Aim That Super-Soaker

I can't understand for the life of me why this is such a big deal. I mean, I'm 50 years old! Most of the time, I'll just say no, implying that relaxing is far more important to me. Sometimes, I'll say yes, telling him I'll play nerf-ball polo for a while, and I'll race him for a lap or two but after that I just want to soak. I'll make clear that I'm not interested in a splashing contest, I don't want to count to see how long he can stay underwater, I don't want to have a super soaker war and I'm definitely not doing a belly-flop contest even though, as he likes to point out, mine seems to be getting larger all the time.

And, almost every time I get in the pool, after a while of trying to appease him, I'll snap at him. I'll tell him to leave me alone because I want to go in and watch the news. I'll tell him how those are kid games and I don't want to play. I'll ask him why he just can't quietly enjoy the water. 

And almost every time, I'll stop. I'll hear those words slap back at me off the side of the house. How long ago did Harry Chapin write that "Cats in the Cradle" song? Damn thing just starts playing in my head. That hurts! I'm not sure how much it hurts Evan. I think little by little it wears a callous between his heart and me. The definition of the word "Dad" starts to look like the definition of "disappoint". 

Why do I do that? Am I too busy? Too tired? Too lazy? Too old? 

Marc Middleton and I interviewed a guy on the Growing Bolder Radio Show who's trying to inspire his son, and he inspired me, too. Glenn Fenster's son Nyle is a year older than Evan. Nyle started having violent seizures at the age of two. He was diagnosed with epilepsy. There's no cure. Nyle never knows when a seizure will strike, but they strike him every day. 

Once, it happened when they were playing tennis. When the seizure ended, Glenn stood over his son and offered his hand. Nyle refused the help, insisting he get up on his own. "I asked him how he can keep doing that," said Glenn. "He said, 'Dad, I've never seen anything keep you down.' Right then I knew I had to do something." 

So, Glenn got on his bicycle and rode nearly 7,000 miles. He rode from Alaska to Miami in 66 days, trying raise awareness for his son and the 2.5 million other children in this country who battle epilepsy. Glenn averaged over 100 miles a day. He never took a day off. He couldn't. He promised Nyle he'd be home by Father's Day. That was last year. This time around, he's done it again, just finishing an 8,000 mile sojourn, attracting more and more attention to the plight of childhood epilepsy each stop along the way. 

"The whole point is to show my son no matter what disability of mind or body, anything can be accomplished in life," said Glenn. "But I'm not the type of father to push my son up a mountain unless I climb it first." 

I understand exactly how Glenn feels. There isn't anything a father wouldn't do to help his sick son. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt I've been letting my son down. Why doesn't Glenn's attitude also apply to our children when they're well?  

I'd like to tell you so much more about Glenn but I just don't have the time. I've got to get my suit on. See, my son is calling, and that's the greatest sound in the world. But I'm sure going to get nailed if I can't remember how to fill up that super soaker!'