I’ve run a few marathons.  I’ve done a million pushups, and twice as many sit-ups.  I’ve hiked a few mountains.  I joined the Marine Corps, and thrived.  I went to Pensacola and flew navy airplanes, and even went to war.  I ate shit out of a plastic bag, and had a navy doc shoot me up with Anthrax vaccine.  I’ve seen the enemy, and they have seen me.

I’ve had the flu, and had it coming out both ends.  I’ve had broken bones, had surgery, a broken heart, and watched my dad slowly die.

I did calculus and advanced physics, aeronautical engineering, stuff that I still don’t fully understand.

I’ve had conversations with irrational women, but are there any other kind?  Boom!

But nothing, nothing, is harder than being a parent.  It kicks my ass and warms my heart.  I laugh and cry, and wonder how in the hell those three little creatures have come from my loins?  I want to hug them, and then sneak up behind them, and strangle them.  I can’t imagine my life without them, but when I do … I smile.  Bliss!

I want to be a better man, and husband, and especialy father, but oftentimes I fall short of these expectations.  I try, and won’t give up.

Mostly, I’m there for them, screaming for them to clean up their goddamn bedrooms.  To pick up after themselves.  Seriously.  What’s so hard about picking up your underwear … Gabi?  Yeah, you!  I love you, now turn off that damn computer and go to bed.  And laugh all you want Matthew, Chloe, ha-freaking-ha!  What with the Legos all over the place and sneaking rolos from the candy jar, running around the store like freaking lunatics.  Does this look like an insane asylum to you?  No?  That’s because it’s the produce aisle.

I don’t read the books on parenting; I trust my instincts, but not always.  Sometimes my instincts tell me to drop them off at the bus stop with twenty bucks and a crisp salute.  Horrible, I know.  That’s ten bucks too much.

I see their flaws, realize they are my own, and here I thought that I was perfect.  I’m not.  I’m a writer, pilot, and a United States Marine.  I’m a husband, and especially a father.  I’m the bigger lunatic in the produce aisle, chasing three crazy kids with carrots in my hands.  No, it’s not the insane asylum.  That’s our house, and I can’t imagine it any other way.