I am Dad. The purveyor of piggybacks, the high septon of shoulder rides and the sultan of all things sports-related. I am a giver of bear hugs and my stubble makes you playfully squirm away from my kisses. I am the fetcher of your morning milk, the go-to guy for backyard baseball and your secret high-five partner when we both see hot chicks on TV (and mom isn’t looking). I’m a lot of things, as a dad (and all parents) should be. But above all, I consider myself Protector of the Realm (can you tell I’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones) and I consider it my sworn oath to guard you against any and all danger and/or harm. But as we celebrated your 4th name day (OK, OK, that’s the last Game of Thrones reference, I promise) this week, it saddened me to know you don’t need my services like you used to. [...]
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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. |
Yesterday was not only a day of mourning because the Patriots lost the Super Bowl to the Giants, it also marked the end of the first month of our FatSlap Weight-loss challenge. As expected, the Viking beat me. Therefore, I got slapped. On video. [...] We brought the bowl into the bathroom and Will told Red Death he loved him and gave the side of the bowl a kiss. And in that instant I saw he was sad, but it was also clear he possessed a grim and reluctant understanding. And suddenly I was a little sad. Not because our fish died, but because my little boy seemed suddenly so grown up. And as he grows up, I become more and more cognizant of the fact that I can’t protect him from sadness, hardships and death. It’s a tough pill for a protective parent to swallow. [...] 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. [...] Going out to eat is hard with kids. Suddenly timing becomes unbelievably essential. You have to place your kid’s order first, but not too soon. You want your kids to get their food about 10 minutes before yours comes. Any later and your kid will be done eating when your food arrives, meaning you won’t get to eat at all. Or if you do, it’ll be at the expense of your spouse as you tag-team caretaking duties between bites. [...] |
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