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.

# # #

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.

Yeah, I’m back. Yeah, I’ve said it before. Yeah, I’ll probably disappear again. But it’s Father’s Day Weekend, and I’m inspired. So shut it.

The boy has been way too cute and funny lately, and I kick myself in the nards every time I forget to write down something he says or document the perfectness that is his daily life.  And with all the technology and simpatico between phones and WordPress and Facebook and Twitter and everyothersocialnetworkingpluginordevice these days, there really is no excuse.   So here we go.

Where have I been? Oh I started a new job. Working for myself. In the worst economy since, well, the last really crappy economy. Yes, I’m the genius that gives up a solid paycheck to start my own small company in the age of Obamanomics.  But I’m happy I did it.  Might not be when I make a bunch of money and Prezz-O comes to take it away from me for the ruling class.  But we’ll leave personal politics out of it for now.

I actually have a couple different companies.  ASK4 Entertainment (www.ask4entertainment.com) is my primary company, which will focus on event production and management.  I’m running a charity golf tournament and a charity poker tournament, and about to launch another charity event (hopefully) later this year.  More on all that later.  I’ve also started a music cruise called ShipRocked (www.getshiprocked.com) which will sail this November.  It’s a bit like the last one I managed for my previous employer – only this time I get all the money for doing all the work!  And circling back to the personal politics briefly, I’m partnering on another theme cruise next year called The Liberty Ship (www.thelibertyship.com).

So, back to the boy and this blog.  I’m really looking forward to getting back into it. When I’m old and losing my mind (say, tomorrow), I want to be able to remember all the great stuff he said and did during these oh-so-cute toddler/oh-my-god-he’s-a-little-boy years.

For the 8-10 of you that still bother, a Happy Mother’s Day to you.  Hope it was a good one.  Mine was spent taking care of the boy, and actually messing around with the blog (gasp).  I upgraded to the latest WordPress, which is really pretty cool, and I put a few new widgets over there on the right (go buy stuff so Amazon will send me money).  Oh, and I uploaded a few old BIYFilms… enjoy.

I’m not going to say I’ll effort to post more, because much like the bullies in kindergarten who mocked my very 70s-plaid pants (thanks mom!), you’ll just laugh and point.  But don’t be surprised if things start to pick up a bit around here in the coming weeks.  You see, BIYM and I were trying to recall something funny that Albert had done the other day. When we came to the sad realization that we’d completely forgotten, I decided to try and do better, to try and keep a better record of the funny stories, quotes and moments together.    I owe it to myself, BIYM and the boy to remember.  

Finally, to my baby-momma… I love you.  Thank you for all that you do, and all that you are.  You’re an amazing wife, and one hell of a mom…  Albert and I are lucky dudes.

“There’s a little rough right here. You just can’t see it very well because I shaved today.”

“Da-da, I can have some rough too?”

“No, you’re not old enough yet.  You have to be older.”

“I don’t have any rough.”

“You have to grow up and be a big boy like Da-da before you’ll get any rough.”

“Yeah.  I’m too small.”

“Well you’re getting bigger, and before you know it you’ll have some rough.”

“Yeah. I can sit here with Da-da and wait until I get some rough?”

“We’ll sure be waiting a long time.”

“Yeah.  We can wait a long time together.”

BIYM and I have been trying to potty train the boy for a month or so. We conquered the ‘ole #1 pretty quickly, because he quite liked the idea of standing up to pee (although some people still seem to take issue with our superior ability – clearly their kind hasn’t evolved to the F.U.D. yet – seriously ladies, it’s 2008). He even tells us now when he needs to go, and holds it until we get to the potty. However, we hadn’t quite convinced him that #2 was worth the same time and effort. So we changed strategies.

At the suggestion of a friend (by the way, don’t you just love that you can have serious conversations about pee and poop with other adults at New Year’s parties?), we started putting him in big boy underwear and covering them with what can only be described as plastic pelvic hazmat suits (thank heavens BIYM made sure that his collection was styled with cute, slimming stripes, in a variety of earth tones and pastel colors – we wouldn’t want Tim Gunn and Veronica Webb giggling behind his back, would we?). After a couple of Homeland Security worthy emergencies (BIYM being the victim for most all), and a few bribes offering him new Thomas engines (behold the power of Sodor), he decided to play along today – and boy did he.

Now, I’m quite sure not everyone wants to read all the gory details… So if you don’t, this is where the entry should end for you…

… Gone? Ok.

I know I have at least one brother and a couple of guy friends who still read my blog, and care, so I’ll share for your benefit. Lets just say that for my son’s first potty-poop, he produced an impressive, full-grown-man quality dump. A floater. Great color. Just the right amount of smell.  Pinched to perfection, requiring but a single wipe.  And despite it’s astounding length and girth, it was entirely intact and coiled up like a freggin’ champ.

I’ve never been more proud. I love you son.

We trekked out to the North Mall Pole, but first had to make a quick stop for a haircut. Did you really expect BIYM to let the boy be photographed without gettin’ his hurr did? Snip snip and a little lunch later we were off to wait in line. And wait some more. I’m gonna guess we were queued up for close to two hours. Yeah. To pass the time, and to keep the boy ‘up’ (he’s still napping, and therefore gets a bit testy mid-afternoon), he and I went to pick up some cookies and ’sweet drink’ (Sprite). Bad idea. Not only because I had to traverse a mall-wide sea of acne-riddled Abercrombe Punks and Hollister Honeys, but also because the intended affects of the sugar ran out just about the time we got back and hit the front of the line.

So we were pretty much expecting it to all fall apart at the moment he hit Santa’s lap. After all, we knew from his previous visit that the boy didn’t quite dig the concept. But much to our surprise, and despite being scolded by The Diva Santa for invading in his eye-line during the previous family’s photo, it all went pretty well. Albert gleefully jumped onto Santa’s lap, held his hand (thankfully, he didn’t inappropriately grope Father Christmas), and proceeded to tell him which of the various trains and toys he expected Santa to bring. Now I say it went pretty well, because what we hadn’t anticipated was Albert’s reaction after it became clear that Santa wasn’t going to give him all his toys right then and there. Let’s just say he had a melt-down that rivals the Earth’s thaw following the Pleistocene epoch (behold, my Wiki reference of the millennium).

Needless to say, Albert anxiously awaits Christmas morning. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get so excited he pukes, like his Mama did when she was bout his age.

And then I thought about detailing my phone conversation with BIYM this morning after I got to work, in which we both tried to convince each other that, despite the fact neither of us had wished the other a happy anniversary before I left for work, we hadn’t actually forgotten.

And then I thought about explaining why, on the night of our anniversary, I’m not taking her to dinner and a movie, but am instead playing in a charity poker tournament (hey, it is for charity people).

Ultimately, however, I’ve decided to post an entry which truly captures the spirit of why I love my wife so much. Oh, I love her for her body. Have you seen my wife people? She’s hot! And, of course, I also love her because she’s smart, funny, caring, and most importantly puts up with poker, fantasy football and all of my other bullshit. But one of the biggest reasons I love my wife, is because she just says the most wonderful things sometimes. So, carrying on in the fine tradition of notable quotables from the love of my life, I bring you her latest collection of gems…

“Look, I can pick his nose with the little pointy thingy, cause it’s a hand.”

“Do you think she looks older than me? Nevermind. I might as well just ask you if I look fat.”

“Does it smell like a fart? Could be the meatloaf.”

“You know, there’s just not enough cowbell in modern popular music.”

“You’re invading my earspace.”

“Peanut, that’s not your ball. It’s mine. I paid for it.”

“Albert’s not old enough to listen to Judas Priest yet. He needs to be at least 5.”

I love you BIYM. Happy Anniversary.

Much like Mr. Lee Roth, yours truly is returning (soon) to rock you with bloggity goodness that is as familiar as the roof of your mouth.