It’s not every day you get to act as Don King for your 18 month old baby’s pit fight with a 3 year old punk. Then again, every once in a while that day comes along, and that day for me happened to be the busiest day of the year at Legoland.

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Here’s a story I’m going to tell about my Dad at his funeral. (Don’t get me wrong, I hope he lives to be 120 – I’m not going to tell this as if he is gone – because that is just creepy…)

My dad is an amazing man. He’s patient and kind and wouldn’t hurt a fly. This is a story about a time when he threatened to hurt a fly (more like kick the crap out of a fly); in this case the fly being another very out of line dad. He was protecting me which not only is noble, but what a father should do. It’s good to remind your kids every once in a while that behind the knee high socks and the fanny pack (worn in reverse so it’s cool) that they are still a lion, but more importantly that they are your lion ready to pounce if need be.

If my dad were a hotheaded bully in real life, I wouldn’t tell this story because it would just remind everybody in the audience (if he were a bully I’m guessing it would be a small audience) about his faults. If I had that kind of dad, I would tell about the time he went to 4 different grocery stores to find me the perfect Popsicle when I had the flu. If I had a hothead for a dad, I would tell everybody that my dad named the bunny he brought me home by surprise, Snuggles (Mr. Snuggles McSoft being his formal, complete name). But my dad is not a bully; he is a saint, which is why I can tell this “bully” story…here goes.

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It’s time to embark on the adventure of tennis with my oldest son Charlie. The free ride is over. He’s loafed around snuggling with his mommy for too long. He’s played with enough cars and mastered enough puzzles. His baby time is up and it’s time to be a man. The morning we started playing tennis I drew a little tiny hair on his chest using a marker. This was a symbol to him, myself and God that it is time to leave childish things behind and start playing the die hard sport of tennis (soon he will be dating and I’m teaching him how to drive a stick shift). Charlie is a little athlete; he is light on his feet and has great hand-eye coordination. (My second son Ethan is a different kind of athlete…he will be America’s next hope in the sport of sumo). Charlie is 3 1/2 and I was excited to teach him one of my favorite games with hopes of one day living vicariously through him (only a good plan…if you have no life of your own). My plan is to lure Charlie in by making the game fun. Only later (and by that I mean in 2 years) we will turn up the heat on his practices by running side aching suicides and launching 80 mile an hour serves at him. Then if all goes to plan, we will pull him out of school and start his real training, treating tennis as a job as I search for a sponsor. One day I hope to make enough money to build a house that will provide ample room to build a tennis court (this will be Charlie’s new home complete with a water bed and John McEnroe bedding).

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