Thread by @HoarseWisperer

I’ve got two Guinness under my belt already, so this may be even more saccharine-drippy than it would already be but it is what it is.

I’m laying down my 11-year streak today.

Haven’t missed a single thing in my son’s life in his first 11 years.

Today, I’m letting that go.

1/

I haven’t missed a practice, a performance, a game, a school event, teacher meeting.

I’ve been the dad in the stands, the audience, the classroom. The coach on the sidelines. The only “class mom” who was actually a dad.

I’ve been there. Every time. Zero misses.

2/

When my son was younger, it was about showing him stability and trustworthiness and commitment.

It was about showing him that life can be trusted and a parent comes through.

It was about making his world safe. It was about the way love shows up in deeds not just words.

3/

There were times when it was a private pantomime. Times when I hid how much I agonized over the latest no-show or underperformance on the other side.

His last tee-ball game in the big stadium, Looking up at the stands. Never seeing that other face. Me in the dugout with him.

4/

I took pictures and video... and then made a production of them long afterwards.

A subtle reframing of the story.
A soft edging away from focusing on what wasn’t there to what was.

5/

He doesn’t know that on the way home from the stadium, the other parent who was “stuck at work” was actually right in front of us at the stoplight.

He never will.

6/

He doesn’t know that at the school performance his other parent skipped, I countered the absence by being right where he’d see me.

Me, there early, with two cameras. Taking a video with one hand, still pics with the other. Beaming.

7/

The ‘being there’ has been no selfless altruism though.

It has been no more giving than taking.

It has been every bit as much the selfishness of loving it for myself. Loving all of it.

It’s my favorite thing. It has always been my favorite thing.

8/

‘Being there’ has always been a blend of doing both what he needed and what I wanted.

At first, his need was the greater driver. It was overriding. It made what I wanted a secondary beneficiary.

8/

He’s older now though.

He’s in a drum line that plays hours away.

The bus ride is the best part. Kids laughing, clowning around, talking about first crushes and who likes whom.

It’s the ordinary perfectness of kids with their first independence.

9/

The calculus has changed. The balance has shifted.

‘Being there’ on every trip and at every performance isn’t about him anymore. It’s about me. What I might want more than what he needs.

He’s ready for the space.

10/

He’d indulge me.

He knows I cherish this streak with a love far more personal to me than attendance. He knows I hold this one so damn dear.

He’s ready for me to lay it down though.

11/

So, today I will.

My not-so-little boy plays halftime in a couple hours.

It’ll be the first thing I don’t have in my camera roll, in my memory.

He’s more than ready.

Me, not so much.

12/

Tomorrow, he’ll take it easy on me.

He knows I am sentimental as sh**.

He knows I feel these milestones in his childhood like alarms going off too early.

Why can’t we just hit snooze?

13/

Then we’ll settle in and watch some football.

We’ll talk about today’s halftime show and the bus ride and who likes who this week.

I’ll show the genuine vicarious interest of someone who’s truly happy when he’s happy - because I am.

14/

There’s so much history in this streak though. This one hurts to lay down.

Inevitably, I’ll give him “that look”.

He knows it well.

And he’ll roll his eyes jokingly and speak before I do and say “Love you too, dad”.

And that’ll make it a little easier.

15/15