Just another self-indulgent post about my kid

I am so proud of my son

I know, who cares? Who isn’t? Proud of their own son or daughter, I mean.

Probably some poor bastard, but not me.

The Boy continues to impress in ways that are uncalculated and just happen to push my particular happy happy/joy joy buttons.

Besides his recently renewed interest in drawing—which delights this former pen and zip-a-tone artist to no end—tonight he sparked to some music that I was playing for a guest of The Missus’.

There’s a bit at the end of the U2 360° Tour DVD that I just love, so I was playing it for this visitor, who was kind enough to indulge me. After the really cool part I had described to him came to pass, we all agreed that it was indeed pretty cool, and I released the houseguest while the DVD was still playing.

With The Missus gone to take our dinner guest back to his hotel, I tried to put The Boy to bed, but he was having none of it. He kept assuring me that they [the band] were gonna do another one after this one, and sure enough, he kept on being right.

I decided to blow off his bedtime in exchange for this unexpected opportunity to contribute to The Boy’s cultural education. Man cannot live on museums alone.

At first he just got up and danced around to the bombastic but heart-felt arena-rock. But then he ran back into his room and emerged a moment later with his maracas, which he proceeded to shake around in rough time to the music. Which was plenty cool enough, but then he a) asked me to turn up the volume, and b) ran around the house and turned off every light. Following his cue, I pulled the front room blinds on the mostly-set sun, and we proceeded to rock out together to the last few songs of the set list at ear-splitting volume, bathed in the colorful, writhing glow of the TV screen.

He was so good, I even acceded to his subsequent demands that we forgo flossing for the evening. People that much cooler than me have always intimidated and impressed me, and my son is turning out to be no exception.