Mentally Drained. Physically Exhausted. Emotionally Constipated?

It is Confession time. This isn’t as light hearted and fluffy as my other posts.

I have spent a large bulk of my 20’s going to school part time and then full-time. This translated into going to school for close to 5 years for a 2 year degree. The last few semesters I went full time and saved myself an additional semester of class. On top of doing this I managed to father 2 kids with my wife, so you can say my everyday life keeps me busy with a wife that works nights, a 6 year old and an 11 month old, and a full time job. After earning my degree I promptly jumped back into school and am now in my second semester toward my bachelors.

And I was to the point of just being burnt the fuck out.

I couldn’t concentrate on my school work, I didn’t feel like playing with my oldest boy and when I did it was really halfhearted obligatory kind of play. I managed to love on the littlest one because I knew he needed me to change his ass a few times a minute day, and he just happened to be in my arms most of the time when he wasn’t crawling around looking for something bad to stick in his mouth. (I wish his mother was more like him…but that’s another story)

I felt like I walked around in a daze most of the day. I felt like maybe I should have taken a semester off or something, but then I would probably fall into a trap and never got back.

Just when I think I am about to crack, I decide it is to time to teach my oldest boy to ride his bike.

I had been dreading this because our neighborhood doesn’t have sidewalks, our yard is bumpy and rocky as hell, and my son listens about as well as the rocks he would have been falling on.

He gets up on his bike and instead of following along beside him, I just give him a real hard push and tell him to pedal. He takes off, makes it half way across the yard, and then just lays the bike down on its side like a pro.

Second time he crashes into a bush, but manages to stay on his feet and again, lays the bike down without him falling down.

A few more times and now he is staying up on the bike for as long as his little legs will allow him to pedal through the grass.

I ask him if he is ready to try it on the cement in the cul-de-sac. He says he is. At this point I am still half expecting a trip to the emergency room.

First try, he does about 4 circles around, going right (clockwise) the whole time. Lays the bike down and the pedal scraps along the back of his calf. Usually at that point he throws his hands up, stomps off saying he is never going to do (insert activity here) again.

He bitched for about 5 seconds and then was ready to get back on again.

About 10 minutes later, after riding around in endless circles, practicing using the break, and slowing down and speeding up, he looked at me and asked this:

“Daddy, are you proud of me?”

And just before I answered him yes and began hugging him and kissing his head, I felt the pit of my stomach drop out and all of a sudden I felt sick.

He shouldn’t have ever had to ask me that. Had I really been so wrapped up in my school and work that I didn’t tell him I was proud of him the moment I first pushed him and he made it halfway across the yard? So while I am kissing him and holding him, there I am, a man of 29 years trying to hide the tears from my son and neighbors.

Then he decides to let loose with this:

“I’m proud of you too daddy, because you go to school just like me. School is hard, just like my bike.”

After that, everything seemed so much clearer.

I know this sounds like it came from a cheesy religious pamphlet, especially where you read the word “fuck” and my insinuation about oral sex with my wife, but every word is true.

I wish I could see the world with this kind of clarity all the time.