Doug, Joelle, and Angela
My son Doug turns 38 today.
Despite having what can be most charitably described as a semi-feral übergeek as a dad, he somehow managed to thrive. He's an independent, responsible adult with a droll sense of humor; the ability to write complex yet accessible biographical narratives; possesses impressive typing skills; loves animals; is a scholar of the works of the giants (Python, Landis, Ramis, and Cameron); is a great uncle; and last year became a father.
That last achievement is what I find most impressive. When I was 38, Doug was a junior in high school; he graduated before I turned 40.
I remember being a dad when I was a strapping youth of 21- the dense fog of sleep deprivation; the indescribable aroma of baby powder, loaded diapers and regurgitated oatmeal; the sleepless nights due not to a crying infant, but worries about the future. I try to think of dealing with that as a late thirtysomething, and my mind seizes up and goes blank.
One thing I do know- Joelle is lucky to him as a dad, and I can't believe my good fortune to have him as a son.
Happy birthday, Doug.
My son Doug and I meet for the first time.
He is not impressed.
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