A quick note to my children

My four youngest start spring break today, which means they’re going to want me to take them to the park, play four square with them in the driveway, shuttle them to and from play dates and provide other services as needed. I’ll feel stressed and squeezed because it’s a challenge to manage my crew all by myself – they bicker like normal siblings and pester like normal preteens and they don’t listen like normal youngsters – but I’ll remind myself how lucky I am and how much I’ll miss them when they’re gone.

We were going to drive to Washington D.C. over the break to show the kids all the monuments and must-sees in our nation’s capital but the White House denied our request for tour tickets (thanks, Obama) and Anita shouldn’t really take the time off work right now anyway.

Nikita, my amazing eleven-year-old, will probably have to be coaxed out of her room; she loves to read and write in her journal and mess with her laptop and do whatever else studious, smart, sensitive eleven-year-old girls do when isolating themselves from their raucous younger siblings.

My son Bryant will surely pester me to let him go play with his buddies down the street. He’ll make sure to return on time, if not early, like he always does, and if I need to get him I’ll know right where he is because he’s the most responsible, best-behaved, most lovable nine-year-old boy on the planet.

I’d bet money that eight-year-old Maya will tick me off somehow because these days she’s the most temperamental of my kids. She’ll also make me laugh and entertain me and render me speechless because she’s got a special spark, a charm and wit and precociousness that I’ve never seen in someone so young, and I’ll melt at her beautiful smile and let her have the last of the Pringles just because it’s Maya.

And Darling Devina, my six-year-old-going-on-twenty-two, will flash those deep dimples at me and I’ll acquiesce to her every demand. Yes, she can have a Popsicle for breakfast. Yes, she can eat it in the living room. Yes, she can watch that episode of iCarly for the 90th time because she wants to and it won’t hurt her, really. She’s such a good girl.

Before this break-for-them-but-not-for-me starts, I thought I’d write my children a note:

Dear Kids:

In my 49 years on Planet Earth, I’ve had time to encounter a lot of people and get to know a myriad of children. I can say without equivocation that the four of you are the coolest, most interesting, funniest, sweetest young people who ever walked among humankind. I’m sure the world would agree with me if it knew you like I do.

You are each remarkable and unique and advanced and wonderful and compelling and awesome in the true sense of the word. And you are so loved. Your mom worships the ground you walk on. She naturally, automatically factors you into every thought, every decision, every possibility and opportunity and development. (I’m sure this strong mother-child bond is not unique to this family but it’s still magical to watch.) And because I had a man in my life who loved me as if I were his biological son and showed me how a wise and caring and dedicated dad behaves, I know how to cherish you too. And I do.

I’m hard on you because I truly love you and I want you to be the best that you can be. I missed out on raising Amelia, my 20-year-old from my first marriage – who has nonetheless turned out to be pretty neat, as far as I can tell – so I feel a driving need to take maximum advantage of this second chance at being a dad. This includes correcting your bad habits, inserting myself into your fights, teaching you what I think is important and using my loud, firm voice to modify your behavior. I want to be able to say I had a hand in helping you to become who you will eventually become. I’ll take blame but I also want credit this time.

Hindsight might find that I came on too strong at times and chose to zig when I should have zagged, but my mistakes were made out of love. I try to be patient and tolerant. I really do. And I make sure to end each day with a hug and a kiss and a whispered nicety no matter what. I know how fortunate I am to have you in my life. No pro/con list necessary.

One admonishment: stop fighting with each other all the time. You’re a team, not four competitors trying to knock each other out of the contest. Team members help each other and work together. Your potential is so great. Each of you is so great.

I know I don’t have the right to feel so proud of you but I am.

Love, Fat Daddy Pat


P.S. I’ll help you enjoy your break, but try not to break anything, willya?