To My Son Year 3

Dear Gavin,

I feel you need to know how much I love you. This year three is particularly challenging for me. You are so grown up in many ways. You are Mr. Independent sure that you can do everything on your own but only on your own time and in your own way. You are Mr. Bossy sending me rhythmic orders from sun up to sun down.  The challenge of teaching you manners and patience just reiterates how difficult of a time I have with controlling my own bossiness and impatience. You are Mr. Smartypants with your quick wit and sassy remarks reminding me of the hell I put my own parents through, but you are only three, can't this come later?  You are Mr. Obnoxious carrying on and on and on waiting for me to get emotional with you to give you some negative attention. I thought tantrums were supposed to end with age two. You are Mr. Opposite. If I ask you to put on your shoes, you take off your socks. If I ask you to come inside for dinner you run around the block. If I ask you speak softer, your voice gets louder.

The nature of age three is not my friend. But for all of these personalities you contain at this age I also see an energy I only dream of having. I see your amazing growth as you learn your letters and recognize them on every cereal box and road sign. I listen as your imagination grows with every story you tell. I wonder how technology, games, and computers come so easily to you. I watch your smile and excitement when you play with your neighborhood friends and stand by while you learn the frustrations of sharing and peer pressure. And I look forward to each day you teach me something new while also looking forward to the day when parenting gets easier. What's that? It doesn't get easier? Oh boy, I need a nap just thinking about it. Oh, you don't want to nap today?

 Of course you don't.

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Footnote: At age 18, I often say, "If I said the sky was blue," you would say, "No it isn't, it's green" knowing full well that shit is blue, just to piss me off.  You are forever still Mr. Smartypants and you still know my buttons.  And you often insult me and follow it up with an "I love you, twin."  Twin has become your nickname for me; because of the bizarre likeness we share. Fifteen years later and you are still a little shit.