My 12-year-old son got brave yesterday and decided to wrestle
his old man in the living room. Through a mix of guile, skill and
balance (or maybe it was just my weight and height advantage), I
dominated the match, showing this young buck that Dad still has
something on him.
My 12-year-old son got brave yesterday and decided to wrestle his old man in the living room. Through a mix of guile, skill and balance (or maybe it was just my weight and height advantage), I dominated the match, showing this young buck that Dad still has something on him.
Hours later, my arms and shoulders ached from trying to flip this big kid in a patented move designed to humiliate my opponent. I did not let him know I was sore, but I did remind him that the old guy still has it.
The truth is, the old guy knows his days of domination are numbered. My son’s weight has passed 100, his height has approached his mom’s, and his shoe size matches mine. Gone are the days when I could pick him up with one arm or put him on my shoulders with no problem.
These physical changes are inevitable and encouraging, as they are a sign of healthy development. The impending loss of my crown as the strongest guy in the house – though still a few years away – is another of life’s milestones. But I will delay the passing of the torch as long as possible.
When our kids are little, dads often let their sons believe they have the physical edge on us. I used to lose those wrestling matches, which could also take the form of a “ride the bull” game. My sons would routinely pin me after a brief struggle. They relished their power and I was glad to boost their confidence.
As they age, however, boys want to test their newfound strength against Dad’s. A man’s pride can get in the way when his 12-year-old is nearly strong enough to take him down, so no longer do we treat these matches like a fixed World Wrestling Entertainment cage match.
When I play basketball against my sons on our backyard court, I enjoy throwing down an occasional dunk on our eight-foot hoop during a game of one-on-one to remind them of my athletic skills. Then they get the ball back and dribble right by me, reminding me that my athletic skills no longer include quick lateral movement. The next time they get the ball, I goad them into attempting a jump shot, then I block it and say something like “This is my house!” or “Get that out of here!” or “Ow, Dad just sprained his ankle!”
I am not one of those dads who believe that humiliation will make my kids stronger, but healthy competition will. If they want to challenge me in a PlayStation game, I generally decline because I cannot offer healthy competition in that venue. As a matter of fact, I can’t even offer weak competition, so I tell the boys to compete against each other and I’ll watch. That way I’m still supportive and my ego remains intact.
When my sons fall asleep in the living room, I can no longer pick them up and cart them off to their beds with no problem. The best I can do is get them to sit up, put their feet on the ground, then lean against me in a semi-sleep walking state as we head down the hallway.
Such is life.
It’s nice that the kids are now big enough to do most things on their own and they’re getting strong enough to protect themselves (and beat their dad in living room floor wrestling matches.) It’s inevitable. It’s the passing of the torch. It’s also the ticking of the clock.
Before I know it they’ll have kids of their own. And when that happens, this grandpa will once again be the king of the living room floor.
