One of my life goals have been achieved. I have kept my training regime long enough to allow Dude to catch up and reach the age where he can finally join me in my daily trips to the gym without making it seem like child abuse. The one thing I didn’t expect was to age at least ten years as soon as I walked in with a teenager by my side. I wanted to introduce Dude as a friend of mine but friends don’t call friends “Dad”. At least not in the circles I move in. He blew my cover in the first few seconds. I suppose I should feel flattered that people were surprised to learn of my fifteen year-old son. Or maybe I should be insulted? The jury is still out on that one.
I cherish and savor these moments of alone time with him more than he would ever know. Now I’m gonna man up, grow a pair and drop all this sentimental shenanigans…
Driving home this morning, sharing mutual aches and pains, I suggested we listen to one of my playlists for a change. There is a limit as to the amount of rap and house music this fragile mind can be exposed to. I wanted to use the opportunity and educate the kid on what great music really sounds like. Scrolling through the music, he looked at me with a serious expression and said:
“Dad, I’m not seeing a playlist from the 1800’s.”
I didn’t know if I should give him a backhand or a high-five. I couldn’t do either as I could barely kept my hands on the steering wheel, and not because of the size of my bi-ceps. I laughed. It was funny. The kid has a sense of humour!
He shrugged it off like it was nothing and skipped through a few of my golden hits, when he finally opted for a song he liked. Being the great shower-singer that I am, I joined in at the chorus. He turned the volume down slightly, gave me a very condescending look and said:
“Dad, I prefer the original version. You should stick to things you’re good at.”
This time a slap would have been warranted but my brain was still stubbornly refusing to send any kind of signal to my arms. Lucky him. I’ve also learned that punching a teenage boy is against the law, unless it’s executed in the middle of some serious horsing-around the house. It also releases a tsunami of wit. Yesterday I sucker-punched Dude after eventually maneuvering myself close enough to him. He managed a game-face and then tauntingly said: “You hit like a girl!”
I don’t think he ever ran faster in his life.