The re-education of a student dad For months I've been waiting for his birthday, anticipating the day when he would be three years old and safely out of his Terrible Twos phase. I figured that when he turned three his Baby-Satan attitude would change, and he'd be my little boy again, not just a potential $75,000 on the black market.
Yeah, right.
Jake is like Dennis the Menace on speed but with the added joy of an occasional temper tantrum. And these tantrums always seem to come at the best possible times: at the mall, in church, at weddings. Basically, any time there's an audience.
The weekend of his birthday party, his mom and I took him to see "Antz." Cut this out, highlight it and keep it somewhere you can read it: NEVER take a 3-year-old to a movie theater!
For two hours we tried to keep him from running down the aisles, throwing popcorn in random directions and jumping into seats already occupied by big, burly good old boys who were very much into the plot of the film.
The rest of the time he asked the name of every ant on the screen. Except that he did it so loudly, you'd think his mom was in Georgia. After telling him about 50 times to whisper, he started doing the whisper-louder-than-a-yell: "Mommy, what's his name?" in a whisper so loud that people two rows back answered him.
Once that ordeal was over, we decided to walk around the mall. Bad idea. You'd think a 3-year-old could walk by himself, but you'd be wrong. He either wants to be carried or sprints around faster than Carl Lewis on a caffeine bender, playing toddler pinball between people's legs. I used to laugh at people with their children on kiddie leashes. Now I am insanely jealous and want to know where I can get one.
Anyway, now that he's three we can start doing all those fun father-and-son things he was too young for before, such as taking him to his first Gator football game. Won't that be a treat? I don't know what would be more fun: chasing Jake through the stadium and onto the field (he loves the color green) or holding him in my lap while he squirms like an epileptic earthworm trying to get loose. I know! Instead of doing either, I'll just learn to break blocks of ice with my forehead, like I've always wanted to do. Believe me, it'll be a lot less stressful.
Or how's this? I can show him around UF and give him a grand tour of where I spent the last five-plus years of my life. This is the building where Daddy goes to class. And this is the building where Daddy buys his books. And this is the library where Daddy goes to study.
"Daddy, what's study?" he'd whisper. I'd be banned from Library West for life and have to turn in my blue copier card in shame.
No thanks. If it's all the same to you, I'll wait a while, just to make sure his Terrible Twos are really over. I think 10 is a good age.
Mike Napoli