I’m sitting here waiting for the Parental Review Board to come and revoke my “Dad License”.  I’ve done something so heinous, so utterly contrary to modern parenting ideals that there is absolutely no way I should be allowed to maintain my current position and title.  Brace yourself.

I DIDN’T SIGN MY KIDS UP FOR A FALL SPORT! 

There I said it out loud.  I’m ready to face my peers and deal with the heavy hand of parental judgement.

I know it seems out of character.  Normally, Connie and I jump at every opportunity to provide our kids a forum to excel, but this Fall- not so much.  This Fall is dedicated to crushing first and fourth grade academics- at least that’s how we’re going to rationalize our desire to not spend every available minute melting/freezing on the sidelines.  It’s not that I dislike watching my kids play sports.  I am a huge fan and a super proud Dad- I’m just worn out from all that goes into it.  Do the math.

Two practices during the work week X two kids- that’s four different events each lasting over an hour.  Now add in the weekend games and suddenly that benign little hobby has pretty much sucked up every available minute for the next 6-8 weeks.  Poof! disappeared faster than a box of Fruit Roll-Ups during a half time snack break.

Oh, and don’t try to make any other plans during the season either.  God help you if you decide to skip a game and your team doesn’t have enough players to compete.  It won’t matter if you’re house caught on fire because an alien space craft crashed into it- the other parents are still going to be pissed off.

Speaking of other parents- just throwing this out there.  The alien space craft crashing into my house scenario is more likely to unfold than your kid getting into the Majors or becoming the next Tiger Woods.  That being said lighten up fellow sports enthusiast- quit yelling at your kid to “dig deep”, he’s six.

Wow I sound really bitter- I must have more latent hostility than I thought.

That’s not the impression I want to leave you  with.   

We will no doubt sign our kids up for some sports activities in the near future.  I think the plan is to put Cayden in gymnastics.  This makes sense considering the last time he attempted any acrobatic feats he cartwheeled his ass straight to the ER.  Mack is slated to play basketball this winter- he’s currently growing out his fro so he can be listed on the team roster as a 7 foot power forward.  So our hiatus from sports is only temporary- we really aren’t all that selfish.

We’re just charging our batteries and giving the guys an opportunity to enjoy all that other stuff that childhood entails.  After all being a kid is more than just a list of activities that come with a sign up fee and a numbered jersey.

I’m not really sure why but Cayden has become very interested in units of measure.  Normally, I would be excited that one of my boys has taken an interest in something of an academic natures.  After all, it’s a useful life skill that most men never learn to master.  If you don’t believe me just ask a man to show you what six inches looks like- most men will woefully underestimate.  Cayden however has taken his desire to understand units of measure to a whole new level- a very painful and annoying level.

For instance on the way to the grocery store yesterday he wanted to know how many feet we had traveled from our drive way to the first stop light.  When I told him it was easier for me to calculate the distance using yards he wanted to know who’s yard I was thinking about because “Grandma’s backyard yard is much longer than ours”?  “If we use Mr. Sonny’s front yard will we get there quicker?”   ”Is Grandma’s yard longer or shorter than a mile?”    “Do they have yards on the moon?”  “If so who mows them?”  “What about inches?”  “How many inches is it from here to the Ohio?” (Ohio is Cayden’s Graceland because that’s where the grandparents reside)

I did my best to answer him.  I think I did a fairly good job at estimating the distance from our home to the stop light- but when I told him it was roughly 3,000 feet he wanted to know how long it would take to travel 3,000 feet by foot.  Great, not only was I fumbling to explain distance but now he wanted to apply time to the equation.  The fairly mundane car ride discussion with  my 7-year old was quickly turning into a quantum physics lesson.

So I formulated an answer by dividing the distance traveled (3,000 feet) by the average rate of march (3-miles per hour for a combat loaded infantryman)- but all that I managed to do was create an opportunity for  more questions. 

Cayden- “What if the infant-man (sic) was riding a skateboard?” 

Dad- “Infantrymen aren’t issued skateboards son.” 

Cayden- “Are they issued bikes?” 

Dad- “No they are not.”

Cayden- “Roller skates?”

Dad- “No”

Cayden- “Jet packs?”

Dad- “No son they are not issued JET PACKS! They are issued boots and they march.” 

Cayden- “But dad it’s September, if it was March you would be having a birthday party.”

Dad- “10, 9, 8, 7…” (counting backwards stops me from imploding)

Now that I’m a civilian my hair has grown to an appropriate length that allows me to pull it out when faced with frustrating circumstances such as these.  By the time the kids are teenagers I’ll probably be bald.

Word of advice- get a computer in your kid’s room so when they start firing off 10,000 questions you can simply do what the rest of society is all ready doing- “Google it”.