It’s 6AM.
You are cawing like a Pterodactyl.
It sounds like start of “Immigrant Song” is blasting from your room.
“AWWW AHAHAHA OWWW! AWWW AHAHAHA OWWW!”
Since you immigrated from the womb, I’ve slept through your Zepplinesque din with a deadness only heroin addicts and hibernating grizzlies can truly appreciate.
Your mother tends to your needs.
Mrs. Wilson’s maternal instincts, and my lack thereof, are a constant source of wonder to me.
Eventually, I rise on Bambi legs, rub the sleep out of my eyes and ask if I can help.
“We’re good” the missus tells me.
At twelve months, you only cry when hungry, tired or in need of diaper change.
Your needs are so simple that I’m envious.
Why can’t I be that way?
Now, I know that being competitively happy with a 1-year-old is misguided.
To attain your level of happiness requires hard work.
If being your Dad has taught me anything it’s that misery doesn’t love company, as much as it loves laziness.
A few years ago, I wrote letters to your cousins for their 1st birthdays.
In them, I distilled important life advice I felt would serve them for a lifetime.
Initially, I wanted to impart some paternal wisdom to you on your 1st birthday, but came to a startling conclusion:
At a year old, your emotional slash social development exceeds my own at thirty-eight.
In reality, you should be giving me counsel.
Sadly, deciphering your grunts, groans and inconsequential babbling into something meaningful or thought provoking is proving to be more of a challenge than I expected.
So in lieu of trying to translate your unintelligible baby talk, I’ll attempt to communicate what being your father has taught me.
The Dao of Joe, as it were.
- Never trust a diaper. Whether you are changing Joe Wilson or Joe Biden, always keep in mind the Gumpian principle of “Never knowing what you will get.”…. Ever heard of a blowout? I hadn’t until I had to deal with one of yours in a Costco bathroom.
- “To have a child is to give fate a hostage.” JFK said that. Even though, “Fate” might’ve been in reference to some concubine whose Grassy Knoll JFK accidentally discharged his magic bullets upon, the wisdom is true and ought to be heeded.
- Life is like a Wilson…. Short…. The first year of your life flew by faster than a Deebo Samuel Jet Sweep.
- A fart can be a question or a statement.
- Babies are the world’s most expensive, yet totally unreliable Alarm Clocks.
- The only thing that rhymes with Orange is “Trump is not guilty.” Wait…. What? …Wrong post.
- It’s hard to sleep if you are standing up.
- I’m ashamed to admit that a side effect of becoming a parent is scrutinizing your own upbringing. I constantly have to remind myself of Neil Strauss’s quote: “Feel free to blame your parents for everything that is wrong with you, but don’t forget to give them credit for everything that is right.” At this point in life, I should have that tattooed on my forehead because I’ve spent far too much time and energy focused on the wrong end of the credit-blame continuum
- Whoever said, “Comparison is the thief of joy,” never felt the pure, unadulterated joy of comparing themselves to someone from Isleton. Well, you didn’t teach me that. I learned it from the Chiles Wilson School of Soccer Coaching…. Comparison, often, brings joy to the comparer.
- 80% of all parenting advice is BS. Becoming a Dad has been more inspirational than snorting coke with Tony Robbins. Perhaps that metaphor was too on the “Nose.” (Ba dum ching.) What I am trying to say is that there are no mix of words or sentiment that could’ve prepared me for the beauty and terror of becoming a father. No one told me, but then again, no one could’ve.
I’m so grateful for these lessons, Joe.
Happy Birthday my boy!
Love,
Dad
.
