I can feel my desire to be hard on the parts of him I fear will not get checked. The me, me, me parts and so I insist on various things that require him to practice going beyond himself. He is only six. And I am well aware of my projecting some of my anxiety. And I am his father and I am the only one able to decide how to teach my son. And teach him as best I can I shall. It almost feels like a wrong to write like this - to think like this as a father in this day and age - when there is no truth - no right way that we collectively agree on anymore. Yet, I will rouse myself, love my son in the ways I in concert with his community can possibly give him while he is young and then he can choose his path beyond.

I am still grateful for the discipline my parents instilled in me - the life of the farm was good. Feed chooks, chop wood - do what was expected of me - new responsibilities with age and with proven trust. I can love what love they gave me and not just critique the shit out of it - that is not helpful either.

So I pause, take a deep breath and write - I will soon enough have to go back into the fray of three young energies - each bristling with their own ways, needs and wants - and get back into that delicate, fun, playful dance of being the best dad I can be.