I’m not perfect. No one is. In many ways (my wife, family, and friends can attest to this) I’m flawed just as God intended us to be, and I have no doubt failed numerous times throughout my life. In my twenties, I tried, unsuccessfully of course, to be perfect in nearly everything I attempted. While I still have that drive at thirty-four, I’ve learned to stop, appreciate, and laugh at the imperfections that make life seem chaotic, unruly, and unmanageable.
As a matter of fact, just moments ago before I sat down to write this, I scrubbed the kitchen floor because my four-year-old tried to pour orange juice all on is own. While it was a valiant effort and a great attempt at the beginning of his independence, he dropped the entire carton, fell in it, and then flopped around in it as if though he was some sort of fish out of water. Rushing to his aid, I slipped and slammed my elbow off the kitchen table- another battle wound associated with parenting.
So, who am I? I’m a father, a husband, a son, a brother, a teacher, a writer, and so much more. In many ways, I owe the creation of this blog to my students. Every Monday we share what happened over our weekends, and according to them, my stories of the kids could make me and the boys an internet sensation. I’m not looking for that. What am I looking for? I don’t know. Solace in writing? A voice for those who sit down at night with a glass of wine or beer in hand thinking something closely similar to “These three boys…These three boys I’m telling you…These three boys will be the death of me…These three boys are driving me nuts…
These three boys…
These three boys are my life.
These three boys are my everything.”
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