Don't mention this to Paco

It's been years of sneaking treats and unwanted hugs and kisses, but it looks like the boys have finally broken our firstborn.

If it don't work just keep shoving shit places

It's what dads, or men in general, do. We get our mind set on a goal, no matter how big or small, and we run over entire civilizations to get it done. Sure there are better ways and smarter ways; ways that don't make people cry, but when for once we're actually focused, you need to just back away and hope for the best.

The other day, I had the singular hope of getting Otto dressed. Here's what you would have heard:

"Otto...stop wiggling. We need to get to school."

"Nooo. I don't want to!"

"Don't be a whiner. You love school."

"No, don't...want...to."

"OK, you're pants are on. Get moving."

Whomp.

"Oh..."

Out of the Blue (could be a series coming on)

Quin: Dad...
Me: (still shocked that someone is calling me that) Yes?
Quin: I think...
Me: What?
Quin: Well...i just think that...that...
Me: ...yes?
Quin: Well...I just think that the Incredible Hulk as issues.

And now a gratuitous montage of his Age 4 photos:

Quin Huckin' the Rock - Englewood Rec Center

This was a tenuous affair. We'd suited Quin up for t-ball and he decided not to play. At the last minute he stepped out of the lineup and chose to sit and watch instead. Every game we'd go, and every game he'd leave the field and prefer his role as a spectator. Eventually we stopped going to the games altogether. Slightly sad and frustrated, I asked him, "Why?" He was ice cold and confident with his explanation: "I'm only three; I can't play sports until I'm four."

Oh? If it were that easy we'd just wait until then.

And now...then. Sarah signed him up for basketball.

This morning Quin was excited. He said he wanted to be on the "red team like Tyler," a shoutout to his older b-ball playing cousin, and he donned a hand-me-down jersey from his friend Jake (who played basketball last year despite being three. Rule breaker.)

The first ten minutes at the Englewood Rec Center were golden. We visited Otto who was getting some swim lessons with his mom. Quin announced to the pool that he was wearing a red jersey and that he was going to go play basketball. I stayed mum. Quin deserts pretty much anything his parents get excited about. And I get excited about pretty much everything.

We sat outside the racquetball court where the roundball would go down. Quin maintained his enthusiasm until some other kids showed up. He slunk away under the hood of his coat. Crap. More kids showed up. They bounced around and shouted and peered under Quin's hood to see who the new kid was. I didn't say a word--thought maybe we should skip the whole deal and get some lunch together.

And then a bit of luck. The coach went around the lobby and took role call. He'd recognize kids he new, and quickly move past those he didn't. I thought this was going to doom us. Quin would see all these other kids bonding with the coach and feel like an outsider. But serendipity or something divine stepped in and saved us. The coach approached Quin and asked his name. Quin responded--I was shocked--and then Coach Dave said, "Oh, yah, I remember you!"

Q is the number 1 and 4 together.

What? When? Where? I didn't care. I love Coach Dave.

Quin followed the other boys into the gym and, at the legal age of 4, participated in team sports.

Quin was at a slight size disadvantage.

He not only participated, he was en fuego, hitting shots from all over the floor. Having suppressed my joy for most of a week, I let loose. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but some of the other parents noted my "energy", a word shared by another mom with Sarah. A word that is sometimes used as a pleasant version of "scary". Whatever. It was the best hour of my life.

Quin shot LIGHTS OUT and then came home and looked for worms in the garden.

Halloween Boys 2011