"Well this could be the last time ..." --Rolling Stones
We walked Toby into school this morning, the very first day of first grade for him. It's serious now. School all day, five days a week. Tests. Bullies. Girls.
It's not like this is the very first day he's been in school--he's went to pre-school and kindergarten for the past three years, I think. He's been reading since he was three and is really super-bright. But that was out at noon and only every other day.
I was super bummed out about this as I lay there looking at the ceiling for hours this morning making myself one with insomnia for the millionth time. I guess at this point Toby being in first grade does mean probably that I won't be raising any more toddlers in my life, aside from grandchildren or unless I slip one past the goalposts in the next few years.
I didn't have a dad for very long so this whole dad business, for me, has been like trying to jump off a train correctly. No example at all to go by. No "this is how my dad did it". I got three chances and by the third time I knew how to time it, how to land and how to keep my feet from being cut off. It was not always that way.
My dad was dead before I even really knew him at all. My grandpa tried to be a bit of a father but it wasn't the same, I don't think. He loved me too much to be a real dad, tell me to knock it off, do the work and when it went bad, welcome to the world. He let me get away with near murder and I think he knew one day that I'd realize why he'd done what he did.
My friend Kevin Cameron and I never really talk bikes or racing when we see each other off the computer. He has sons. I have sons. He has a son that joined the Marines, as do I. We just trade "son stories". No judgement, just sharing.
I asked him once for some fatherly advice and he said, you know, you have no real alternative than to just do your best and accept what the outcome is. "It's like being a race mechanic," he said. "You prepare the bike as best you can for your skills and then you push it off in the pit lane and watch it go to the grid, hope for the best. What else can you do?"
I'm glad that at some point I realized that Toby would be the final round of the championship for me. I tried to make the most of it, spent as much time as I could with him. Sometimes when I was swinging him around by his hands or going to the pool or just watching Jonny Quest I'd realize that these days were not for long and to make sure that we enjoyed them. We did. And that I appreciated them. I did.
We walked Toby into school this morning, the very first day of first grade for him. It's serious now. School all day, five days a week. Tests. Bullies. Girls.
It's not like this is the very first day he's been in school--he's went to pre-school and kindergarten for the past three years, I think. He's been reading since he was three and is really super-bright. But that was out at noon and only every other day.
I was super bummed out about this as I lay there looking at the ceiling for hours this morning making myself one with insomnia for the millionth time. I guess at this point Toby being in first grade does mean probably that I won't be raising any more toddlers in my life, aside from grandchildren or unless I slip one past the goalposts in the next few years.
I didn't have a dad for very long so this whole dad business, for me, has been like trying to jump off a train correctly. No example at all to go by. No "this is how my dad did it". I got three chances and by the third time I knew how to time it, how to land and how to keep my feet from being cut off. It was not always that way.
My dad was dead before I even really knew him at all. My grandpa tried to be a bit of a father but it wasn't the same, I don't think. He loved me too much to be a real dad, tell me to knock it off, do the work and when it went bad, welcome to the world. He let me get away with near murder and I think he knew one day that I'd realize why he'd done what he did.
My friend Kevin Cameron and I never really talk bikes or racing when we see each other off the computer. He has sons. I have sons. He has a son that joined the Marines, as do I. We just trade "son stories". No judgement, just sharing.
I asked him once for some fatherly advice and he said, you know, you have no real alternative than to just do your best and accept what the outcome is. "It's like being a race mechanic," he said. "You prepare the bike as best you can for your skills and then you push it off in the pit lane and watch it go to the grid, hope for the best. What else can you do?"
I'm glad that at some point I realized that Toby would be the final round of the championship for me. I tried to make the most of it, spent as much time as I could with him. Sometimes when I was swinging him around by his hands or going to the pool or just watching Jonny Quest I'd realize that these days were not for long and to make sure that we enjoyed them. We did. And that I appreciated them. I did.