Busy daddy and I ended up on the same train coming home tonight, a rare occurrence. Walking home from the train station, we talked about how we’ve been kind of hard on the boy lately. Busy daddy usually plays bad cop to my good cop, but the truth is (and I hate to admit it), I also have exceedingly high expectations for our son.

Despite appearances, it does matter to me that my son is a good boy and that he succeeds in life. I think I’d be even more lenient (if that’s possible) if my son was a loaf and an airhead. In some ways, it might be easier if I knew that the boy was not-so-bright or even average. That he’s smart makes things harder. Everyone’s expectations are higher for smart kids and sometimes it’s easy to forget that the boy is not even five years old yet.

So, I’m resolved to be more patient with my son and not treat him like he’s a grown kid, let him be a kid and all that entails. We got home and the boy was scootering with the neighborhood kids. We live on a street with mostly boys, ages three through 10. The boy is really happy that he can simply walk out the door and find someone to play with. We’re happy about that, too.

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