Don't Pressure Me

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Man, when the kids are born we hold them in our arms and our mind really sorts through the possibilities, right?

I can have a left-handed relief specialist sitting here.

Our children are born free into a wonderful (by most accounts) country. The possibilities are endless.

I hope he invites me to the Nobel Prize party when he wins it.

I don't know when that sort of starts to get away from us. Perhaps it's when they are tossed from their first kindergarten class for calling their teacher, at a Catholic school, mind you, "One ugly m-fer," because they saw the Alien movie with Arnold the maid-doer.

What do you want to be when you get out of school?

Jake now has a pat answer.

"A janitor."

And I suppose that they will eventually find their way. There isn't a relief pitcher in the bunch. We can also cross off astronaut, professional wrestler, police chief, football star, basketball star, and the 51st president of the United States.

And that's okay.

Recent horrific crimes have been committed by seemingly well put together professionals. We had the doctor who went nuts here in Buffalo, and that kid in Colorado did real well in school.

"Perhaps we shouldn't put much pressure on them," I said to my beautiful wife.

"We should put a little pressure on them," she answered.

And my kids really won't do much of anything if we don't mention something once in awhile. I didn't exactly sire any John Henry's here.

"I was reading the story about Bruce in the New Yorker," I also said to my beautiful wife. "When he was on the cover of Time and Newsweek at a young age he showed them to his father, and his father remarked: 'It must have been a slow news week.'"

"Yeah, that might be too much pressure," Kathy said.

But where do you draw the line?

We all want our kids to do well. We want them to find a profession that they love so perhaps they don't have to grind it out every single hour of every single day.

I guess, either way, as long as they are happy and healthy...

"I've dreamed of being a janitor since I was seven," Jake told me. "And what difference does it make now? When I was five I wanted to be a Pirate. Can you imagine introducing me at 35 as your son the freaking pirate?"

I guess he has a point.

I don't see any of them on the cover of Newsweek or Time either, though.

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