Oy! Why does my kid like Commando (the sans underwear style, not the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie kind) so much?
I knew I’d probably argue one day with my kids about their clothing choices. However, I never dreamed that I’d be asking my nine-year-old on our way to school, EVERY. DAMN. MORNING., “Are you wearing underwear today? You’d better be wearing underwear!”
I figured that by age nine, my kid would say to me -after I’ve spent 15 minutes laying with him and reading him a bedtime story he picked out, one that is so damn boring it should really be titled, “Springtime? Taxtime!”- something like, “Thanks, Daddy!” or “I love you, Daddy.” Nope. My kid, to thank me for reading to him when I could have been doing something exciting like watching Investigation Discovery’s “Who the (Bleep) Did I Marry?” says, as he drifts off to sleep, “Daddy, your breath smells like garlic. You should really brush your teeth.”
Everybody asks about my typically developing child, especially since he’s currently on a city league soccer team that’s in first place in its division. But, I didn’t realize how I’d tear up when people actually remember to ask me about my other child, the one who’s in fourth grade but has an intellectual disability so we’re currently celebrating that he can remember -9 times out of 10- to capitalize the first word of a sentence. People love to ask about perfection, but they rarely ask about imperfection.
He is all too real to me, like a deep trembling sea I can dive in and
feel the coolness as it takes the very breath out of my lungs. “Tell
me again…” as I stutter, as I stop for a pause in the earths resounding.
I peel back centuries of his skin to uncover a full bloom of
springtime. His air, the sweet smell of lilac with the intricate
detailing of color. He tells me how he howls in this wilderness like a
beast and I admire him, where every night I melt into his moon,
reaping his wild.