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Professional marketer, writer and amateur father


Riley just ran up and kissed my knee, for no apparent reason, then turned and ran shrieking from the room with his arms straight up in the air.

This has been going on for 20 minutes.

I’ve given up on trying to understand this behavior. I understand less about a four-year-old than I did about a three-year-old, which was light-years ahead of my understanding of a baby. I’m just hanging on for the ride.

Kylen sits on the floor beside me, giving me his dopey grin. I know what he’s thinking. There aren’t nearly as many questions the second time around, and this kid holds few mysteries, but many secrets.

Riley’s back. He’s standing in the doorway, looking at me with his head slightly down. He does this when he’s about to spill something important.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“Daddy, I love you.”

Damn. Here I go again. This lump in my throat can appear in an instant now. I’m helpless at the hands of my little child, who of course has no understanding of the power he wields.

And that's what this whole endeavor has been about for the last three years. Getting it down, on the record, so that my parents can laugh at my mistakes, and I can document the madness for myself. Perhaps someday I'll understand the chaos that's enveloped my life. For now, I'll just grab tight and see where we end up.