Adventures Of Fatherhood

Adventures Of Fatherhood
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This is almost becoming a monthly feature in this space, but I remain baffled at what Pam and I say sometimes to our kids.

The comments made here are almost always followed by the obligatory head shakes of surprise and frustration over what was specifically said or the fact it had to be said in the first place.

Here’s a rundown of some recent memorable exchanges:


“I know it’s long, but it’s just once a week.”

That was my repeated plea to Beckett to let me watch the Ravens play a couple Sundays ago while Carson napped and he watched Madagascar 3. I was able to watch the first half with little interruptions before he wore me down with the nagging.

If I wasn’t bothered enough by that, I then proceeded to lost five out of seven games of Candyland to my 4-year-old son. He then rattled off five straight wins in his new favorite game, Zingo.

He reminded me I just needed to keep trying and do a better job of concentrating. Hmm, I am thinking he has heard that somewhere before.


“There’s no hitting, it doesn’t matter if he’s wearing a helmet or not.”

That’s what I said after Beckett playfully smacked Carson in the head right before we were about to run in last weekend’s Ravens-Steelers 5K race on the Boardwalk.

“But Daddy, he has his Ravens helmet on, I can’t hurt him … oh man, that’s so unfair,” Beckett said, leading to that comment above.

Later, due to the fact Beckett continued to think his little brother wearing a helmet merited some shots to the head, I put on the helmet and was subsequently wacked in the head by Carson.

Beckett then gave Carson a celebratory hug for that one, saying, “That was a good one, little buddy.”


 “Why am I the only one picking anything up in this house?”

That was Pam’s question the other day. Beckett quickly followed that up with, “because you are the Mommy.”

I cringed, quickly grabbed his hand and walked him away.

“Stop sticking crayons in the air vent.”

If we ever run out of crayons at our house, we know where to look, as Carson for some reason has been stockpiling them in the air vents around the house.

He probably would have gotten away with it had he not begun using his feet to push them through the vents. That’s the scene I came upon the other day when I heard repeated stomping from the other room. There he was with a bucket full of crayons in his hand while using the sole of his shoe to push the crayons down into the vent.


 “If God heard that, he would have a talk with Santa Claus about you.”

Yes, the Santa Claus threats are now in full effect, and I think that’s in bounds as soon as the calendar flips to November.

In this case, I said this after Beckett was purposely interjecting inappropriate words into his nightly prayers.


 “No, his ear is not a pencil sharpener.”

What I said to Beckett after he told me he thought Carson’s ear could be used to sharpen his unsharpened pencil. I had to say this a few times because he was begging, “let’s just see if it works, let’s just see …”


 “Remember, no peanut butter and jelly on the iPad.”

This was my warning to Carson at lunch over the weekend, and clearly that’s something I never would have imagined saying to one of my kids.

“Is that the rest of my sandwich?”

What I asked Carson the other day after I discovered the last couple bites of my lunch disappeared from my plate mysteriously while getting him a drink. All I got back was one hand motioning at my empty plate, while the other pointed to his full mouth. Once he swallowed what was in his mouth, he laughed and laughed.


 “It’s going to stop growing if you keep doing that.”

In a pathetic display of desperation, it was what I said to Beckett when he would not remove his hand from his nether region the other night on the couch, despite repeated requests to do so.

It was preceded by a comment from Pam. “You have to do something about that,” she said, pointing to our son on the couch.


 “What would Mrs. Mancini and Mrs. Mason think?”

I refer to Beckett’s pre-kindergarten teachers quite often when I am having a time trying to get him to listen. He seems to care a lot about what they think of him, making me wonder why he doesn’t feel the same way about his father or mother.


 “I kept wondering why he would not leave the trash can alone.”

Pam’s words while she recounted a story about Carson throwing her phone in a trash can at his grandparents’ house. Unbeknownst to her, he was trying to tell her what he did by repeatedly grabbing the trashcan as she was trying to leave.

About The Author: Steven Green

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The writer has been with The Dispatch in various capacities since 1995, including serving as editor and publisher since 2004. His previous titles were managing editor, staff writer, sports editor, sales account manager and copy editor. Growing up in Salisbury before moving to Berlin, Green graduated from Worcester Preparatory School in 1993 and graduated from Loyola University Baltimore in 1997 with degrees in Communications (journalism concentration) and Political Science.