I am a father to the best kid a dad could ever ask for. A little boy who will many times a day, very matter-of-factly, tell me that he loves me and smile. A boy who will stop playing with his cars or trains, just to appease his old man with a kiss on the cheek. A boy who joyfully says hello to every passer by, and offers stories of his wonderful life to all who will listen. He is unconditional love personified.

It pains me deeply to know that he will slowly grow out of this beautiful innocence as the curtains of life draw back. I know that as they do, it is my duty to teach him right from wrong, to treat others as he would want to be treated, and to love his neighbors. But, as an old friend of mine liked to say, “innocence is the last rebellion.” And he couldn’t have been more profoundly right. So I will do everything in my power to protect that part of him, to shelter him from the noise that surrounds us, to keep him from growing up too fast, and try and instill in him a joy for life and love that stays with him always.

I am a husband to the best wife a man could ever ask for. She’s an incredibly patient woman who, for some reason, continues to stick by me through the thick and thin of careers, marriage, parenthood, and family life. She’s a passionate, supportive and encouraging woman who has always wanted the most and the best for me our son, and for everyone around her. And she’s a loving wife and mother, who unconditionally gives of herself for her family. So it is my duty then, to give her as much of myself, my patience, passion, support, encouragement and love as I possibly can.

I am blessed because God loves me, and has seen fit to grant me the best life that any man could ever ask for. He has blessed me with the most amazing kid, and a beautiful, loving wife. He has blessed me with great parents, who by their own example, taught me how to be a good father, and a good husband. I am blessed because I was born into a country whose founders, and generations of their children, have sacrificed, and worked hard to try and keep the curtains closed, so that their children could live lives without worry, full of wonder and love. And so I owe it to HIM and them, to be the best dad, the best husband, and the best servant that a son or wife or Holy Father could ever ask for.

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Finally, I’d like to ask all who read this to say a special Father’s Day prayer for the father of Neda, the young Iranian woman whose gut-wrenching death has been shown ad nauseam on cable news over the last few days. I can not fathom the kind of sorrow her father must have felt as he watched his daughter die. I can only hope that somewhere in the midst of that immense pain, was a comfort that he could be with her as she left this life, and pray that he is able to tempter his sadness with the happy memories of their life together.

I used to have all kinds of glorious fantasies about what a week-long return to bachelormania might entail: unshaven and shower free, cold pizza every meal, loud heavy metal music blaring at all hours of the night, days of uninterrupted online porn, and 24-7 ass scratching, just to name a few. But while I was able to meet at least two of those goals (don’t worry honey, I showered), I hadn’t anticipated the one unfortunate side effect of being alone in my empty house: the depressing, gut wrenching, deadly silence.

Everything, from the tinkling of pots and pans as BIYM prepares dinner, to Albert’s imaginative play with trucks and trains, to the dualing snores of my wife and dog in the middle of the night, to the little pitter patter of The Nut’s too-long nails on our hardwood floors, to Albert’s sweet voice telling me that he loved me. But the thing I missed the most was the laughter. You see, the BIYFamily loves to laugh. Whether it be silly noises and faces, tickle fights, or as simple as giggling at something humorous on television, we are just not complete without laughter in our home.

Thankfully I had this little video on my cell phone to keep me sane.

Happy Father’s Day everyone…

When it does snow in the South, we go on Yellow Alert (no, not THAT yellow). Schools and businesses close. Cars are gassed up. Grocery stores are mobbed and emptied. Salt trucks begin dumping heaps of it all over the roads before even the first flake falls. Then we all hunker down and wait. Normally, it’s never as bad as the local weather geniuses predict. But occasionally, it happens.

I remember fondly The Blizzard of 2003. We got a whopping 6-7 inches. My street was impassable for days. Those adults who hadn’t prepared, still ventured out, only to ditch their cars, figuratively and literally, when they remembered they didn’t actually know how to drive in snow. But the kids knew what they were doing. They ventured out with their sleds and cookie sheets and trash can lids and cardboard boxes, and took full advantage of the winter wonderland.

Well, luckily Albert is just old enough now that I can bundle him up all Randy-style and take him ah-shy-t for some hands-on (or butts-on as the case may be) fun with the fluffy goodness. We have a slight slope in our back yard, so I’ll be greasing up the cookie sheets tonight so I can teach him a thing or two about flake physics in the morning. BIYM is already panicking.

So don’t mess with me weatherboy! Daddy wants a snow day Saturday with his son!