My Three Sons

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In the middle of a beautiful Saturday afternoon I called my parents to check in and see what they had planned for such a great day. One thing led to another and I wound up having a half-hour conversation with my father about the old family tree. He was speaking about his fifty-year college reunion and before too long we had discussed his college days, my Uncle Tony, my Grandfather, and a couple of relatives that I barely knew. It was fascinating to imagine life back that far, with my father bringing up an incident with my great uncle back in '37.

1937! This whole sordid affair - speaking of Fazzolari's from over 70 years ago - left me to consider my three boys and what lies ahead.

First off, I hope that I am blessed to have a conversation with them about their uncles, some thirty-plus years from now.

Secondly, I really, really hope that I am able to shield them from some of the heartache in life. I'm not sure why my mind went there, but I began to worry about some of the personality quirks that I've had to work around. I've always had a difficult time relaxing - and I hope my children aren't cursed with that. My wife is still real scared of the boogeyman, and I pray that they are able to see clear to be cautious, yet a tad more realistic.

I've seen traits in each child that leads me to believe that the clear sailing that I wish for them may take some time. They are all striving to impress - which is great - yet going overboard with expectations is something I must control.

Last night we played minature golf. A four-year-old boy was teeing off at the driving range a few feet away. He looked to be about three feet tall and his swing was better than mine. He was hitting the ball, sailing it through the air to about 80-85 yards. A man I believed to be his father was standing behind him, screaming at him to fix his stance. "You're just being stupid now!" the man screamed. I doubt very much the boy was enjoying it.

My son brought his report card home the other day. I looked at it believing that there would be something in it for me to criticize - there wasn't! His lowest grade was about 88 - everything else was right where we wanted it to be. Hell, the 88 wasn't "bad" either!

I wove a Springsteen story into the lesson for my boy - I told him of the moment when Springsteen as a young man tossed his own photo on the covers of Newsweek and Time in front of his father - who was dead-set against his son fooling around with a guitar. "Must have been a slow news week," Bruce's father is reported as saying.

"That's horrible!" my son said. "Can you imagine the damage he did to him?"

I suppose my boy is right. It is important, as a parent to know when to push and when to let back on the throttle a bit. It worked for Mr. Springsteen I suppose, but my parents showed love to six of us and Ilike to think it worked for them too. The overwhelming feeling of a beautiful Saturday is that I need to make it work for my boys too.

Isn't there a way to keep them forever young?

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