I have an almost 4 year old son. And that means he doesn't listen to anything I say, is standoffish about everything, and wants to make everything a fight. My wife has passed along the term "threenager," and its appropriate.

One thing this kid loves, though, and will drop anything to do, is watch youtube videos of marching bands. Specifically, the "Bobcat Marching Band," as he calls them. Last year at homecoming, he had to go to the game, no matter how tired he was, because he had to see the marching band. And he literally fell asleep as I held him up to watch the halftime show (And he snoozed for all the third quarter and most of the fourth, laying on the bleachers behind us. Really, it worked out well.)

Last night at dinner, he was being standoffish, not eating, huffing and puffing and being his threenager self. We mostly ignore it, because it's either that or beat him.

During dinner conversation with my wife, I was going over my weekend plans. My former college roommate is getting married next month, and we're doing his bachelor party this weekend. He's stopping by Friday and we're taking a little roadtrip.

My son's ears perk up. "Uncle Brian is coming HERE?" "Yeah buddy, we're going on a trip." "Am I going?" "No, it's for grown ups only." "Can we go on a trip with Uncle Brian sometime?" "Sure. We'll go to a game this fall."

His eyes light up. "Will the Bobcat Marching Band be there???"

"Absolutely."

He grins real big, sits quietly, and eats the rest of his supper.

And that is yet another reason why I have season tickets. Go Bobcats.

Thanks for the nice story, Cmoney. It brought a smile to my face and warmth to my heart. It may not always seem like it now, but that's a wonderful age and a magic time in a young boy's life.

Great story!!

Enjoy this time with your son (I understand, some days are easier than others) because children grow up all too fast.

P.S. Your son has good taste and obviously knows a great marching band when he sees/hears one.


P.S.S. "Threenager" - I love it!

My one-time boss who who raised three boys to adulthood before we did our four provided the wisest counsel I ever received. On raising boys, at least. To wit,

"Bob, if you get them to 18 and they aren't dead or in jail, you've done your job."

Every time it got trying, I referred back to that as my ultimate goal. Threenager turns into creepager very, very quickly. (All four boys are all doing fine, by the way.)