Up until this point I had been very proud of the boy for never giving me any real reason not to trust him; however, I was clamoring for a good reason to say no to the solo trek. Coming up empty the best I could do was lecture him for a good five minutes on strangers, cars, dogs, not walking in other peoples yards and making it back home in 20 minutes. Tops. We synchronized our watches and off he went.

I remember standing on the top step leading up to our little porch and watching him as he neared the first corner that would put him out of sight. I began bouncing on the balls of my feet and imagine there must have been a cloud of dust in my wake as I launched from the porch once he rounded that corner. If I could just make it to that elm tree quick enough I would catch him before he moved around the next corner that put him on the street to the store.

When I was eight years old I lived on a military base in North Carolina with my mother, little brother, older sister (who was in the military) and her soon to be husband. I had been allowed to walk to and from the commissary by myself at this time and normally it was without incident, or as without incident as the roaming mind of an eight year old can allow. One particular day I stood at an intersection waiting for the crosswalk to prompt me forward when a car pulled to a stop in front of me. I stopped looking at the crosswalk long enough to peer into the car and saw a woman driving and a young boy (about my age) in the passenger seat. For the car to have stopped I knew the crosswalk was going to change and I’d be able to cross the street.

Before I could take my eyes from the car and look to the sign I saw her hit him. Her right hand came flying across and crashed into the side of his face. The boy didn’t cry. He lowered his face a bit toward the window and didn’t move. With a ferocity I’d never seen she grabbed a hand full of hair and forced him to look at her. This is when she started screaming.

By the time I was eight I had heard my share of obscenities. What was foreign to me was how those obscenities changed when fueled by rage. Rage fueled obscenities. Yes, that is what I heard pouring through that car window that day.

I stood there stock still. Deer in the headlights if you will. Maybe a minute had passed at this point though it felt much longer. She finished her tirade and forcefully pushed the boys head away from her with enough force for his cheek to crash against the window that was not quite all the way rolled down. It was when she pushed him away that she looked through his window and saw me standing there.

Her face was screwed into some expression that would have been more at home on a rabid animal. She leaned across the boys seat and stuck one index finger out his window. Pointing at me she said, “you’re next”.

It seems at this same instance her light turned green and without another glance she straightened herself, accelerated and moved down the road. I never saw her or the boy again.

The rest of my walk home I cried what I thought was a man’s cry. There were very few tears but my ribs shook from the internal sobbing.

This scene from my past replayed itself as I moved out from behind the elm and sought cover on the opposite corner. I watched as my son turned into the parking lot and made his way into the store. I only waited a few minutes before he came back onto the street with an orange pop in one hand and some candy in the other. I had planned my return route which took me onto the street behind our house and allowed me to keep an eye on the boy between houses. I ended up hopping the fence into our backyard and greeting him in our driveway.

It’s our job to protect our children. I wonder if I would have followed my son that day had I not witnessed what I did when I was eight. I think I would have, though the urgency and motivation would have been a bit different I imagine. It’s interesting, those things that shape you.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

I’m not sure where the D is for Dad site is going. The posting frequency has definitely dropped and dare I say the quality as well. This isn’t a farewell post but instead maybe a “please bear with me” post.

I think we came out of the gates pretty strong back in September of last year. In retrospect this was a good time to start this thing with fall settling in and everyone with a little more time on their hands as the winter slumber rolled casually in. With spring behind us and summer enveloping us it seems time is at a premium these days (not that it isn’t always, but you know what I mean).

I didn’t start this thing to make money (look ma! No ad’s) or even to find thousands of subscribers. The intention was to share our perspective in a way that might lend to the conversation around being dad. If the site was “discovered” and we could put together some quality stuff then great. Truth be told we put this stuff together for the one guy that isn’t comfortable commenting on a site and can find a bit of silent camaraderie from a few guys that have been there and are still there.

It is relatively easy to throw in a fluff or funny post or two to carry the load but that isn’t what I want this space to become. We know, and have experienced, too much to treat this space from the perspective of complacency. I came into this knowing it would be work.

I don’t do things half way, at least not intentionally. D is for Dad is beginning to feel half baked. Please don’t think I’m being too hard on myself. I’m not. I am my own worst critic. I know this and it has served me well thus far.

With all that said, if you have managed to stay subscribed while we struggle to fill the empty spaces it is definitely appreciated. I just ask that you don’t give up on us quite yet and in return I will promise to do the same.

We’ll get things together soon. – Chuck

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.

- Pink Floyd

Recently, the little baby learned how to make smooching noises, not unlike the noise of kisses. She has learned that making these noises makes the silly big humans pick her up and cuddle and fuss over her.

A few weeks ago I succumbed to a con worthy of any 3 card Monty, or shell game shyster, on a seedy Las Vegas street corner. Needing both my hands free to do a chore I set my daughter down on the carpet surrounded by her toys. As I walked away she let me know in no nonsense screeching that she did not approve. I kept walking away, knowing it would stop eventually. Sure enough, it did. What I did not expect was the staccato of kissy sounds that broke the silence. I turned around, let out a sigh, and shuffled back to pick her up. I did the rest of the chores one handed…..a beaten man.

As I set here on a Friday evening I’ve come to the realization that my three year old daughter has taught me more about how to communicate with an executive than anyone or anything else.

• A three year old never hears you the first time you say something. The same is true of the executive.
• When the three year old finally does hear you it doesn’t mean they were listening. Yeah, another executive match.
• When you finally get the three year olds attention it is best to anticipate the questions and answer them before they are asked. What do you know? The executive behaves the same way.There is one key difference here that many rookies don’t pick up on until too late. The three year old is often logical in their line of questioning as long as you can keep them based in reality. The executive? Not so much. It seems that once the executive level is reached so is a reality perspective that is wholly their own. Some call this “vision”, some days it is closer to “illusion”.

My daughter has taught me to never leave any conversation or statement open ended. Something as simple as, “It’s time to brush your teeth.” can lead to some long discussions right before bed time.

Girl: What time is it?

Me: It’s 8:00 at night kiddo, bedtime.

Girl: So is it bedtime or brushing teeth time?

Me: First you have to brush your teeth, and then you go to bed.

Girl: But you said 8:00 is bedtime

Me: It is, but…

Girl: Then I can brush my teeth tomorrow?

Me: You’ll brush your teeth tomorrow too but you need to brush them now. Before bed.

Girl: Oh. OK

Girl: What time is it now? (after teeth are brushed)

Me: It’s 8:15

Girl: hmmm. I missed bedtime. I think Backyardigans is still on!

Me: Um no. Get in your room.

I need to update my resume. Just in case. If I ever have to remind an executive to brush their teeth I might just lose it.

I think many of them just figured we’d get divorced at some point, everyone was doing it. I really hope she was strongly discouraged from marrying to be honest because if she wasn’t and they believed we wouldn’t make it what does that say about them, but I digress.

My family life had been riddled with divorce from childhood and hers was no better. We talked about this quite a bit early on and even do today. We have always been conscious of breaking this generations old cycle from the beginning and this goal hasn’t changed.

These ten years haven’t been easy and I have no qualms in saying that lesser people would not have made it. This doesn’t necessarily mean we are better than anyone else but it does mean that together we can weather whatever is thrown at us. We have proven this to ourselves and others time and time again.

We both come from humble beginnings and recognize the fact that we have never asked anyone for anything (this is easier to do when people don’t offer you anything). We were not the kids getting new cars as graduation gifts or having school paid for by parents that could plan for the future. We’ve never been given grand gifts or had our home furnished by in-laws. We do it ourselves or it doesn’t get done. It takes a little longer, this road we walk, but we tend to find the road less ridden with potholes and when we look back the road is truly ours. No one else has taken up residence along the way.

To the contrary, we give as often as we can and in every circumstance we can. I’ll be the first to admit that most of this generosity comes from my wife. She has a heart that is as big and strong as anything you can imagine. She puts herself into some pretty undesirable situations just so she can help. She never says no, even when I ask her to. I, on the other hand, take a much harder line. I’m not about enabling people. I believe pain and loss builds character. While these things may not sound terrible, and possibly even logical to many of you, my core being would allow them to pass to a fault. This is where we balance one another the most I believe.

We didn’t do much to celebrate our anniversary, not compared to what tradition dictates. We simply spent the day together. We actually had two complete meals without children. We took a long walk in the woods while holding hands. We visited some art galleries and even bought a couple of pieces to hang in the house. We painted some pottery and thought about what the next ten years will bring. We didn’t exchange gifts. We rarely do.

This post could go on and on. It is best to end it by saying how much I still love my wife today and how this is so much more than the day we declared our love for one another (though I would not have though it possible to love her more back then). She is my better half. There is absolutely no doubt about that.

Maybe in another post I’ll share how these kids of ours have changed our life but for today it is about us, and only us.

This is the song we chose to play during our wedding ceremony. It is more true today than ever before.