Normally, I end these things with a lesson for the girlies.  Today I’ll close with another quote, this time from the Dalai Lama,

"The challenge today is to convince people of the value of truth, honesty, compassion and a concern for others."

I'll leave it at this.  If you need it, my phone, my house, my shoulder are all safe places.  If you're in need of a friend, you've got one.  As a 5'10" slightly pudgy, slightly balding white guy I cannot speak to your experience, but I can offer you a beer or a joke or an ear.

A Bump in the Night

It's Five o'clock in the morning.  I'm not someone that is fanatical about sleep but I don't love being up this early on a Saturday when it isn't called for either.  I was awakened by the sound of a sliding glass door opening.  I grabbed my dog, Otto, and investigated.  We searched in the obvious places, behind doors, in closets, then the less obvious ones, like showers and in the garage and then ridiculous ones, like the freezer and kitchen cabinets.  We found nothing.  The fact that I had to wake Otto up to investigate should have been a dead giveaway, but having kids has given my already overactive imagination a steroid injection.  Thanks kids.  I'll file that panic button that kids give you as "another thing your parents don't tell you about as they are begging you to have grandkids for them".  

Truth be told, if there had been a break-in it wouldn't be the first we've had here.  Back when we were the parents of  less children I was awoken by my wife whispering there was someone in the house.  Come to find out, there was two intruders in our house that night.  I was able to chase them off but not before they stole a car, some video games and my wedding ring among other things.  Something else was stolen though, something I was unaware until this morning that I even had in the first place, my peace of mind.

Without realizing it, most people have had their "fight or flight" tested over and over and mentally have a checklist of where they perform well.  For example, I know if my wife and I come up on a car accident, the victim would much rather have my wife be the first on the scene and have me go for coffee.  I don't know why, but my wife thrives in that arena, me, not so much.  I happen to know, however, there are areas where I keep a clearer head than she does.  If we have a house fire, it turns out that my wife doesn't keep nearly as level a head as she does at car accidents.  I don't know why, but the apple fell pretty far from the firefighter tree she sprouted from.  

In that, I know that there was a time when I didn't panic when someone broke into our house.  I dealt with it, talked to the police for a while and went back to sleep.  Which brings me to this morning.  Why am I sitting here writing a blog post and not back in bed?  Is it because by sense of calm was broken by the people who broke into my home a few years ago?  Is it because the stakes went up as I had more kids?  Is it because I have gotten old and need less sleep?  I think the answers are: 'yes', 'yes' and 'maybe a little'.  

Without knowing it, my children have given me many a sleepless night.  Without kids, the break in wouldn't have scared me.  Neither would the house fire, or traffic, or walking through a mall, or nail polish, or the ingredients of chicken nuggets.  What would never have bothered me before now has me writing  blog posts at 5:00 in the morning.   

The point of the story is twofold.  To my mom, I'm sorry for all of the times I did stupid shit.  There are plenty of those times, the ones you knew about and the lions share that you didn't.  I had no idea the numbers of hours of sleep it must have cost you.  I guess that explains why you didn't let me know about those sleepless nights when I had kids.  Touché, I'll consider us even.  To my daughters; Daddy panics now.  He never did before you were born.  The balding, the grey hair, it's all on you guys.  But here's the thing, I wouldn't trade a grey hair on my head to have it any different.  That being said, just know daddy panics now.  So when you are considering sneaking out, daddy panics.  When riding your bike, daddy panics.  When you're climbing trees or playing with scissors or staying at a friend's house, daddy panics.  As you and I get older I can't see it getting any better so file daddy's panic in the back of your head for decision making purposes.  So when you think to yourself, "should I get that tattoo?" or "I think I can get to the store and back before daddy notices I'm even gone" or "I bet I can (fill in the blank)" remember your old man, and his receding hair line, and have mercy on the poor guy.