“Dad, can you help us yet?” Yelled my oldest.

“Coming.” I said for probably the 4^th time. I knew they were building a fort, but I was tapping away at my keyboard. I was composing a symphony… of words.

“Dad, are you coming?!”

Ugh! I thought. How could they interrupt me while I’m in the Zone? The creatives out there know what I mean. The Zone is gold, where thoughts and ideas flow through you like honey. Time melts away like hot wax trickling down a candlestick. It’s the place where artists, scientists, inventors, and mathematicians truly create. Can any of you relate to this?

I tapped away more until an arrow pierced my creative bubble. POP! I plucked out the arrowhead and read its inscription.

MESSENGER OF DADNAMICS

I needed this reminder. The Zone will always be there. My computer isn’t going anywhere. But my kids are growing up and won’t be asking for help with forts forever. I must strike. I must walk my own talk. I must enter the other zone – The Dadnamics Zone.

I arose with a new conviction and purpose, for I now heard their desperate pleas. I could tell the fort project was going badly and I was prepared for the worst. Upon entering our Rec Room, my presumption was proven. The twisted piles of pillows, sheets, and furniture gave the impression of tornadic activity. In my panic, I frantically searched for a pair of ruby red slippers sticking out from underneath the wreckage. When my search yielded no slippers, small dogs, or Munchkins, I addressed my three builders.

“Builders! This project surpasses the residential and ventures into commercial construction. We will need the king-sized sheets and blankets. Plus, we will need weights, ladders, chairs, and probably… duct tape. Let’s begin.”

Two hours later, the fort was complete. We removed the scaffolding, heavy equipment, and safety signage to unveil a shrouded facility with three dual-purpose bedrooms. The first two doubled as library and board game rooms, while the third served as the master bedroom and living room.  The centerpiece was the retro 80’s throwback Nintendo. For all of you Millenials, that’s an 8-bit video gaming system that looks more like a cartoon than a video game. In my opinion, it’s still the best ever made and far surpasses the Augmented Reality phenomenon sweeping the nation right now.

I mean, seriously! Why would I want to walk all over the place to find imaginary Nintendo Pokeman Go cartoons when I can play them right in front of me? The original Nintendo is where it’s at! After 30 years, I still remember the passwords and shortcuts to fight Mike Tyson or to get 100 free lives in Super Mario Brothers. Who else remembers this one? Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start. Some of you are nodding your heads right now. And no Millenials, it’s not a dance move. It’s the code you press at the Contra home screen for 30 free lives. This game was near impossible to beat with 3 lives, so you had to take matters into your own hands.

Okay, I digressed a bit. Back to the fort. We played Nintendo for hours like the good ol’ days, which included a few attempts at Mike Tyson, Super Mario Brothers, RBI baseball, and some target shooting. It was awesome! Kolby stole the show when he annihilated all 10 ducks for a perfect score in Duck Hunt.

We allowed all three to sleep in their new bedrooms for the weekend, under one condition. They must bring in a safety engineer each night for final inspection. I’m not sure how hard they tried to find one though because they kept saying. “Dad, be the safety engineer.”

I’m so glad that I exited my flow state and entered the Dadnamics Zone.

Major League Baseball has a method for removing injured players from the roster in order to substitute healthy ones. It’s called the disabled list or the DL. Even the best of us can sprain an ankle, pull a muscle, or in my case tweak a knee. Thus, I had to scratch my name off the Dadnamics roster and place it on the  DL. The MLB allows a 1-for-1 swap, but the Dadnamics League has better rules. I activated all four of my kids. The game was in their hands.

While I was laid-up on the couch with my ice pack, they said. “Dad, let’s do a Dadnamics video!”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked.

My oldest just smirked. “Just start recording…”

3 – 2 – 1 – Shoot!

“We’re live kids.” I did an intro like usual and then let the kids do their improvisational performance… or what I called the Improv.

It was a ton of fun as usual. All four of my kids performed whatever silliness they wanted and in the end, we all goofed off on the couch watching the recordings. Was it just another Dadnamics moment or is it possible that I’m overlooking and even taking things for granted? Allow me to explain.

The first two words, “ice pack”, reminded me that I am so fortunate. I can walk, run, throw, and do active things with my kids. All it took was a weekend on the couch to realize how fragile life is. If you’re out there and dealing with disabilities or disease and you can’t do those things with your kids, please accept my apology. I haven’t been doing enough examples to help YOU and YOUR kids. I will do better. I took for granted the simple act of walking and playing, but won’t do it again.

The last word is “Improv”. I did a quick check with my friend, Mr. Wiki, who told me that improv is a form of theater where most or all of what is performed is created at the moment it is performed. And I thought… That’s Dadnamics. I don’t script this stuff. I just do it. It’s an improv performance every time. Whether I errand to the post office or bank, I improv with my kids. Whether I clean up the kitchen or read at night, I improv with my kids. And whether I run around outside or sit on the couch, I improv with my kids. I took for granted that YOU may have fears. Improvising with your kids may scare YOU because there aren’t any instructions.

I believe lasting memories are forged through improv. Think about it Dads. What do you remember of your own father if you were blessed to have time with him as a boy? I remember going to the Philadelphia Art Museum (the one with the Rocky Balboa statue). He would take me there for fun. We’d climb rock walls on the side of the museum, run the “Rocky” steps, play around and act stupid. It was awesome and the funny part is this – we never actually went IN the museum! That was all improv and I remember it vividly 30 years later.  I get it. This is why Dadnamics can be so difficult. You don’t know what to make up and you are fearful of looking foolish.

Here’s my response… Look foolish and do it anyway. What do you think your kids will remember in 30 years?

Stretched thin! Dads, I’m not talking hair, but rather our time. It’s math, like it or not. There’s 168 hours in a week. Then we subtract our litany of duties, tasks, and time-stealers like sleeping, eating, working, traffic, activities, around-the-house projects, chores, errands, budgeting, and of course, … shucking the corn for dinner. I’m sure that made your top ten list as well.

It was my daughter’s turn to get “Special Time” with me, but I was having trouble dividing my time (see math equation above) and making it happen. So I invited her outside to help me shuck the corn. I have found that my daughter (and maybe yours too) likes to share her thoughts and feelings with her daddy.

As we connected, I began connecting strips of husk. It was no different than doodling while on the phone. I braided rope, tied knots, and goofed-off while listening. She noticed, kept talking, and copied me. After 10 – 15 minutes, we had a necklace of braided corn husks and an amulet made of corn silk and shank.

We were very impressed with ourselves and decided to check with Dr. Google. Apparently, the Native Americans knew about Dadnamics because there were whole websites devoted to replicating the native craft of Corn Husk Dolls. Yes, their skill far exceeded our own artisan level. That’s okay. We will have more corn to shuck this summer.

A few weeks ago, I spun a medieval tale of three KITs (knights-in-training) as they set forth on a quest to rescue the Frog King from the evil clutches of the Bush Monsters. The KITs succeeded and the Kingdom of Postofficio lies in a dormant lull of peace.

However, this peace would not last. Surely, the Bush Monsters would rise again like ‘He That Must Not Be Named’. Who would save the kingdom? Who was brave enough?

Kolby Potter raised his wand and marched into the Chamber of Danger with his Dad.

Ooh, wait. I’m getting my genres mixed up. I did say medieval not the Wizarding World. Sorry Harry Potter fans! I got carried away like Dolores Umbridge by centaurs into the Forbidden Forest.

Back to the Kingdom of Postofficio… It is true that two KITs turned down the quest for fear of the Bush Monster return. Not my 5-year-old though. Kolby was ready and displayed the courage needed to defend the Kingdom a second time and thwart the Bush Monsters, yet again, restoring peace and justice to the galaxy.

Oops, did the genre thing again!

Kolby and I stepped onto the battlefield, package-in-hand, ready to make our delivery or die trying. After creeping past the sleeping Bush Monsters, we strode through the courtyard of the palace, across the draw bridge, and straight into the Great Hall to deliver the message and retrieve a new one.

The news was grim. Very grim. The Bush Monsters were teasing the Frog Queen. Nothing like this had ever occurred in Postofficio. Therefore, Sir Kolby approached the Bush Monsters with a vengeance matched only by Inigo Montoya who famously said to the 6-fingered man. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The Bush Monsters awoke at Sir Kolby’s approach and immediately returned to teasing the Frog Queen. Sir Kolby took swift action and attacked the Bush Monsters in a flurry of hand chops and foot kicks that left them powerless. Thus, the teasing ceased and the Kingdom now owes Sir Kolby and Sir Dadnamic a great debt of gratitude.

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If you followed along to this ridiculous story and actually imagined anything other than the post office, congratulations. You have passed the first level of Dadnamics training.

If you only saw the post office and not the hideous Bush Monsters, well then… Keep coming back. You’ll get the hang of it.

I was sold Upstate New York on an interview in late June of 2002. The Adirondacks were majestic. Rivers were clean. Grass was green. The sun was out… everyday. The possibilities for outdoor fun was endless; a perfect place to raise a family. I took the bait.

November brought two 18-inch snowstorms, followed by a stretch of 25 straight days of some level of snow in January. I know many of you live in horrible wintry places and some love it. Not us. We love summer and with only 2 months of the previous paragraph each year, we MUST take full advantage.

On this particular summer day, I was home from work and… the temperature was about 88, we were poppin’ the water plugs, just for ole’ times sake (sing with me… Summer, summer, summertime. Oh… summertimmmmmme).

We don’t have our own swimming pool, but we do have a swing set, a baby pool, Super Soakers, a hose and sprinkler, Slip’N Slide, and the most important ingredient – kids. We have many kids. Four to be exact. And there’s this thing with kids in the summer. They don’t want to get wet at first, but at some point, that’s all they want. We reached this tipping point (pun intended, you’ll see) after two hours of Super Soaker battles and transforming our back yard into a water park. That’s when the gears of Dadnamics cranked out this idea.

[pullquote align=”normal”]What if I filled up a huge bucket and just dumped it over their heads? Yeah, that’s good. No wait. What if I add the swing set and dump the water over them while they swing? Perfect. [/pullquote]

“Kids, do you want to play Splash Mountain?” I make up games and titles on the fly, so many of my titles have the word “mountain” in it. It works, so I go with it.

“Yes! Yes!” They exclaimed.

I explained the rules as I made them up. They got to the swinging and singing. This gave me time to load the first water cannon, which I placed on the playground fort area. Then I climbed up, gave the countdown, and crashed Poseidon’s wrath on them from above.

(Make sure to click on the Special Father’s Day announcement called “DiR Collaborate” after you read this post.)

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Time travel is real.

I may not be as cool as Marty McFly or as brilliant as Doc Brown. I may not have the Delorean undercover in my garage. Yet I, can travel in time. I just close my eyes, punch in any date from my past, activate the flux capacitor, and jam the throttle to 88 miles per hour. And… ZAP! A blaze of lightning and fire trails in my wake. It’s quite simple really.

“Dad, tell us a story from when you were in the 2nd grade.”

My brain a.k.a the “flux capacitor” pulls up the file called “2nd grade” and plays the memories as pictures in an animation. Once I see a picture that the kids haven’t seen before, I describe the picture as a story.

“Okay. Let me tell you about the time when I escaped math class to build card castles.”

The kids laugh and maybe even learn something from my stupidity or brilliance as a kid. Then they ask again.

“5th grade? When you were 15? …5?”

The age or grade doesn’t matter. The animation stores them all and I can go there, instantaneously. Sometimes the details are a little fuzzy, but most are in high definition as I can remember landscapes, floor plans, the details leading up to the story, and my feelings of sadness, anger, or comedy during it.

Then I add Dadnamics to make the story come to life all over again by telling the story with enthusiasm and silliness. And lately, I added creativity and adventure by actually taking my kids to the place where it happened many, many years ago and reenacting it with them. It’s a lot of fun for all and, of course, the kids each have their favorites.

[pullquote align=”normal”]I had no idea that stories from my childhood could create so much connection between me and my kids. That’s real time travel. [/pullquote]

My wife marvels at this gift as she struggles to remember anything from her childhood beyond basic details. If your flux capacitor is malfunctioning or you need some Plutonium from the Libyans, then try this. Pull out the family albums with your kids and see if any fun memories trigger a story.

I also use this gift alone. I’m a storyteller and a writer and I love time travelling to find a new story to tell YOU. And sometimes, I need closure on something or someone from the past. Time travel is the answer because my memories can literally be so real that I truly feel that I am reliving them. Sad memories can resurface at any time in the present as well. Thus this gift is a blessing and a curse.

Marty McFly experienced this. He went back in the past to fix his parents and then he had to go to the future to fix his kids. I can time travel to the future as well. And so can YOU. The steps are in so many self-help books. You just need a vision and a Definite Major Purpose like Napoleon Hill writes about in Think and Grow Rich.

[pullquote align=”normal”]I can see the future, speak the future, and work to earn the future that I envision. [/pullquote]

Ideas seem to pop into my flux capacitor. I store them and jam the throttle to 88. I repeat this every time a new idea comes. Over time, a new picture forms like a giant jigsaw puzzle getting filled in. The picture advances to a vision and the vision empowers and energizes me.

YOU were that jigsaw puzzle 6 years ago. I dreamed of a way to use my gifts to move the hearts of fathers toward their children and to build bridges of connection. This jigsaw puzzle is not complete. I see so much more. In fact, check out this exciting Father’s Day announcement.

Allow me to officially introduce DiR Collaborate^TM. I hope you decide to JOIN the fun!

Every family goes to the doctor at least once per year. How many times do you enter the appointment on time, but then go through 33 minutes of wait time until you actually see the doctor who triple-booked your time slot? But hey, who’s counting stuff like that?

Typically, we pass the idle time with toys, books, and snacks. Plus,we also need to occupy the kids. Wait, did you get that joke? If not, re-read the last two sentences. That’s called “Dad Humor”, which I’ve been accused of many times.

After our typical measures to combat boredom, I surveyed the office for creative things to do. The otoscope looked fun, but probably not the best choice if the doc walked in… seeing me checking everybody’s ears, noses, and belly buttons. Yeah, bad idea. Then there were the cotton swabs, alcohol bottles, and gauze pads. We could play Frankenstein, but that might not play well if the doc walked in either. Could you picture the scene? The door opens with your doctor looking down at his clipboard to see who he is talking to next. He lifts his head to witness the Walking Dead, where a room full of gauzed and bandaged patients moaned in pain, holding their arms straight out. It would be funny. Definitely memorable. But it may have us looking for a new doctor.

These thoughts crossed my mind as I canvassed the room for Dadnamic ideas. And then I saw it. Right behind me on the window sill – A box of blue rubber gloves. Hand balloons. I thought.  Perfect. Minimal risk of injury and loss of doctor. Let’s do it!

I blew up 3 hand balloons to the normal allowable inflation level. This was preconceived in order to avoid several risks. However, my 10-year-old said the following at the 0:59 mark. “BIGGER! BIGGER!” Then he threw down the Triple Dog Dare at the 1:06 mark and said. “BIGGER. ULTRA BIGGER!” He had just said “Ultra”. Now I had a choice to make. I carefully weighed the various risks.

Risk 1: Small doctors office + Confined space = Space Risk… Could I use up all the air from the room?

Risk 2: Top floor office + Less oxygen = Lungs Risk… Could I pass out?

Risk 3: Sharp Doctor Tools + Hand balloons = Piercing Risk… Could I accidentally pop the oversized balloon and cause the dreaded hand balloon fart?

Risk 4: Large family + Hand balloons = Embarrassment Risk… What if the doctor walked in right then; what would they say?

I carefully weighed these risks against the potential gain and took his hand balloon to the max inflation level.

Fortunately, we averted all four risks and satisfied all four kids.

How could you add Dadnamics into your next trip to the waiting room… I mean the doctor’s office?

A family of 6 pile into the car to go… [drum roll]… “Grocery Shopping”. This is not a Dadnamics code phrase for something fun. This is the real deal. The dreaded visit to the store to buy food. Oh, I know what you’re thinking.

“What will Mr. Dadnamics come up with this time? He already did the grocery store in Alligatorade Race. What this time?”

It’s time for me to drop a transparency bomb. I can handle a quick trip to the store for a few things and that’s where Dadnamics excels. But I dislike REAL grocery shopping. Alright, bigger bomb… I HATE it! I’d rather weave a basket than the aisles of grocery store for an hour.

Dads, some of you are probably better than me. You’re a supportive, helpful, and perhaps you even assist with the coupons, when it comes to restocking your cabinets and frig. Not me and here’s how I snaked out of it to go play and create this Dadnamics Live! episode… (DISCLAIMER: My wife was not offended in the making of this Dadnamics Live! episode. She prefers to shop alone.)

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“Honey, would you mind shopping yourself and I’ll watch all of the kids?”

My wife jumped at the chance, but then narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just drop us off at the playground and come back when you’re done shopping.”

“Deal.”

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And that, my fellow Dads, is how you get out of grocery shopping. You just have to agree to be Mr. Dad for an hour or two. Personally, I don’t even see that as fair. I love hanging with the kids and despise shopping. Maybe some of you are flipped. You enjoy a nice family trip to the store and the thought of watching all the kids is a recipe for binge-eating. Not me!

The playground was a blast! We played Castle Tag, slid, ran, swung, climbed, and explored the neighboring creek. The time passed so quickly. We were shocked when Mom pulled back up to get us. She even came on board for a few minutes to join the fun.

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Frog King, Quest #1

You face a daunting challenge. The Frog King is in serious danger at the hands of the Bush Monsters. They hold him spellbound, deep in their lair beneath the stone wall. The King’s messenger has retrieved a vital clue to his majesty’s whereabouts and is waiting for you to rendezvous. The reward for the king’s rescue is, let’s just say – a King’s ransom.

You are the last knight and MUST be victorious or the kingdom will fall. The time has come. Your knights-in-training (KITs) dismount their trusty steeds with wobbly legs. But YOU do not falter, commanding your KITs to close the visors of their armor and ready for battle.

Directly in front of you is the Black River, bubbling over with tar and riddled with Crocigators. Oh, you don’t know about them do you? Be warned. Be very warned, they are a gnarly mutation of the alligator and the crocodile.

Your first act of bravery must be to retrieve the weapons, destroy the Crocigators, and safely cross the Black River. Once past, you must tip-toe through the howling tunnel and sneak into the message center to retrieve the clue. For your second act of bravery, can YOU and your KITs retrieve the message, defeat the Bush Monsters, and rescue the Frog King?

Failure is not an option.

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This quest sounds AWESOME! Right? Well yes… and no, too. This is not really a quest. It’s a trip to the post office to get my mail. Allow me to elaborate.

The “knights-in-training” a.k.a “KITs” are my kids. The “Black River” is the parking lot. The “howling tunnel” is the entryway between the outer and inner doors of the post office. The “message center” is my post office box. The “clue” is my mail, which I read out loud. The bushes that sit atop a raised stone wall, just outside the front door are the “Bush Monsters and their Lair“. Instead of going to the post office alone, I bring my kids and inject them into this medieval story. I have to get my mail, so why not turn it into something memorable for my kids? I’ve been doing it for years, it just wasn’t until last spring that I actually recorded them for other Dads.

Are you starting to embrace the concept and reward of Dadnamics? Creative story-telling engages your kids into an adventure with YOU. Once they are engaged, you connect more.

[pullquote align=”normal”]And great connection leads to great conversation. [/pullquote]

Oh, a final warning! Truly great conversation flows like the Black River. Beware of Crocigator topics. They can really bite your arm off if you’re not prepared.

Here’s a story for those who need a last minute Mother’s Day gift tip.

“Hi, I’m Ken and I’m a Gift-Procrastinist.”

“Hi Ken. Please share with the group.” Larry, the support group leader, requested.

“Well… “ Ken’s feet tapped the floor and his head lowered. “It wasn’t always like this. I used to have a lot more time to create gifts for my family. They were well planned and amazing.  But somewhere around the time I started driving, life just got – too fast. Planning and creating gifts got too hard. I’m ashamed to admit this, but I… I…”

“Go ahead Ken. You can tell us. It’s safe here.” Larry prodded.

“Okay. Here it goes. I was 18. It was Christmas Eve and I had nothing. So I went to the only place open at 5 p.m., the gas station. And I bought a dog ornament.”

“No, you didn’t!” Members of the group exclaimed.

“Yes… I did and I’m a humiliation to all gift-givers now.” Ken’s head rose, revealing a face so moist that it reflected room light.

“This condition worsened over the years and to compound the problem… Irony brought me the Gift Gauntlet. I have 3 kids’ birthdays, my wife’s birthday, Christmas, V-Day, and our Anniversary over a 90-day period! And after I barely survive that, Mother’s Day seems to come back two months later in May.” Ken paused, his knuckles reddened. “May! Curse you Hallmark! It’s Thursday and I’ve got JACK!”

“We understand Ken. Keep going. Your healing is almost complete.”

Ken perked up. “There were a few bright spots over my adult years where my creative genius took control. I mean, ask my wife about the engagement ring and the ceremony that took me 3 months to plan. Ask my mom about the ‘Dear Mom’ Box.”

Jimmy cut in. “Ken, I can’t take it. I’m a Gift-Procrastinist too. I didn’t do ANYTHING for Mother’s Day either. Can you please tell us about the ‘Dear Mom’ Box?”

Each member of the group leaned forward in their chairs and nodded.

[divider style=’full’]“I was a 24-year-old Big Shot engineer with General Electric. My first real job after Penn State. I finally junked my duct-taped Ford Tempo for the car of my dreams – a brand new 2001 Mitsubishi Montero Sport XS. It was breathtaking, fully loaded with only a $486 monthly payment. Yup, I was big-time as a big spender. In fact, only a few months prior I made the Big Commitment for Christmas to my then-girlfriend Teresa. She was expecting a ring. Her family was expecting me to give her a ring. I, in all my wisdom, gave Teresa a… a cell phone. It was like a hundred bucks and in  2001, these were our first cell phones ever. I was giving her 100% access to me wherever I went. What commitment could be bigger than that? Well, she thought differently and so did her parents.”

The group exhaled in unison.

Ken continued. “Mother’s Day was a month away and I wanted to make a splash. I paced the mall for hours. I was willing to charge anything to my impressive $5,000 line of credit. However, store after store revealed nothing meaningful. I got discouraged. What could I do? My Mom was 16 when she had me. She sacrificed so much to raise me as a single mom. She made the real Big Commitment. Then it hit me.

[pullquote align=”normal”]The gifts mom likes best are the ones you spend time on, not money. [/pullquote]

 A flash of brilliance struck and the word BOX formed in my mind. But not just any box. A chest with a lock on the front. It would be covered in fabric and engraved, maybe embroidered with a simple message…

Dear Mom,

I wanted to give you this box to store your greatest memories from your children and future grandchildren. Over the years, I have created tons of pictures and crafts for you. And my siblings still do. Now you can put it all in one place. Whenever you want to go down memory lane, just go open your box. It’s like a giant scrapbook.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Love Kenny

With victory so close, I switched gears and went to all the box stores and craft stores.  I found it and went to work. Thankfully, my cell phone toting girlfriend pulled off the Martha Stewart and embroidered on the top of the box.” Ken exhaled. “I gotta say. It was a smash hit with my mom. I’m not 24 anymore. My siblings aren’t 5, 7, 9, and 11 anymore. But I can tell you this… My prediction came true. That box is full of memories from my mom’s 5 kids and 4 grandkids and she still loves going to the ‘Dear Mom’ Box.”

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Larry stood, wiped away his tears, followed by Jimmy and every other emotional member of the group.

“What are you going to give this year?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, I’ve written letters to my wife and mom. Could I read them to you?”

“Absolutely.” Larry chimed, speaking on behalf of everyone.

“Here it goes…” Ken wiped his face with his sleeve, cleared his throat, and began reading.

[divider style=’full’]

Dear Mom,

You have always encouraged me, built me up, told me that I could accomplish anything. You would always tell me at bedtime, “You won’t know how much I love you until you have a son of your own.” You sacrificed so much of your teens and 20’s to raise me. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you. You put me above all else and never made me feel anything but loved. I never knew the struggles you dealt with, the pain of a broken marriage to my dad, the money problems, the struggle to graduate high school and college. These early years were magical for me. I loved spending time with you. We were best friends.

You endured and eventually found your true love in Paul. At 10-years-old, I remember how happy you were in a wedding dress while I wore that despicable pink shirt you made me wear. Just kidding, sort of. The next 8 years were just as amazing because you gave me what I always wanted – siblings. Being an only child was fine. I never knew any better and it allowed us to have so much time together. But having 4 siblings in my teens was awesome. I loved being the babysitter all of those summer days when you went to work. I loved coming home from school with a full house of kids. Those years were so memorable.

I know our relationship has changed over time. We’re still close, but you told me something a few weeks ago that shocked me. After our first 3 hour phone call in years, I said. “Mom, I feel so connected to you. I’m glad we did this.”

You replied. “This is the first time you opened up to me.”

I paused thoughtfully. “Seriously? What about when I was a kid?”

“Nope. You always held things in.”

Mom, I had no idea that I was so stinkin’ bottled up. I’m sorry that I robbed you of many more great conversations as a boy and young man. I didn’t realize I was doing it. But I won’t anymore. Life is too short. The irony is that my son does the same to his mother. In fact, do you know what I tell him at bedtime? I say this…

“You won’t know how much I love you until you have kids of your own.”

Now check out the bottom of this post and read the comments from your other kids including your daughter-in-law. As your oldest, I have once again assembled the memories and placed them RIGHT HERE in this new-and-improved Virtual “Dear Mom” Box.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Your ever-loving son, Kenny

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Dear Teresa,

First of all, thank you for allowing me to write my Mom’s letter first. You are no less important. You’re my wife, my gift, my best friend, my love. You gave me 4 incredible kids. And that’s what this letter is about. It’s not a love letter; It’s a gratitude letter.

Right now, I’m remembering our first walk on the beach and what we talked about. You were 17 and I was 21. We talked about our past pains and future desires. As I picture what we looked like, how young we were, how simple life really was then, I’m struck with this thought. “Could I have imagined then, that in 18 years, we’d be married with 4 kids?” I know it’s a silly thought, but my brain works like that. I’m a time-traveler. I go back to the past and I envision the future, all the time. And you don’t judge me. You encourage me and support the crazy ideas that I seem to come up with every day.

Thank you for that walk on the beach. Thank you for saying yes and choosing to spend the rest of your life with me. Thank you for giving me those 4 incredible kids. Thank you for supporting my dreams and allowing me to time-travel. Lastly, thank you for constantly shifting, adjusting, and improving to become such an outstanding mother.

Our kids have it good. Their futures are bright.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Your ever-loving husband, Ken