Somethings are not hereditary

I love my son.

Sometimes you just have to preface a blog post like that.

Like I said, I love my son and I truly mean that. He has opened my eyes to a world I have never known. He has taught me more things than I have taught him. He’s helped me laugh, made me cry and given me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.


He is also the biggest pansy I have ever met.

I mean seriously, this kid is a wuss.


It wouldn’t be so bad if he was afraid of things kids are supposed to be afraid of: strangers, thunder, vampires, that jerk kid who lives up the block, Libertarians.


But he’s afraid of everything.


He’s afraid of half of the cast of Sesame Street.


He’s freaked out by hamburgers that don’t have cheese.


He’s even scared of the current instability in the Korean Peninsula. And I mean seriously, that’s way on the other side of the world.


It’s gotten to the point where it’s affecting our life decisions.

We had to get him fish for a pet because the only animal he isn’t afraid of is two inches long, forever contained in a plastic box and will die if tries to come out and get him.

Believe me, we have tried to convince him that the neighbor's cat isn’t going to bite him, take his juice, try to get him to join its pyramid scheme or whatever it is he seems convinced it wants to do. 

He just won’t listen to reason.

And yes I am aware that little boy that’s afraid of dogs is basically half a kid

So something’s got to change. Like any other father who watches an unhealthy amount of martial arts movies. I see violence as the answer to this problem. I’ve been trying to introduce wrestling and monkey-fist kung fu our daily routine.

So far, my flawless plan has completely backfired.

He can’t break boards with his hands. He whacks himself in the head with his nunchucks. He can’t even catch a fly with chopsticks. He can, however, headbutt you in the junk like a pro.

At any rate he can headbutt me in the junk like a pro, but that’s a good start. I’m sure head butting a vampire in the junk is basically the same thing.

I just really hate encouraging him to practice.

But still, I’m happy to do what I can.

I’m just trying to get him through the tough times in life. Soon enough he’ll learn how much there is in life to be really scared of: death, mortgages, freaky dolls, vampires, new seasons of Glee.

If a thousand blows to my nads can help him deal with all of that, then I’m happy to grit my teeth, have my eyes tear up, feel a bit sick, and bear it.

It’s what any father would do.