Adventures Of Fatherhood – December 7, 2018

Adventures Of Fatherhood – December 7, 2018

Carson cracks me up on a daily basis without saying a word.

His sense of humor is such a delight because laughing is so important. He conveys his dry and sophisticated wit, despite the fact he’s non-verbal. I like to think it says a lot about his personality. He tends to be the introverted type around a lot of people, but he’s much more outgoing with those close to him and once he secures a certain comfort level with those around him he opens up.

One morning last weekend he came downstairs unusually early. When I first heard him stomping around, I was disappointed for two reasons. One, I really like the peace in the house in the early morning when nobody is awake. Secondly, it wasn’t a school day so he could have slept in.

However, any concerns I had were wiped away when I heard him giggling as he bumped into furniture before I even saw him. He came down with his robe pulled up directly over his head with his arms extended, like he was a zombie of some sorts. It was 5:30 in the morning but he woke up in a good mood evidently.

Another example, on Thanksgiving, my sister came up with a game involving gratitude. While going through the alphabet, each person would say what they were grateful for with that particular letter and she would write it down. We told Carson he could use his device to say what he wanted put down on the list. Because he’s smart, Carson immediately went right to the geography page in his device. He loves the subject of geography and knows all the state capitals. Therefore, he was thankful for Alabama, Boston, California, Dallas, Eugene, Ore., Frankford, Del., Georgia, Havre de Grace, Md., Illinois, Jefferson City, Mo. and the list goes on.

When we asked him to try something different because we weren’t buying that he was thankful for North Dakota, he began recounting school subjects, objects and toys he was grateful for instead. He got us all good when he said Kit-Kat bars.

Another example was last weekend I had a grocery store list in the works on the counter. I walked away for a few minutes and noticed some new additions to the list. At first, I just figured Pam had added things I forgot. It turns out Carson had come across the list and quickly added, “Beer, bananas, water,” to the list in his own handwriting.

When I asked if it was him, and it was obvious it was from his handwriting, he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about. He acts quite aloof a lot, although he almost always knows what’s happening around him. He seems to enjoy people thinking he’s not all with it as far as focus and attention. I can see why people would think that, but he’s an intuitive type.

When it came time to hit the grocery store, he came running over to the door. When I told him I just wanted to make this run by myself, he made it clear he didn’t want to come. He pointed to “beer” on the list, padded me on the chest and giggled to himself as he ran back upstairs to his room. As I was walking out the door, a shirt fell on my head. I looked up and there was shirtless Carson rubbing his belly. I’m not sure what that was about, but it was hilarious.

It’s the little things I tell you.


I’m not sure what it means, but neither of my kids could come up with anything to tell Santa Claus they wanted last weekend.

Although he didn’t tell Santa on his lap last week, the only thing I can think Beckett has asked for this year is an ancestry kit from

He seems genuinely interested in learning more about his background. Since he’s adopted, we only know a little bit about his heritage from his birth mother. We have told him he’s Irish, but he doesn’t seem to be buying it.

When I asked him why he was skeptical, he said, “I feel like I have more of Australia in me than Ireland.”

Though I’m doubtful, we ordered the kit (one for each of us actually) and look forward to seeing if that’s indeed the case.


The difference between Beckett’s appearance before and after school is always interesting.

On most days, I drop Beckett off at school in the mornings. Everything is tucked in. His face is clean. His hair is good to go. There’s no dirt under his finger nails.

My mom picks Beckett up from school most days and brings him to our office to do his school work. By the time I see him, his belt has been taken off, his pants have spots on them, his shirt is disheveled, his sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and his hair looks like he’s been through a wind machine.

When questioned about his hair and whether it was windy at recess, he said when he gets restless and anxious in school he plays with his hair. I inquired whether playing with it consisted of pulling it straight up and out.

He hunched his shoulders, and I moved on from that chat.

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.