On Ting, HoneyBee and Fatherhood

          The inexorable movement of the seasons has been good, for it has brought about conditions which are more than adequate. Gone are the dog days of summer. There is no more lazing about on the stone floor or seeking shelter from the heat in the leafy underbrush of Kathy's garden. Now is the time for long walks in the cool autumn air, morning patrols in the dark and nights spent beneath open windows.
          Yet Ting, our beloved Golden Retriever, is no longer alone. His every movement is tracked by a relative newcomer. Someone whose step may be more spritely, but lacks his knowledge, wisdom and sheer majesty. Like many men, I am a bit of a sucker for a pretty girl and our HoneyBee is no exception. Her pleasant smile and deep, dark eyes turn heads wherever we take her. To us, she is a puppy learning how our family works. She can tug on the boys pajamas before breakfast, but must leave them alone as they dress for school. She can play with the cats, as long as she does so gently. And, best of all, she can spend time on our bed, nuzzling herself between Kathy and me while she falls fast asleep. 
          Ting, for god or I'll, must bear the brunt of HoneyBee's adolescence. He is the one who rarely gets a moment of peace. His daily routines have been shattered, there are no more quiet meals or mornings together on the couch, his yard has been excavated and his walks have taken on a different tone. Yet, through it all, he has retained patience, grace and dignity. He has not only accepted his little sister, but is teaching her the ways of the world. I often wish that I were as tolerant of the boys as Ting is with HoneyBee. I may not get my ears chewed, but I often feel as if I cannot get out from underneath them. I suppose that this is where the lesson lies. 
          Does Ting understand that his sister will outgrow her youthful indiscretions? Is it possible that he realizes that she will mature with time? All in all, Ting does a betterr job managing HoneyBee than I do our boys. It shows that, sometimes, you can learn a lot from a dog.

Quo Fata Ferunt!

On "Special Needs"

I am ashamed.

It is quiet here. We don't get much quiet in our home, so we don't really know what to do with it. Kathy and Daniel sleep peacefully. Our animals roam the house searching for food or a warm shaft of sunlight to sleep in.

David is away at camp. A camp for kids with "Special Needs," and I am ashamed.

A married man should always listen to his wife, especially when they are in love; yet, I did not. Early on, Kathy said that something about David wasn't quite right. I should have listened, but I didn't. There is no reason to recount the laundry list of warning sings, the stupid "mileposts" missed, or lack of normalcy in David's life. For Kathy and I, it has been ten years of frustrations, profound sadness and loss of sleep.

Yes, I berated David when he was five years old. I actually yelled at him for not participating on his soccer team. Had I only listened to Kathy, I would have never put him, or her, through such misery.

I refused to believe that this handsome little boy could be anything but perfect. He was, after all, my first born son. I envisioned all the things Dad's want for their boys. Soccer in the fall, lacrosse in the spring. Terrifying us with feats of pure danger on a bike or skateboard. Maybe hockey. Maybe crew. In short, I wanted him to have all the advantages that a city kid (like me) did not. Friendships forged on fields of play. Late nights chasing fireflys. But this was not to be.

David plays in ways other kids don't. There are no sports. David protects our home from alien invaders (which could come in handy). David studies the nuances of battles fought long ago and applies his mind's lessons to the present day wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. David is lights years away, but constantly underfoot. He is lost in his own world, but dominates ours in a way that defies explanation.

Yet, David is loved. Make that adored. Kathy and I have turned our lives inside out for this boy. Our goal is that, when the time comes, he leaves our home ready to face the challenges of an unforgiving world. David is well on his way.

We are blessed to be able to send David to a fantastic school and a great summer camp. Both are for kids with "Special Needs."

There's an old saying on the streets of the city that goes something like this: "Don't hate the player. Hate the game." I love my boy, but I sure do hate "Special Needs."

Quo Fata Ferunt!