It all started a two weeks ago.
An outgoing, sensitive, caring, loving 3-year-old was hit with a virus that took him into a world of seclusiveness and lathargy (is that a word?)
"Junior" (name changed to protect his identity) is not your ordinary 3-year-old. He's been playing guitar since he started to walk. He started playing drums right after. He helped his older brother learn the alphabet...(exaggeration)
He is awesome.
Right after his last tee-ball game of the season, "Junior" fell ill.
He had fever for a week.
He was quiet.
He was depressed, although he tried to play with his brothers, he was very sensative and withdrawn and cried for the most minute thing.
He was no longer that happy-go-lucky kid who recently was crowned "Duke of the Molina Day Care".
Finally, his pediatrician, Dr. Vzinjiiguipuguipugiii (something close to that) prescribed the magic formula that would bring back my son to normalcy....so I thought.
(Warning: The following events are far from the truth and a major exaggeration of what really went on but is used as an illustration to make a point of how difficult it has been these past few weeks with this boy.)
Sunday, May 24, Midnight:
While working on homework (playing King of the Ring on my PS2), I hear a low growling sound coming from my sons' bedroom. Upon inspection, I see "Junior" playing with his Lightning Macqueen car growling " I am Speed...KaPow!!!"
"Go to sleep, son" I say in my deepest daddy voice.
"I am Oager..." he replies.
"Mommy..." and I go to bed, not revealing anything to my wife.
Sunday, May 24, Noon:
Church was an event that words cannot describe.
so I won't.
Sunday, May 24, Bedtime:
"Junior" is running around growling the words to "Mary Had a Little Lamb".
From what I gather, he is trying to resurrect the Death Metal scene... I dunno.
Truth: This week, we were at the local HEB, mind you, we were at the classy HEB because it was the first of the month and all the foodstamp folks are crowding the westside HEB in hopes to load up on fajitas and menudo. (note: we use them too, but hate the lines)
This boy is screaming and raising a ruckus and a few eyebrows among the wealthy elderly that were already giving us "the look" for invading their HEB.
"What's up with you boy?" I asked in my most confused tone.
"I Want a Banana!!!" he screamed.
"I Want Juice!!!" he yelled.
"I Wanna Rock!!!" he hollered.
Listen, I am a pretty strict father and when I say jump, my sons jump...eventually after minutes of protesting because they are either too tired to jump or jumping is not the safest thing to do or they feel that as Americans, they have the right to Not jump if they so feel like it. Still, they do jump, while crying of course, but they do.
Being that strict father and listening to my second son scream and shout and protest, there was only one thing to do...
I gave him that damned banana...but I put the sticker on his forehead to show him who's the boss.
Fatherhood....what can you do?
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This made me chuckle!
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