Growing Old

Be wary of birthdays that end in 9 because one beginning with a new number is right around the corner.
This year I turn 29, and a few months after that I’ll become a daddy.
I’ve already started to think like a dad a little bit.
I see a guy in my neighborhood walking his dog with one hand and holding onto his little girl with the other, as she is learning to roller skate.
I talked to a friend the other day about the beauty of baseball. He mentions that baseball is a game best enjoyed by fathers and sons. The first thought that comes to mind is not that of my own father, even though he’s part of the reason why I love baseball so much. The ball rolling through Buckner’s legs is a much bigger part, but thanks anyway dad. The first thought that comes to my mind is of someday taking my own son to Shea Stadium, I mean CitiField.
Buying him a hot dog, teaching him how to score; explaining the subtleties like the difference between a stolen base and a defensive indifference; or a wild pitch versus a passed ball.
Maybe I’ll have a little girl. And I’ll have to comb her hair. Buy her pink clothes. I hope Mrs. Poop can deal with the puberty related issues like training bras and menstruation.
I can’t wait to teach my kid to love my dog. To refer to a lick on the face as a kiss. To watch with wonder as our super dog flies through his hoop. To refer to him as “my big brother Diesel.” I wonder if “woof” will be the baby’s first word.
When I walk around the neighborhood I check out houses and think to myself “that would be a nice yard for kids to play in.”
But sometimes I worry. What if my kid were in that classroom in Virginia Tech. You spend your whole life saving for college and some dickwad ends your kid’s dreams and his life.
And I don’t have to worry about that for at least another 14 years. Even if our child inherits my precocious intelligence I doubt Mrs. Poop will let him/her go to college before age 14. Maybe we’ll all be living in bulletproof bubbles by then. Or colleges we be abolished because of the impending threat and everyone will have class on the internet.
You know you’re in love when someone else’s happiness is more important than your own. When not only do you sit through a concert by a children’s singer, but you enjoy watching the kids dance and jump around.
And someday I’ll be watching with pride as it’s my kid buzzing like a bumblebee at the Laurie Berkner concert.
Or my kid will be going to the first day of school.
Or striking out with two men on in the bottom of the 6th in Little League, or the Pony Tail league.
And going off to college.
And getting married.
And eventually my kid will be having kids.
I’ll be a grandfather.
I’m growing old.