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Almost Scientific Fact Of The Day 10/1/12

'British men typically have bigger penises than their French counterparts but are less well endowed than Germans, a new study has suggested. The average penis size for a British man is apparently 5.5in when erect - larger than the French at 5.3in, Australians (5.2in), Americans (5.1in) and Irish (5in).

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Johnny Depp? Or DAD! 10/26/14

So the other day, I was looking at some of my super old blog ideas and came across one that somehow slipped through the cracks that really should have been turned into a proper entry. This one’s for those of you with babies, pay attention.

My daughter- Obersturmführer Bällerinä- is about to turn 5, but we’re gonna go back to when she was 1 and just starting to talk.

She had gotten the obligatory-first-word-is-‘Mum’ thing out of the way, and I had finally gotten her saying Dad. In fact, every time I would say ‘Dad’ she would say it right back to me. Now, I’ve heard that a lot of babies ‘parrot’ new words like this back to their parents, it’s how they learn, right? Ok. Here’s what I did- and what I strongly suggest those of you with babies follow suit- I made up a fun question and answer game. It went like this-


Huttsez- Who do you think is more handsome AND interesting- the guy from Sons of Anarchy? Or DAD!


Obersturmführer Bällerinä- Dad!

Huttsez-  Good answer, Sweetie! Ok. Who do you think the woman that gave birth to you* would rather be with- Johnny Depp? Or DAD! 

*You can’t say Mum because the kid will just say ‘Mum’ and blow the whole thing. You gotta get creative.


Obersturmführer Bällerinä- Dad!

Huttsez- Wow! That’s another great answer! Right, one more quick question. If the person I mentioned in the last question had to choose who she thought had most likely mastered the art of lovemaking, should she choose Johnny Depp? Or DAD!


Obersturmführer Bällerinä- Dad!

Huttsez-   Shazam! Great answer kid! Didja hear that, Mrs. H? 

Mrs. Huttsez-  [rolls her eyes, but with a little smile]Yes, I did. Most likely because I’m sitting right here.

Huttsez-  Crazy... well, you know what they say ‘Out of the mouthes of babes’ and all that. [and we all laugh and hug because we’re the most perfect family that never has any problems ever]


So. this silly little game served a double purpose, it gave us all a little chuckle- tired parents with babies often need a touch of brevity- and kept my favorite topic-The Sex- front and center. Good subject to keep in the foreground when you’ve got a baby, because it’s easy to let it get away from you. 

You could come up with a myriad of possible questions. Off the top of my head-


Mum-  Who do you think should do the washing up after dinner- the Homo sapien standing before you? Or DAD!

Dad-  Who should be the recipient of a back rub because they deserve it the most- the woman who’s always asking me to fix things? Or DAD!

Mum- Who do you think should stay home with you while the other parent goes out for dinner and drinks with her friends. Boring old Mrs. Huttsez? Or super fun DAD!

Dad-  Who do you think should sit in manchair and watch *proper* football all day. The person in this house that has the most shoes? Or DAD!


Whatever the question, if you currently have a baby, don’t let this opportunity pass ‘cause it’s a good time. As the young people say, “thas wassup”.


That’s it for now.


Who’s facebook page would you rather like- that guy from the original 21 Jump Street? Or HUTTSEZ!*

*Umm, actually you don’t have to answer that question. But I’d appreciate the “like”. Go on, then.


Thanks for reading. See you soon.



“... the unread voice of a generation.”



Yay! Bedtime!! Pt. 2- Made Up Stories 10/19/14

While we’re on the topic of bedtime, we should talk about made up stories. Kids love ‘em, and they have some nice benefits for the parents.

You can basically stretch out a made up story into incredibly dull lists, thus helping to send the little tweeker into Slumberton. Like this-

[said in a very slow, calm, hypnotist type voice] ... and then he got out the eggs, and the flour, and the vanilla [pause] ... and then he got out the sugar, and some butter, and some strawberries [p a u s e] ... and then he got the mixing bowl, and the whisk, and a wooden spoon, and two cake pans [p  a  u  s  e] ... and then he put the flour into the mixing bowl, and then he put the eggs into the mixing bowl, and then he put the butter and vanilla into the mixing bowl [P   A   U   S   E] ... and then he plugged in the electric whisk thingy, and mixed it all together.... oh, and he added a little milk into the mixing bowl...

I bet you turned off pretty quick and skipped over most of that, didn’t you? Well, I don’t blame you, it’s soul numbingly dull. But that’s the technique I like for the end of the story when I’m trying to get 4 year old daughter to nod off.

Now, you can’t just have a crap story with nothing exciting because the kid won’t want to hear it anymore, in fact it may end up pissing them off instead of getting them to sleep (I’ve seen it happen). So it’s gotta have some fun parts too. 

Mostly because I’m lazy, I made up a character called Bill The Dragon. Bill has a little sister called Veronica, and his Mum and Dad are Susan and Roger. It’s basically our family, except that we’re dragons and have cooler names.

Bill and his family do cool things like build sandcastles at the beach, plant a flower garden (a really good one for lists!), go to the museum. Bill is an excellent baker, and loves to bake cakes and cookies with his little sister. Fun, simple stuff. Not to say that it doesn’t get whacky from time to time.

Back when I was still clinging to a thread of hope that Obersturmführer Bällerinä would somehow want to play football (Ha!), I told a Bill The Dragon story about Bill and Veronica playing Flying Ballet Football with their friends. It was incredibly silly-


... and then Veronica went from first position and did a perfect plié with a fast run into a well executed brisé, got her head on the ball and smashed it past the flailing ‘keeper with a powerful header to the top right corner. Everyone hugged her and they all smiled because football is great. Oh yeah, and so is ballet.


Needless to say, she shows absolutely no interest in playing football and is all about the dancing. Surprise surprise. 

So that little brainwashing attempt obviously failed, even though it probably never really stood a chance anyway. 

Oh, well.

Another benefit of made up stories can be that you ‘big yourself up’- here’s a little excerpt from one of our stories... 

... that’s when Roger- Bill and Veronica’s Dad- took them out for gelato.

“You’re the best, Dad!” said Bill and Veronica,

“You got that right kids,” said Roger “Dads are the best!”

And they all hugged and laughed, and Roger told them that he loved them, and then he bought Veronica a Curious George dvd, and they went home and Susan made her famous popcorn and they all watched Curious George. 

After the movie, Veronica gave Roger a big hug.

“I love you Dad. You are really great.” she said. 

“I agree Sweetie, and you’re really great too.” 

And then Roger told her a story and she went to sleep. Because Dads are great and they tell the best stories. The End. 

Power of positive persuasion, right? Right. 

I did one where Roger gets tickets to the ballet for Veronica and Susan. Because Dads are great.

I do one where Veronica’s things keep getting broken or stop working and Roger fixes them every time. Because Dads are great and can do lots of stuff.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not all Roger all the time. No, no. Susan gets to be great too. She helped Bill and Veronica plant their flower and vegetable gardens by taking them to the nursery and picking out all the cool stuff they were going to plant. After Roger roto-tilled all the soil, because it was a tough manly Dad job that big tough Dads like to do, Susan did all the planting with them. Because Mums are great. See? I spread it around, I’m not holding out. Bill gets big upped as the best-big-brother-ever when he does cool stuff with Veronica. Everyone gets a taste. I’m an equal opportunity made up story teller. Well, if I’m being fair, I would have to say that Roger does get a bit more of the praise... Whudahyahgonnado? ;)

So, apart from telling you about Bill The Dragon, I guess I was also attempting to offer some story telling advice to any fellow bedtime sufferers out there. Anything’s worth a try, am I right? Hope it helps, my tired and grumpy Bedtime War compatriots. It works for me. Sometimes. Hopefully.

That’s it for now.


Go and like Huttsez on facebook. Because Hutsezes are great.


Thanks for reading. See you soon. 


“... the unread voice of a generation.”



Yay! Bedtime!!  10/11/14

Bedtime. Bed. Time.


I’m not a big fan.

Let me clarify that a bit- I’m a big fan of my bedtime. My bedtime is easy.

However, my 4 year old roommate- aka my daughter, aka Obersturmführer Bällerinä- is not so easy at bedtime. Which isn’t too terribly surprising- you see- because she’s only four. It’s what they do.

Man oh man, she is a handful, and I’m talking about an Andre The Giant sized handful over here.

I know I’m not alone. I’ve spoken to other parents who have kids that are passionately opposed to the concept of bedtime. It’s nothing new to parents of young children. There are many veterans of The Bedtime Wars out there, frazzled and shell-shocked- you know who you are. 

When 6 o’clock rolls around and Obersturmführer Bällerinä starts to crank up on the hyper, tired, edgy energy, Mrs. Huttsez and I move our threat level from yellow (elevated) to orange (high) and prepare to mobilize. It’s not our first rodeo.

There are times when she reaches that super overtired place that it feels like I’m dealing with a tiny alcoholic cokehead. Check out some of the things she does- 

Sometimes she gets all jittery and sprints around talking incessantly.

On occasion she jumps on the bed or sofa like she’s a circus performer. Somersaults make a frequent appearance.

She’s been known to laugh AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS even when nothing funny happens.

She can get wicked ornery.

She stalls like a champion with copious trips to the toilet. 

She can also can throw down a colossal tantrum if you don’t play your cards right. Which happens sometimes, because we’re tired too.

It’s like parenting’s Perfect Storm. A tired kid and tired parents with diametrically opposed agendas. Especially if the kid is possessed by a demon, like mine. Just kidding. Honest. *clears throat*

When she goes ‘full on’, Mrs. H and I go to threat level red (severe) and prepare for the worst. Shit’s about to get real. It’s pretty much a given that she’ll be up until at least 10:00, and that’s really late for a 4 year old. Not to mention the 47 year old who gets up at 4:45am. It sucks for all of us. Fortunately, this doesn’t happen all the time. Otherwise I’d sell her to science. Just kidding. Honest. *clears throat*

So we’ve tried A LOT of different approaches to bedtime, and had varying degrees of success along the way.

We do bath, books, and bed every night for her bedtime routine.

We’ve tried one parent does bedtime to see if that might work.

We’ve tried dividing the jobs- Mum does bath, Dad does books. And vice versa.

We’ve tried good behavior sticker charts with treat at the end of the week incentives. I will buy her this, if she'll just GO TO SLEEP!

We’ve tried consequences, like losing iPad privileges. I suggested food, Mrs. H was not impressed ;).

We’ve resorted to the ‘sleep drive’. You know, the one where you take your exhausted and screaming child for a ride so they can finally go to sleep. Guilty as charged. We’ve even lied to her and said that she’s going to “the special cupcake place” just to get her in the car. Parenting!

When she’s fully tweeking, we’ve learned to abort bedtime and go to the living room for sticker books or some drawing. Helps her come down enough to get back in bed for some books or stories.

Lying down with her, rubbing her back, co-sleeping, night lights, extra books, made up stories that go on FOREVER- bedtime is a big job. Jebus Harry Christ...

At the moment we’re trying short term incentives, and it seems to be working... for now. 

Mrs. Huttsez suggested that perhaps the week long good behavior chart was too long term, that Obersturmführer Bällerinä couldn’t get her head around being good for the whole week with a treat on the weekend. It was just too far ahead, you know? She proposed that we go day to day- so she gets to watch a show in the morning (I believe the Modern Parents call it ‘screen time’)(*cringe*), but only if she was good at bedtime. It’s about 20 minutes, not a big deal and it’s kind of working.  Andre-The-Giant-fingers crossed!

If it stops working (which it will), then hey, we’ll ride out the meltdowns and come up with another approach. It’s part of being a parent. We’re just gonna have to go with the flow.

And that’s what I’m learning to do. Relax. Adjust. Breath. But mostly relax.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not some ultra mellow, perfect Dad. I totally lose my patience from time to time, but man, when you’re knock down exhausted and your kid is being a total shit, it’s hard. Whuduhyagonnado?

She’s not always going to fight bedtime, she will grow and mature, and before we know it, she’ll be telling us to fuck off and that she hates us. So relax.

It’s so easy for parents to micromanage their kids, to get all caught up and anxious if something about their children is awry. They lose sight of the big picture. They forget that their kids will go through a multitude of phases, good and bad. I’ve certainly been guilty of this.

People go to sleep specialists, and seminars, and read books on how to get their kids to sleep. Well, here’s some advice that would save them a lot of time and energy- relax, just chill out. If you’re calm they’ll be calm. Also, it’s just what a lot of young children do. So you have to deal, get over it. It’s taken me a long time to realize this simple truth.

My son is 15. I don’t have a hard time getting him to go to bed. He goes to bed when he’s tired. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I’m not going to hire a sleep specialist or do any of that other bollocks, because I know my daughter will outgrow her resistance to bedtime... some long day away. No need to get my knickers in a twist- life goes in cycles.

Don’t sweat the small stuff and look at the big picture. Children grow and go through many phases, so if you relax and be present you’ll get through the tough times. We’re parents, it’s what we signed up for. 

My sweet little daughter is a precocious joy when she’s not tired. Mrs. H astutely said-

You know, if the sleep problem is her only ‘thing’, then I think we’re doing pretty well. I mean, what if we had 3 small kids like a lot of our friends? Can you imagine?! It must be insane...”

So yeah, we’ve actually got it pretty good, in the it-could-be-way-crazier sense. Or something like that.

In the immortal words of Tommy Chong-

Mellow out, Man. 

That’s it for now.


Go like my facebook page. It’s relaxing.


Thanks for reading. See you soon.


 “... the unread voice of a generation.”


p.s.  Bollocks, I forgot to talk about daylight savings time. For the first time in my life, I am excited for the short days. Normally, I really dislike the winter days- 5 o’clock and it’s getting pretty dark is a bummer. Not anymore, dear reader. I can’t wait!

All summer long with the-

“But Dad, the sun is still up. It’s too early for my bedtime.” 

Well, Obersturmführer Bällerinä, your time is running short. Soon you won’t have the sun to aid you in your little ‘bedtime rebellion’, and the nights will grow long. Your mother and I shall stand victorious before you, as you conk out at 7:30. Winter is coming.



The Tall One 10/3/14

Before we start on the title topic let’s just check in with an update, ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve written.

In my last entry, Another Motherless Son, I told you about the passing of my son’s mum after her battle against cancer- a brutal and devastating event for all who knew her. I talked about how I felt scared and lost in relation to helping my son grieve and cope with his monumental loss. Well, it’s no less brutal or devastating, but it’s no longer as raw.

I took my son to NYC for his 15th birthday, to show him the places he and his mum used to frequent in the hopes that it would help him... grieve. It was an amazing and fun and meaningful journey- perhaps a story for another day.  Suffice to say, he fell in love with New York City, which is a good thing. Sorry to all the old friends we didn’t get to see. Next time... 

His favorite 'street art'. Mine too

So, how’s he doing now?

He’s dealing and doing really well. I’m kind of blown away. Check it out...

He’s just started his sophomore year of High School, and is totally digging it. One of his core teachers just put him on the ‘Leadership Team’.

He’s playing American Football, which he loves even more than when he loved it a lot.

He ended his freshman year with a 3.2 GPA. *mind. blown.*

Our relationship is thriving and has grown immeasurably stronger. He recently said to me after a friend invited him over-

“I’m not gonna go, Dad. I’d rather hang out with you.” *ka. boom.*

He’s helpful. I came home from work the other week, and he was mopping the floors!Yeah, it was a fairly shit job he did- loads of missed spots and not enough elbow greases- but who cares?! The fact that he was doing it is massive. He’s growing up. It’s cool.

Speaking of growing, I think it’s time to get to the title topic.

So, my son has had a couple of names here on the Huttsez blog. He started out as The Spazmatician. Then he was Bilbo Douchebaggins. Now it’s time for a new moniker, as he is no longer prone to horrendously excessive amounts of douchebaggery. He shall henceforth be known as...

The Tall One.

It’s a pretty clever nickname, you see, because he’s gone and got really tall. I’m here all week.

We went for his yearly ‘wellness’ check up with his doctor, and they told us that he’d grown 5 1/2” in 11 months. It’s crazy. He’s practically 2” taller than me and he’s only bloody 15! I’m 5’9”, used to be 5’9 3/4” but I’ve started with the shrinking. He’s just under five foot eleven, FFS! So yeah, The Tall One.

His four year old sister, Obersturmführer Bällerinä, recently asked me while we were all having dinner-

Dad, now that Duncan is the tallest person in the family, does that mean he’s the boss?”

We all had a jolly good laugh, what a hoot. Mrs. Huttsez and the aforementioned Tall One practically shot food out of their noses and pointed and laughed at me, such was the level of hilarity.

No, Sweetheart,” I replied, “ but that’s a really good question. He gets to be the boss when he’s paying the bills and helping me wipe my arse. Ok?’

Ok, Dad.”

She’s a sharp one, is our little Obersturmführer Bällerinä. Boy Howdy, is she ever...

The Tall One makes me stand next to him when people say they can’t believe how tall he’s gotten.



Hey Dad, come stand next to me.”

“Why? Any idiot can see that you’re taller than me.”

“Come on, Dad, just do it.”

*sighs* “Alright.”

It’s at this point that the amazed person usually says something like-

“Holy Shit, he’s like two inches taller than you! Wow.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”  I drolly reply.

Here Dad, I’ll take off my shoes.”

“No. Really.  You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s ok, Dad.  I just want to see what it’s like being as short as you.... Oh.  I’m still taller than you and you’ve got your shoes on.             Awkward.” 

It’s at this point that the person and The Tall One go with the old ‘point and laugh’ and sometimes exchange a high five. Ha ha. Ha. Turns out the kid’s a comedian. Surprise surprise.

When I’m reaching for something up high he’ll say- 

“Want me to get that for you, Shorty?”  What a card. 

“How’s the weather down there?” is a favorite, as is-

“Wow Dad, your eyes are, like, at my mouth. Pretty soon I’ll be able to rest my chin on top of your head.”  Thanks for that. It’s like living with Biff from Back to the Future. 

All kidding aside, it’s really great to see him cracking jokes. It’s really great to see his confidence growing as fast as his body.

The Tall One is now playing defensive end in American Football- his dream position.  I’m telling you, a lot of shit is slotting into place for this kid right now. It’s an incredible blessing.

But I know he’s hurting inside, way down in the place that he keeps to himself because he’s too scared to let it out. And it’s ok if he wants/needs to keep it in. It’s ok because he’s doing what he needs to do for right now- when he’s ready to sort out his grief, he’ll let it out. It’s ok because he’s not collapsing, quite the opposite in fact. 

He’s physically and spiritually rising to the challenge.

So yeah, he is The Tall One. 

That’s it for now.


Like Huttsez on facebook


Thanks for reading. See you soon.




“... the unread voice of a generation.”


p.s.  Just wanted to add another little snippet, and didn’t feel like trying to crowbar it in somewhere, so I figured I’d tack it on down here.

Second day of his sophomore year- aka 4 weeks or so ago- The Tall One was hanging out with his mates at lunch. One of them said to him-

“Dude, let’s go claim some freshmen.” (I’m not quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound very...friendly)

“Uh... no, I’m ok.”

“Come on, man. Let’s go claim some freshmen.”

“Umm.... Why?” 

“Because they’re freshmen, dude! C’mon it’ll be fun.”

“No. I don’t feel like being a dick for no reason.”

“Dude, they’re just freshmen! Whatevs, I’m gonna go claim me a freshman.”

“Oookay... You do realize that it’s only like our second day as sophomores, right? Which means that like three days ago, we were still basically freshmen. Dumbass.”

That’s the story I got from The Tall One, pretty much verbatim, except for the “and he was all...” or “and I was like...” between every line. He’s a cool guy.



Another Motherless Son  4/23/14

It’s been quite a while, huh?  I guess I’ve been a bad blogger.  Well, I’m not usually a “good” blogger under the best of circumstances, but it’s because I’ve been being a good dad.  Or at least as good a dad as I can be.

You see, my son’s mum- my first wife- died of breast cancer on March 8th.  He’s 14 and she was 41.  Yeah, 41.

Fuck you, Universe. 

It’s been brutal, heart wrenching, devastating, unadulterated pain for everyone who knew and loved her.  Her three children (all boys aged 5, 8 and 14), her husband, her mother, her sisters and brothers, cousins who were as close as siblings, aunts and uncles, friends who were like family, and countless other people who were touched by the incredibly special person that she was. 

No child should lose their mother, but my son and his young brothers did.

No mother should have to bury her child, but my son’s grandmother did.

And my heart aches and bleeds for their loss, and for all who loved her.

She died in my son’s arms- he held her while she took her last breath.

He’s the third generation of first born sons in our family who experienced this... I don’t know... catharsis.  I held my mum while she died.  My dad held his mum while she died.  And now my son, my sweet boy, has this cross to bear.  I was 39, and it still stays with me. My dad was 58.  My son is only 14.  A boy.

Death isn’t always like Hollywood.  People don’t always close their eyes and drift off like they’re going to sleep.  No.  They often shudder and seize.  Their eyes roll back in their heads as they pass on.  It’s not pretty.  That’s the death my son saw.

I’m sorry if this is upsetting to any of you- it’s upsetting for me, too.  But it’s what happened, it’s what my boy went through, and I know the images from that day will never leave him.  Ever.  

Fuck you, Universe. 

Wasn’t taking his mum from him enough?  You’re gonna make him carry that, too?

We’ve talked about that day a few times.  He said- 

“It was scary, Dad, I felt it coming.”  Oh, man... 

I’ve wished so many times that there were a way for me to carry his pain for him, to protect him and fight this battle for him, because it’s so big and so overwhelming.  But I can’t, and it’s like a knife in my heart every time I see the sadness in his eyes.

So, what can I do?  Therapy? 

He said- 

“I’m not going to therapy, Dad.”  And he said it with conviction.

Well, I’m not putting him in therapy.  If he doesn’t want to go, then he isn’t going to get anything out of it.  You can lead a horse to water....

I spoke with a few friends who lost their mothers at a young age, one of them only two years older than my boy is now.  They went to therapy and just nodded their heads and said what they had to say- they went through the motions.  There was no real “healing”.  How the Hell does a child heal from something like that?  One of my friends said-

“It fucked me up, and I didn’t deal with it until my 30’s.”  Not what I wanted to hear, but this is what we’ve got.  It’s his road to travel, but he won’t be doing it alone because I’m going to be beside him every single step of the way.

So, I went to therapy.  To try and find a way to help my boy.  To teach him how to carry the load.  And to let him know that he is not alone.  I went to therapy because I was scared.  Scared because I didn’t know what to do.  Well, now I do.  Kind of.

What I’ve learned boils down to this, and it’s very simple- 

Love him and be there for him.  That’s it.

So, I love him unconditionally, and he knows this.  For that I am very grateful.

I am there for him unconditionally, and he knows this, too.  Because I’m his Dad.

I try and be more gentle now, because he won’t get a mother’s gentle love ever again.  I write him notes every morning, wishing him a good day and that I’ll be thinking of him, that he’s a great kid and I’m proud of him. I always sign it-

I love you.  Love, Dad.

I found out that he’s saved every single one.  I saw them in his room, neatly piled on a shelf.  It made me happy and sad all at the same time.

I’m there for him everyday, because I have to give him two parents worth of time.  We spend time together playing video games, watching movies, listening to music, washing up after dinner... whatever it is, I let him know that he is not alone

I got him a heavy punching bag and some gloves so he can kick the shit out of something when he’s feeling overwhelmed and angry.  He calls it therapy.  Sometimes, he lets me hold the bag for him while he throws punch after punch after punch, the tears welling up in his eyes, his face contorted with anger and sadness and confusion.  So, I just hold the bag and... be there.  Because I’m his Dad.  I’m his only parent.

Fuck you, Universe.

The therapist told me-

Keep her memory alive.  Take him to places she lived, start a Memory Book, have him be the one who keeps her memory alive for his brothers.  These are things that will help him grieve.” 

So, I’m planning a trip to New York City, where he was born.

I’ll show him his first home in Brooklyn.  I’ll take him to places he and his Mum went together.  His first playground, Prospect Park, FAO Schwartz, Chinatown, and The Village.  The place where I met his Mum and the birthing center where he was born, coincidentally, right across the street.  Hopefully it will help him grieve, who knows.  Either way, it’ll help him start his journey, and help him keep her memory alive.

This entry has rambled and yelled and swore, I know.  But this is the hardest thing my kid has ever had to face, and I pray that he never has to face something this brutal ever again.  That if tragedy or deep sadness enter his life at some other juncture, he has the strength and maturity to cope, and the will and conviction to thrive.  He is a wonderful human being.  But I’m still scared for him.

Every day I have moments of fear.  Fear that I won’t be able to help him through this.  Fear that I’m not strong enough to find the right way.  Fear that he won’t let himself grieve.  It’s a big fucking hill to climb- you’re damn right I’m scared.  Wouldn’t you be?

But these are just moments, and it’s ok to have them.  I remind myself that every decision I’ve made since the day he was born has been easy, that I’ve always done what I thought would be the best thing for my son. 

So, right now the best thing is to be strong and present, and not to give in to fear (cue the Yoda*).

*more on that another time. 

I know I can do this for him.  I have to.

I know it’s going to be hard- the hardest thing we’ve ever faced.  Because it is.

But, you know what?  It’s also going to be easy.

Because I love him.

Because he’s my son.

Because I’m his Dad.


That’s it for now.


Thanks for reading.  See you soon.