Adventures Of Fatherhood

Adventures Of Fatherhood

As my kids are getting older, I miss those genuine looks of excitement that once were commonplace.

To me, these youthful, spontaneous and innocent reactions were amazing to behold. It’s what we would see from our kids on Christmas mornings and their birthdays when they opened their gifts. We would also see them on more mundane occasions like the joy they got from a ball rolling across the floor when they were toddlers, the excitement for some pureed fruit in a little glass jar when they were babies, their first cannonball in the pool, the first ocean wave they went under by themselves, the first time they saw horses on the beach and when they get to see friends they haven’t seen in a long time.

What was once commonplace is not so much anymore. They’re more complicated now and not so easily amused or impressed.

I got to thinking about that on Easter morning when we had to wake Beckett to come downstairs and open his basket before church. Even Carson, 8, who is always into this sort of thing, didn’t want to leave his room Sunday morning while building a massive fort out of pillows and toys.

Indeed, these treasured moments of excitement don’t arise as often as they did. That’s why when they do they are something incredibly special and cherished.

For instance, Pam saw it on Carson’s face when she took him to Toys R Us this week to redeem some gift cards needing to be used before the company closed its doors for good. She saw the look of amazement in his eyes and the pure excitement that came from picking out his favorite items. Since he loves math, he loved being able to strategically plot his purchases with the set dollar amount in accumulated gift cards.

I saw this same look of excitement on Carson’s face when he completed a 3D globe puzzle one day after getting it in his Easter basket. He was determined to get it done in one seating and he didn’t want any help. He never once got frustrated even when he was down to a handful of pieces and the globe caved in, ruining hours of work. The look of awe when he finally got it done and spun it for the first time was priceless.

For Beckett, 9 years old going on 16, these looks of astonishment are few and far between. He holds his emotions close to his chest. It’s a boy thing. He has somehow decided it’s silly to get overly excited about things and show enthusiasm. This is a big departure from his personality as I know it and I hope it’s just a phase.

The good news is we still see glimpses of exhilaration. We see it on roller coasters for sure. His eyes may not be open as we soar at ridiculous speeds and heights around the track, but his face confirms pure excitement. He later claims he wasn’t that into it.

We also saw it last weekend when he scored the game winning goal in dramatic fashion in the finals of a soccer tournament. It was an animated look of shock, joy, celebration and an outpouring of genuine adrenaline. I will never forget it. I imagine my face was much the same.

Pam tells me my screaming immediately afterwards was more revealing than my facial expression, however.

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I’ve learned the hard way to never tell Beckett anything I don’t want him to share.

When he recently got in some hot water for his impulsivity at school, he was especially tough on himself. I was fine with that to a degree, but I eventually chimed in because he was berating himself intensely. I told him he’s not the first kid to get in trouble at his age.

I then told him a story about something I did when I was younger that I regretted. I faced serious consequences for it in school just as he has of late. He wanted to know every single detail of the situation, of course.

I was fine with sharing it because I wanted to prove a point about how every single person is a constant work in progress. It doesn’t matter about age or status. Nobody is perfect and everyone makes mistakes. It’s how we handle ourselves afterwards that matters. We have to learn from our missteps and understand there are consequences for our actions.

A couple days later, I went out back to throw the football around with him and his friend. It was clear I walked into a conversation they didn’t want me to hear. After some questioning, I learned Beckett had told his friend about the misgiving I relayed to him earlier.

When I asked what else Beckett had been telling him about me, the friend caved under pressure, reporting some of my daily mistakes involving a foul language slip when I shot my hand in a car door, how he has seen me kick an ice cube under the refrigerator and my nightly slumbers on the couch with Pam.

The list kept going and going so I faked an errand inside the house to escape.

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.