Two children and a dog refer to me as “dad” most of the time. Admittedly, the dog doesn’t articulate that, nor do I understand his barks. He simply wags his tail and nudges his water bowl toward me.
As for the kids, they have a variety of names for me beyond just “dad.” Sometimes they opt for “abba,” the Hebrew term for father, or “daddy.” On occasion, my dark-haired daughter playfully calls me “da-da,” flashing a cheeky grin that I can’t resist. I typically respond by scooping her up for a bear hug, teasing her that such a smile is off-limits.
She giggles and feigns innocence, but then I can’t help but mirror that same grin back at her. It’s a smile that often raises eyebrows among friends and family, making them question what antics I’m up to. It’s a delightful reminder of my own childhood, feeding that part of me that loves to be playful.
However, I have to admit, I enjoy recounting these experiences more when I focus on myself—Good Old James—rather than the kids. The truth is, as a parent, I constantly grapple with worries about my children. If you’re curious about my biggest concern, it’s the fear that they might end up just like me.
That’s right; I sometimes find myself anxious that they will inherit my less-than-brilliant traits. I worry they’ll become disengaged in school due to lack of challenges and develop poor study habits. I’m concerned they’ll find shortcuts for getting things done and think they can talk their way out of any situation, or worse, take reckless risks like jumping off the roof into the pool.
Then there’s my daughter, who’s already fiercely independent and determined to prove she can do anything her brother can do. Some of my worries may be premature; she’s only six years old, yet I catch myself pondering her future dating life. She has a fascination with boys, and I know how they can charm girls with sweet words that don’t always carry sincerity. My greatest fear is that she might get hurt.
To mitigate this, I’ve jokingly suggested to her older brother that he should prepare for the future by training at a Tibetan monastery. My intention is for him to return as a peaceful warrior, equipped with countless techniques for self-defense. I’m not always going to be around to protect her, so I might as well leverage his newfound skills. Speaking of skills, I hope those monks can also assist him with his Torah studies; after all, his Bar Mitzvah is approaching, and planning is essential.
Now, I face the challenge of convincing his mother that this prestigious boarding school will provide an education he can’t receive at home. I know this will be a tough sell, as she’s quite astute. I even contemplated claiming he was being accepted to Hogwarts, but my wand seems ineffective in that regard. Perhaps we should skip that idea altogether.
Additionally, I’ll have to convince his little sister that it’s acceptable for him to be away for a while. Given her view of him as her ultimate hero, this could be quite a struggle. The reality is, if he eventually realizes that girls aren’t “icky” and starts dating, and if he faces heartbreak, she might just try to defend him in her own way.
Once, she confronted me after I asked him to lower the volume on his gaming device, and I was quite impressed by her fierce loyalty. Despite the potential chaos they may inherit from me, it’s heartening to see how they look out for one another. It feels like we might be doing some things right in our parenting journey.
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In summary, parenting is fraught with worries, fears, and hopes, but through it all, the bond between siblings shines brightly. It’s a reminder that despite the challenges, love and loyalty often prevail.