The Many Faces of Xavier
Sep 5, 2009 All Things X, Family, Parenting, Wicked MOMMY Wisdoms, love
Happy Sunday and Labor Day Weekend, friends!
This special weekend edition blog comes to you on the day of my little man’s birth. He turns the big fat 9 years old today.
NINE. Hey-Zeus Creest I feel old.
From conception, this one has been easy-peasy-chicken-greezy. He has always just kinda went with the flow. I would say that he is just like his dad in that sense, and his sister like me with her intensity and diva-like ways. Fitting… right?
Xavier is my little big man. He grew up with me growing up. He watched his dad and all of his uncles go through growing pains themselves … alone and with one another. He has a knack of knowing when to hug his mom just when I need an X hug the most. He manned up when D and I separated, bouncing from my house to D’s … putting up with both of our shit and games and (bigsigh) bullshit when he had no business being a part of it. Nor did he deserve it. But he did it. He smiled big and to be honest, if it weren’t for him and his happiness, D and I would probably not have made it through the rockiest time of our lives.
I love him differently than I do anyone else in this world. I am harder on him than I probably should be. I give him shit as often as possible. I yell too much and hug too little. I expect him to be everything I never was, and forget sometimes to remind him that no matter who he is, I still love him to the ends of the Earth. I think that because we all kind of grew up together … he, D, and me … I just expect him to get it and am reminded often that, just because I grew up … he is still a kid. A good kid. A loving, bright, funny kid with the biggest heart and the most handsome smile.
When I was putting together the slideshow of him growing up, I realized that he has always been the goofy-face-maker. As you can see, he has some sort of face made in all of these pics. I love that about him. (well, except for when I am paying someone to take our pics and he is fucking off with some goofy faces.) I love that he is a comedian … most of the time. I love how smart he is all of the time and smart-assy he is some of the time. He is outgoing. He is confident. He loves clothes and shoes and he is convinced he will be the next Michael Jordan or the next Tony Hawk. Or both. He is sweet. He can write a better rap verse than most grown ass men in the hip hop industry. He gets music and LOVES music. He cares about peoples feelings. He is sensitive and thoughtful. Most importantly, he is the best big brother in the history of big brothers. I couldn’t ask for a better helper.
So this year is the last year of single digits. Next year he will be freaking 10 and I will die of a heart attack thinking about how I birthed a freaking 10 year old. All I see now is his years of puberty ahead of me.
Dear God, What did I get myself into?!?!?!
Enjoy the slides … and of course leave him birthday wishes. He will love to read a blog dedicated to him with his vain behind.
Tags: big brother, birthday, dad, happy birthday, labor day, michael jordan, mommy, nine years old, Parenting, tony hawk, xavier
A Blog About Parents: “It Is What It Is”
Jun 29, 2009 Family, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, Parenting, Thoughts and Perceptions, Wicked Wisdoms, love
My parents weren’t go-out-and-do-shit parents. Meaning, you know how there are those one parents where every weekend they had this hike or that museum planned to go and do? Yeah. My parents weren’t those parents. For most of my youth, we were poor so it was hard to do stuff.
Looking back I could say that I wished that they were those parents. But I don’t. Not really. We have never really been ‘that family’. We did go and do things. The things we did do were fun times. So I like the fact that what we did meant something… because I think that, from the outside looking in … many of those families are not happy ones behind closed doors. Generally speaking anyway.
(Yes I am aware that this is not all cases and that there are those truly happy 50’s white picket fence chocolate chip cookies when you got home from school families.)
When I was really little my dad drove truck so he was gone during the week a lot of the time. I remember missing him a great deal, and I think that him being gone is the main reason why I was drawn to him the way that I was. I would wait and wait to see or hear his semi truck pull up outside and run as fast as my little feet could move me across the gravel into his bear-arms.
I have always thought that my dad was the coolest dad on the planet.
I remember this one time when he came home, he wanted to take me and my mom out to dinner. As promised, we went to dinner in his truck. When we got there, he came around to get me out of the passenger side. I was so small then; the length of the step from the truck to the bottom step seemed a mile long. I blindly, and in an excited hurry grabbed the steam/exhaust pipe instead of the handle.
I can still feel the pain on the palm of my hand when I think about it to this day.
I screamed and cried as he rescued me and rushed me into the restaurant where I promptly placed my hand in a big glass of ice water. He sat right next to me and told me jokes to try and make me forget about the burn.
“How about I punch you in the other arm. You won’t feel your hand then.”
We used to wrestle.
He used to give me “Monkey Bumps” cause he thought that shit was funny.
He helped me with my math homework. I really suck at math.
He likes to sing. He has a pretty good voice.
He tried to get me to golf. I sucked.
My dad taught me how to drive.
He made me walk to the store when I got my period to buy tampons.
We fish. A lot less than I would like, but…
As I grew into into me, only a hormonal teenager, we began to beef on a daily basis. I don’t know where the rift began, but I know where it ended: When I moved out. He and I are so much alike that it is frightening. Our strong personalities under one roof with one of them being an authoritative figure was like mixing oil and water.
I pushed, he pushed harder. I yelled, he yelled louder. I slammed doors, he slammed harder. But when push came to shove, I knew that he loved me. Maybe that is why I pushed so hard. Maybe … that is why he pushed back that much harder.
Would I change it? Nah. I think that all of the tumultiousness that was our father daughter relationship made us that much more awesome today. He has put up with a great deal of shit with me and my wanting-to-do-it-the-hard-way every time.
When I enlisted in the Navy, and actually followed through with leaving for boot camp,and then tech school… and then a ship… I think that he realized that there was something within me that I actually took away from the things he used to preach to me as a kid. When I returned home, and saw him for the first time, wrapped in his bear-arms again, I truly felt like a little girl again and I remembered that I loved him. We just kinda fell into something pretty great from that moment.
But it wasn’t perfect. *I* wasn’t that great of a daughter all of the time.
I got married before D and didn’t tell my parents until afterward. My selfish ass didn’t consider that maybe my dad wanted to walk me down the isle.
I got my dad fired from Metro. (I didnt know at the time) He had bags of bus fare in his room to turn in, and I stole so.much.change. What I didn’t know, is that he almost faced criminal charges for it. (I later found this out after jokingly telling him that I was the one who stole the change)
The cops were called to my house several times. Because of my fight instigation.
I am pretty sure that I told my dad that I hated him angrily… one time too many.
Above all, my dad has always embraced me for me. He has expressed his thoughts as to who he thought that I should become, but understood (after some adjustment) and accepted who I chose to be and how I chose to live my life and conduct my business. I think that I can say that he is proud of me.
But most importantly, my dad is an honest man. He treats my mom with the utmost respect. My dad (thinks he) is funny. He lives life with an “it is what it is” motto. He isn’t perfect, but he always stands up for what is right and what he believes in. I may not like it at the time… but that doesn’t matter. I know when I call him and I ask him for his advice, he is gonna give it to me. No sugar coating. No bullshit. None of it.
And that is more than I can say for most people in the world.
What kind of relationship do you have with the dad in your life?
Have you ever done something that made your dad burst with pride?
What is the worst thing you ever did as a teen/kid and got busted for?
Tags: adolesence. mom, dad, daughter, father, fight, love, mom, mom and dad, Parenting, respect, teenager
