From all appearances, we're just your average American family leaving church on Sunday. Dad, Mom, and three normal kids heading home to eat lunch and enjoy the rest of the day.
In fact, if Ward and June Cleaver had ever decided to have a third child, you'd have hard time telling us apart. Except for the fact that I'm much better looking than Hugh Beaumont.
The truth is this.
The beautiful little girl in the hat is on the threshold of being a teenager and I'm about ready to send her off to Europe in an exchange program. When did ten year olds become hormonal anyways?
The future criminal I'm holding is obsessed with Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and channeled Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas" last night when he nearly shoved his brother down the stairs.
Speaking of his brother, he came about one more incident away from being banned from Sunday School today because of his temper. It's gotten to the point I don't even ask how he was; now, I just walk up to the door and ask if he's still welcome in the building.
Ang is without a doubt the most loving, prettiest thing I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. However, after a day filled with dealing with these 3 I'm lucky if I can avoid rants about birth control and questions about when I'm finally gonna get myself fixed and threatened if I don't.
Which brings it all back to me. As the figurehead in this great big cast of nut jobs, I reckon I'm supposed to be the voice of reason.
All that is well and good, until you take into account I'm the idiot laying awake at night wondering why Tito didn't pinch-run Coco for Tek, who is going to lay down his life and tell Mike Timlin he can't pitch in a close game EVER again, and has decided that letting the boys do whatever they want is the best course of action if I want to avoid a debilitating heart attack, stroke, or visit to the closest sanitarium.
I guess I'm no different than the next guy. Well, the next guy with John Gotti, Al Capone, and that bossy girl from "Little House on the Prairie", along with Cleopatra ruling the roost.
Tomorrow night at 7, the Sox take on the Rays in a battle for first in the AL East; and I'll be back in my element, ready to take on whatever comes my way. Until then?
Wish me luck.
I'm gonna need it.
On the 97th anniversary of his birth.
20 hours ago