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This blog is not just another "daddy blog." Sure I write about my son, but these pages are a record of my life. I don't just highlight the fun milestones like first steps, I also chronicle the "other stuff." The fights, the torment and the doubt that inevitably come with being a husband and father. It's not always puppy dogs and rainbows, but it is very real. And often there is beauty in the sadness, redemption in the struggle. Thank you for checking me out, giving me a try and sticking around for the journey. If you'd like to contact me you can email aaron_gouveia (at) yahoo (dot) com. |
I don’t want to be That Sports Parent. I really don’t. But I think it might be inevitable. Even if I’m not expressing it, I’ll be thinking it. I already have visions of Will as the star catcher hitting the game-winning homer to take the state title. Yes, I absolutely intend to live out my dreams of unfulfilled athletic glory through my son. And yes, I’m also aware of how pathetic and unfair that is. [...] I was really stressing about working so much and worried I wasn’t being a good dad. My wife just stood there with a smirk on her face, wearing the all-too-familiar look that tells me she knows something I don’t. As you can imagine, it’s a look I’m well accustomed to at this point. When I asked her what her deal was, she hit me with something completely unexpected. “He’s playing you,” she said. [...] After Will’s bath and his scamper into the bedroom to put on dinosaur pajamas, MJ and I were in the other room while he got dressed. And that’s when we heard it—a blood-curdling scream that sent us both sprinting into his room. What we saw would’ve ordinarily made us laugh if we weren’t already so scared. Will was crying and red-faced, hunched over in pain. His arms were inside his pajama sleeves as were his feet. But the front was still open and both of Will’s hands were cupping his twig and berries as he wailed. MJ was confused at first and kept asking him what was wrong. But I knew. Boy did I. [...] Not to mention we’re the new parents at the preschool and now we’re gonna be branded as the parents of the biter. I don’t care how thick you think your skin is, it’s really easy to crumble when it suddenly feels as though you’re the worst parents in the world when everyone finds out you’re raising a cannibal in training. [...] |
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