Friday Five: That's My Boy

It has occurred to me there has been very little dad stuff popping up on my dad blog. It's not by design, I just post what's on my mind at the moment its on my mind regardless of the shuffle. So, here is a conscience Friday Five:

Five Reasons I am proud of my boy:

1. He's generous.

Each night Calvin rushes into the house to gather snacks for the ever growing group of neighborhood kids. Now all kids are either sadists or socialists or if they've grown up rich, functionally retarded, but each night when we tell him that he can't feed everyone, he eyes us with suspicion, for his friends are hungry and we clearly have the best snacks on the block. No doubt there will be a very positive lesson on the merits of capitalism soon, but for now I like to know that my semi-only child knows how to share.

2. He's kind.

In soccer practice, we keep telling him to go after the ball and kick it, but he looks up at us with his misty little eyes and tells us that he doesn't want to hurt anyone. To which we tell him that's what shin guards are for.

3. He's creepy smart.

There's is a game he's been playing on the computer that is vastly beyond his years and requires constant problem solving and creative building. I won't say what that game is, because it's totally inappropriate for 7 year olds and I don't care, but I'm fascinated by his tenacity and how quickly he levels up. He did cry when I accidentally killed him while helping him with some of his control settings, so he's not exactly ready for World of Warcraft, but I think he is quite beyond Frogger.

4. He's incredibly brave.

Calvin is terrified of things. Dogs, school, motorcycles, butterflies, tractors, you name it. Overprotective parenting, coupled with traumatic experiences and a genetic predisposition for anxiety disorders, and you've got one twitchy little squirrel on your hands. And there is no cure for it. Well that's not entirely true, there's drugs and there's Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Guess which one we've been using for the last few years? And he's actually getting it. Yesterday he told his mom that he has decided he's not going to be afraid to go to school. When your amygdala is out of control, it takes a huge set of balls to recognize that your brain is playing with your and for you to be determined to fight back. I like to think he has those balls. In fact I think they should rename Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and call it something like "Testicle Enlargement" or "Pair Growth."

5. He scored his first goooooooaaaaaal.

Sure it was only a scrimmage. Sure it was only a scrimmage against a girls team, but I must say, watching my boy take that ball from mid field and kick the only goal of the game did wonders for the size of my testicles as well.

Sure he may skip while the other kids run,

He may dress up like a video game elf,

and he may throw a tantrum or two,

but that's my boy.

That's my boy.