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Family Man: Second to None
By Gregory Keer
The usual commotion rattles the house in the late afternoon. I hurriedly finish an article as Benjamin barrels through the door, returning from school with my wife. He beelines for my den office and announces, “Daddy, you promised to play ‘knights’ with me.”
n">“In a minute,” I promise as a long-awaited phone call comes in. My wife scoops up 2-year-old Jacob, who’s been sitting at my feet, scribbling on a piece of paper (and into the wood floor’s grain) while I work.
n">As soon as I’m off the phone, Wendy takes over the computer and I go play the evil troll to Benjamin’s brave king until he asks, “Can you get me juice?”
n">In the kitchen, I find Jacob sitting alone in the middle of the floor, eating Goldfish™ crackers he’s shaken out of a baggie. I step over him to open the fridge when I hear him warble “Happy Birthday” (minus most of the consonant sounds). I look down at my toddler, who seems so self-sufficient, and realize I’ve focused on everything and everyone but him since I picked him up from daycare an hour ago.
n">So I sit down next to Jacob on the questionably clean floor. He greets me with a crumb-crusted smile and offers me a cracker.
n">“Dtiiyee,” he says, meaning “Daddy try.”
n">When I take the cracker, he giggles, for no real good reason other than he’s happy I’ve joined him.
n">“Sing ‘Happy Birthday’ again,” I ask. He complies, personalizing it so it goes, “Haa-bby Bahday, dear Dadda.”
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n">“In a minute,” I promise as a long-awaited phone call comes in. My wife scoops up 2-year-old Jacob, who’s been sitting at my feet, scribbling on a piece of paper (and into the wood floor’s grain) while I work.
n">As soon as I’m off the phone, Wendy takes over the computer and I go play the evil troll to Benjamin’s brave king until he asks, “Can you get me juice?”
n">In the kitchen, I find Jacob sitting alone in the middle of the floor, eating Goldfish™ crackers he’s shaken out of a baggie. I step over him to open the fridge when I hear him warble “Happy Birthday” (minus most of the consonant sounds). I look down at my toddler, who seems so self-sufficient, and realize I’ve focused on everything and everyone but him since I picked him up from daycare an hour ago.
n">So I sit down next to Jacob on the questionably clean floor. He greets me with a crumb-crusted smile and offers me a cracker.
n">“Dtiiyee,” he says, meaning “Daddy try.”
n">When I take the cracker, he giggles, for no real good reason other than he’s happy I’ve joined him.
n">“Sing ‘Happy Birthday’ again,” I ask. He complies, personalizing it so it goes, “Haa-bby Bahday, dear Dadda.”
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