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As a parent, what words do you say to your children most often? Do you tell them "I love you?" Do you say "You make me proud?" What words fall from your lips so effortlessly that they become part of your child’s subconscious understanding of your relationship?

For me, those words are "buckle up."

I say it all the time. I probably say it in my sleep. "Buckle up, son."

Every time we get into the car, I tell my kid to buckle his seat belt. It happens every time. Because, you know, I don't want him to die. He gets the love in that, right? He knows it's a positive thing, doesn't he? Because we're going to be operating a large vehicle at high speeds and I want him to be safe. It's just good, solid parenting.

But here's the thing; WHY DO I HAVE TO TELL HIM TO BUCKLE UP? How does he not know that this is an expectation? It's not like we have designated Seat Belt Days throughout the month. We don't celebrate specific belted holidays. We don't even take a rest from seat belts on the Sabbath! WE ALWAYS WEAR SEAT BELTS! Because I ALWAYS DON'T WANT HIM TO DIE! And yet, every time we climb into the car, I look in my rear view mirror and see my child unrestrained in the back seat.

"Buckle up, Jono."

"Oh, yeah."

Oh, yeah. That's right. Knew I was forgetting something. Let's see, what did Dad just ask me to do? "Something-something, Jono," I think he said. Hey, look... there's that toy I left in the car last week. Oh, poop, Dad's talking again.

"What did you say, Dad?"

"I said 'buckle up.'"

"Oh, yeah... Why are you banging your head on the steering wheel like that, Dad?"

Once my wife got so frustrated with the ongoing struggle that she gave Jono the following instructions:

"Every time you climb into the car, get in your seat and buckle your seat belt. When we're walking out to the car and you SEE the car, start thinking about putting on your seat belt. Then get in the car... and put on your seat belt."

So far it's worked pretty well. He sees the car almost every time now.

I had a plan to get my CDL and buy a school bus. That way Jono could legally sit in the back seat without a seat belt. There's still a safety issue, but at least we'd be obeying the law. The real problem would be times when Jono wasn't with me. Then I'm just a strange, bearded man who drives around town in a school bus. That guy has a definite vibe and I don't want it. Maybe I could get a motorcycle with a sidecar?

This story has no ending. It's an ongoing battle. And don't expect any words of wisdom. I have none. 

In conclusion, here's an artist's rendition of me as a school bus driver:

Way Out in Right Field

My son likes sports. I taught him to like sports, just like my dad taught me. My dad especially taught me about baseball. He made sure I knew the fundamentals and, even though I'd never be a star athlete, I enjoyed little league and could usually manage to put the bat on the ball. I'm happy to pass on this love to my son. I just wish it was the only thing I passed on.

My son also inherited my short attention span. This was always a problem for me, especially when playing sports. Here's the thing; right field is a long way from home plate. And in the early years of little league, lots of kids can't get the ball out of the infield. So if you play right field a lot, you can assume it's because you're awesome. You can also assume that you'll have plenty of time to use your imagination.

Grown-ups always talk about imagination like it's a good thing, but they never really want you to use it. They'll say, "Oh, he has a GREAT imagination!" But then when they're telling you to clean your room (or something lame like that) they don't appreciate the fact that evil super-villains are invading from another dimension located INSIDE YOUR CLOSET!

Coaches are grown-ups. They don't appreciate that you were thinking about dragons when a baseball drops next to you in right field. How do I know? I heard about it. From a friend.

My mind was always full of superheroes and that definitely does NOT seem to skip a generation. I used to stand out there in right field, or sit on the bench, waiting for my turn at bat, and think about superheroes. My son has taken it to the next level. He can be in the middle of the action during a soccer game while also imagining that he's Iron Man. That's pretty impressive.

Jono is actually really good at soccer. I know because I've seen him play in some of the few moments when he wasn't distracted. But if you’ve ever come to one of his games, chances are you thought he was pretty bad at soccer. That's because he likely wasn't playing soccer during that game. I can almost guarantee you that he was being Iron Man.

But here's the thing... superheroes and sports don't mix. Don't believe me? Just ask this guy:

You can’t save the world and score a goal at the same time. Unless you’re David Beckham, in which case you’re probably too busy being a jerk to read this blog, anyway. (Seriously… the guy is rich, famous, a sports icon, and married to a Spice Girl, and he still seems to be irritated all the time. Jerk.)

Jono is fast and coordinated. He can drive to the goal. He can aim a pass. But he usually doesn’t. He usually points his palms backwards in an impressive imitation of Iron Man and “flies” around the field.

Once, in practice, Jono made a great drive to the goal only to stop in his tracks when he saw his own shadow. He then proceeded to make a shadow puppet of a bird with his hands. The other parents were so jealous.

Jono’s first season of soccer was quite an ordeal for me. I stood on the sidelines every game, promising myself I wouldn’t become one of those crazy soccer parents. I failed almost every time. I felt the urge to “coach” from the sidelines. I felt compelled to yell useful tidbits like “play soccer” and “PLEASE play soccer!” After every game I told him I was proud of him. And I was. And I didn’t need to worry. He’s learned more about soccer by playing at school with his friends than he ever did that first year in little league. It just had to be fun before he’d learn it. I shouldn’t have been such a grown-up.

It’s fun taking Jono to Royals games.  You may find that hard to believe, but I was born and raised a Royals fan and I think I actually enjoy losing at this point. “Fun.” On those nights in Kauffman Stadium, Jono is always watching a different game than I am. He never knows how many outs there are or who’s pitching. But he always seems to think Eric Hosmer is ready to use his super strength to knock a ball into outer space. And who am I to say he’s wrong? I remember how the game looks from right field.

Gaps in our Education

My son, Jono, needs rules. We all need rules, but Jono needs more rules than you do. See, you probably don't belly flop off couches to find out what will happen. But at our house, there's a rule for that. Have you ever needed a rule about when and where it was okay to jump off of furniture and onto your father's neck? We need that rule. It's one of my favorite rules.

Jono has always been a little wild and, as an only child, he sometimes lacked... shall we say... structure. He also lacked the ability to handle most social situations. But that has all been changing this year as Jono has started school. 

Kindergarten is a wonderful thing. It teaches kids a lot of things but it mostly teaches them how to be taught. It teaches them how to sit still and listen to instructions and how to deal with large groups of peers. Jono is absolutely loving it. He loves everything about kindergarten. He loves his teacher. He loves having his own desk and cubby hole. He loves his classmates. And he LOVES the rules.

We knew Jono needed rules and we knew he needed more structure. We didn't know how much he'd love those restrictions, though. In fact, he has become a tyrant of rule-following. For instance, at school, no one is allowed to talk in the halls. Sometimes I'll be walking in the hallway of our home and Jono will frown and tell me not to talk. "There's no talking in the hallway, Dad. That's naughty."

It isn't.

But it's a rule and it must be obeyed. He loves it.

The rule that concerns him most is about walking in single-file lines. There aren't supposed to be any gaps in a kindergarten line. Gaps mean that someone isn't keeping up with the group. Gaps, as I understand it, are the devil. Sometimes when I'm in the checkout line of the grocery store, Jono will have a minor panic attack.

"Dad, there's a GAP!"

Yes, there is. This is America, not France. We have personal bubbles. Also, this is Walmart and the person in front of me smells terrible.

"We can't have any GAPS in the line!"

Yes, good point. Gaps were probably invented by Lucifer.

We've been working on this issue and it's actually getting better. It's given us lots of opportunities to teach Jono not to judge other people if they break the rules, but to only worry about our own behavior. It's even given us some chances to talk about showing people grace, just like Jesus has shown to us. But it's been an ongoing struggle.

The other day, Jono came home from school and confessed that he received the dreaded "name on the board." That means he got a warning for a minor offense but didn't need to get any sort of official reprimand. But when I asked why, his answer shocked me. "I pushed Korbin." WHAT?! VIOLENCE IN SCHOOL?! And not even against one of the kids I DON'T LIKE?! I was ready to switch to a Mennonite church when I realized he only got his name on the board. It couldn't have been a real fight. I asked more questions.

"Where did that happen?"

"In the hall."

"Were you angry?"

"No."

Then I understood. Then I started rubbing my weary eyeballs and groaning.

"There was a gap, wasn't there?"

"Yes! He was leaving a gap! I tried to make him go faster!"

My son went to school the next day and apologized for "helping" Korbin to keep up in line. Through that ordeal, he learned a lot about showing grace to others. He also learned how to make his father suddenly seem very old and tired. Life is full of little lessons. And big gaps.