I don’t remember being sane, but I do recall when I completely went off the deep end. It was when I became a father. I’m not telling you that my children made me certifiable, but I’m verifying that they made it official.
More than Helene Troy becoming the book you read on your vacation or your next plane flight and more than I want the New York Jets to win the Super Bowl, I wish for my three daughters to be healthy and happy in spite of their dad. Sometimes this means I need to get the hell out of their way and sell my crazy, elsewhere.
My girls, their amazing mother, my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, niece, and my oldest daughter’s friend are riding roller coasters at Hollywood Studios. I’m in a hotel room worried about blog, a few paragraphs of Helene that I think need sprucing, and taking anxiety medication because I’m having a bad day with my crazy.
Its Father’s Day and for weeks I debated whether I should hang out with them or stay here, poolside, writing. I went to Animal Kingdom and when I felt myself drifting into jerk city, I doubled back. It was one of my finest moments as a father. Instead of ruining their fun, I got the hell out.
We’ll be apart for three hours. When they return they’ll make me dinner and do something terrific that I’m clueless about. They always come through. But for now, this is about recognizing me being awesome.
This is a great Father’s Day. I didn’t screw this one up by being crazy.
To those who get it and do it right, Happy Father’s Day.
100 word song return Tuesday with Tara handling the honors since I’m vacationing. Helene’s after that on Wednesday.
Here’s Gnarls Barkley.