Yes, I love both my boys equally. Yes, I appreciate their uniqueness, the different way they process information and the different way the express themselves emotionally. Yes, I recognize that their ages are reflective of their current attitudes towards authority.
I get all that but right now, my younger boy, Tasman is in that sweet spot. He is almost seven, obedient (even if that’s the right word, it still sounds like a treat him like a dog) and a non stop ball of sunshine who can’t stop smiling or laughing or dancing or just appreciate everything he has right now.
Conversely, my brooding giraffe of an elder son, Hudson, does nothing without prodding, laying his lanky body on my couch always asking what’s next, when can he have more, what more is there, why can’t he have this, all my friends have this, life is so unfair. Rinse, lather, repeat.
So I do what any natural person would do. I move toward the light and away from the dark. Not flat out ignore, but if one son is going to scowl and constantly berate for me for all things he does not have and the other son is going to kiss my cheek and tell me how much he loves me, I make a choice.
Ironic pictures.
10 years old. It was an educational trip.
Fortunately, he’s face did not stay this way.
I am patient with Hudson and man do I love him. He was here first. He held my hand as we were the first people in the southern hemisphere to see the sun in Gisborne, on the east coast of New Zealand’s north island. And I get his sense of entitlement is an unintentional gift from my wife and me. I get. I get. I get it.
But right now, when I walk through the door at the end of a long day, and one boy’s muddy feet are on the couch, ignoring me while playing Minecraft and the other runs to me, outlegging my dog Alice, to greet me with a hug and a smile, asking “How was your day dad?” It’s easy to at least acknowledge the fluctuation of increased love for one kid over the other.
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