Two little ones and a dog refer to me as their dad—well, mostly. The dog, bless his heart, doesn’t call me anything. He just barks, wags his tail, and nudges his water bowl towards me, hoping for a refill.
Now, my two kids, they have a variety of names for me. Sometimes I’m “abba,” the Hebrew term for father, or just “daddy.” My daughter, the dark-haired whirlwind, occasionally calls me “da-da” with a cheeky grin. When that happens, I can’t help but scoop her up into a bear hug and tease her about that smile.
She giggles and claims innocence, but then she returns the grin, the one that drives my friends and family wild. They see that look and immediately wonder what mischief we’re planning. I love it because it reminds me of my own childhood escapades. That smile makes you instinctively check your wallet, knowing a phone call from an irate parent is just around the corner.
I’ll admit, it’s more entertaining to write about my experiences as “Good Old Mike” than to focus on my kids. The truth is, being a parent comes with a lot of worry. My biggest fear? That they’ll turn out just like me.
I sometimes dread that they’ll make the same silly mistakes I did. I worry they’ll get bored in class and develop poor study habits, or that they’ll learn how to cut corners instead of doing things the right way. I fear they’ll think they’re clever enough to talk their way out of anything or, worse, try jumping off the roof into the pool. And my daughter, who’s already a force to be reckoned with, will no doubt insist she can do everything her brother does.
Some of my concerns are a bit silly—she’s only six, yet I find myself thinking about her dating. She adores boys, and I know how boys think; they can be charming and crafty, sometimes without the purest intentions. I worry she might get hurt.
So, I’ve decided to prepare her older brother, Ethan. I’m planning to send him off to a monastery in Tibet, where he’ll learn many forms of self-defense. He’ll return as a peaceful boy with an impressive arsenal of skills. And while he’s at it, I hope those monks will help him with his Torah studies. He has a few years before his Bar Mitzvah, but it’s never too early to start planning.
Now, convincing his mother that this is a brilliant educational opportunity will be a challenge. She’s no fool, so I’ll have to think creatively. Perhaps I could tell her he’s off to Hogwarts, but I’m not exactly equipped with a wand to make that happen.
And let’s not forget about how to explain Ethan’s absence to his little sister. To her, he’s a superhero, and the idea of him leaving will be tough for her to accept. If he ever decides that girls aren’t gross and starts dating, and then gets his heart broken, she might just unleash her fury on those girls. I still remember the time she scolded me for asking him to turn down the volume on his gaming device.
That day, she marched up to me, wiggling her tiny finger in my face, and I had to suppress a grin while pretending to be chastised. These kids may inherit some of my crazier traits, but they certainly look out for each other. I think we must be doing something right in our parenting journey.
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In summary, parenting is a rollercoaster of joy, worry, and unexpected moments. As we navigate this journey, we find humor and camaraderie, proving that we’re all in this together.