My oldest son turns 21 today. He’s going out with friends tonight, to do what many young men do when they turn twenty-one in this country — discover drinking.
It’s hard for me to believe he is 21. I close my eyes and I can easily see white-trash cracker me, living in a trailer, rocking a mullet, working in a foundry, dreaming of one day becoming a writer, and loving that little boy with all of my heart. Fast-forward a few years. He’s moved out of state with his mother, I no longer work in a foundry, and the first few strands of mullet are circling the bathtub drain, a harbinger of hair loss to come. I’m on my way to see him for the weekend when a story idea presents itself. That idea will become a book called The Rising.
He’s a young man now, rather than the little boy who used to snuggle up in my lap and read Teeny-Tiny Tale and The Lorax and Hulk comic books. He no longer needs my advice on how to ride a bike, or catch a fish, or what to do if he likes a girl. He doesn’t need me to explain what happened to Simba’s Daddy in The Lion King or why nobody ever stays dead in the Marvel universe. These days, his concerns and questions are a young man’s concerns: how to deal with the stress of college and things like that. Today, he wanted advice on drinking. I told him stick with beer or liquor and don’t mix the two, make sure he has a designated driver, don’t get into a car with anyone who has been drinking (no matter how hot she is), and maybe stop after four beers and see how he feels before proceeding.
Those are the things I tell him these days. I don’t tell him how a parent, looking back over the great barrier reef that is time, sees nothing but the mistakes that they made — decisions that impacted the child, even if the child is unaware of it into adulthood. I don’t tell him that there’s no instruction manual handed out when you’re a father, and that you do the best you can, and hope you don’t fuck it up too badly. I don’t tell him that I’m facing similar decisions with his little brother, and that I’m trying to make better choices this time, and that 21 years later, those choices don’t get any fucking easier, but I’ll ultimately make them with the same criteria that I used for him — that my boys are the most important thing in my life, and I have to watch out for them above all others. I don’t tell him these things because he doesn’t need to know them yet. These are the good years for him, and I want him to enjoy them. He doesn’t need me to tell him these things yet, and he wouldn’t understand them if I did. He’ll find them out for himself, eventually. When he becomes a father, he’ll learn those lessons just as I learned them.
And that breaks my heart.
So, while he’s out tonight discovering beer and puking in some nasty college bar restroom, I’m sitting here by myself with a glass of Woodford Reserve (It’s okay. F. Paul Wilson says as long as I lay off the cigars, I can still enjoy a glass of whiskey once in a while. And I have lain off the cigars, because F. Paul Wilson is a doctor, and also because he created Repairman Jack, and Repairman Jack could whoop my ass, and also because I promised Joe Lansdale and Nick Kaufmann that I’d quit cigars too, because they could also both kick my ass, as well. But I digress…)
I’m sitting here alone, enjoying a rare moment of quiet contemplation, and as the last rays of the setting sun filter through the trees outside and reflect off the whiskey in my glass, I know that I am a good father, and that being a good father is never easy, and sometimes it will cost you everything else, but there’s still nothing else I’d rather be, because it is so very worth it at the end of the day. Being a father… they are all good years.
I don’t know if I could kick your ass, but I could knock a cigar out of your mouth with the best of them!
You’re the only man I’d let do that.
Amen, Brian. I’m a relatively new dad (four years and counting), and even though it’s the hardest thing, at times, I’ve ever had to do, there is absolutely nothing in my life that compares to it. I know I have lots of trials ahead, but I welcome them with open arms, and hope and pray that I do right by my two girls.
That was a wonderful summary of exactly what it is to be a father and what it feels like to constantly struggle with yourself on whether you’re doing the right thing for the kids. Not exactly the most touching thing you’ve ever written, but it was entirely genuine. I appreciated and enjoyed it, Brian.
Fucking love this little blog. You know my first ever email to you was about the rising and asking if you had a Son (Charlie was not yet 1) and I’d just started on my journey into fatherhood. Which is why that story was so impactive on me.
Your love for your Lads are so apparent and for some reason, this makes me very proud and makes me want to give you a man hug. Our kids fucking rule…how much? Loads and loads buddy, loads and loads…!
Brian, Thanks for this. I am a new father to my 3.5 month old son and each day is a new adventure for the both of us. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love him. I am adopted and never really had the family “connection” most do growing up, as I have always known “my parents” as my mom and dad. And they were amazing. But this is my first blood relative, my son. It still kind of shocks me to write something like that. I am someones father. I can’t wait to re-experience so many things through HIS eyes, but at the same time, I am savoring each and every day, every cry, every dirty diaper, every sleepless night. Because when I get home from work and call out that I am home, and he turns his head towards me and gives me as big gummy smile, it melts every horrible part of my work day away.
So, I am not sure where I was going with this, so I’ll just wrap it up with a “thanks” for the article.
Tony D
Good father, good friend and a good man.
Hello Brian,
Nice piece, man. Heartfelt without being soppy, genuine, and well written as always. Great ending, too. That’s one of those things I dig. When it’s done well, props and respect are due. So…props and respect
I don’t have kids, the idea of it scares the hell out of me, and my wife doesn’t care to have children, either. I respect the folks that do it well. A couple days ago, I finished my 41st trip around the Sun. Retrospect is a strange critter. How the hell did I go from 19 to being another old-ish guy? When did that happen? I missed that memo. I figure it’s a part of the weirdness that is the life experience.
I’m a writer with hopes of being an author. I’m happy most of the time, confused and fucked-up on occasion, and don’t shoot heroin. I do my best. That has to count for something.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Gave my brain something to do that felt insightful. Gratitude
Thanks for this Brian, my boy’s 8 and I watch each year go by with
him getting older and more self aware and I wonder like you wrote when he will
all those things we do together will come to an end. I started reading your work with the rising and will stay a loyal fan until your stories become bland like king’s or koontz.
I just got thrust into being a father recently when my girlfriend and her two boys (10 and 4) moved in. It’s a lot to handle when you’re used to peace and quiet. But I’m trying to give these kids something their real dad never did…the realization that there’s more to life than just sitting in your basement playing video games. There’s a whole world out there and I’m slowly trying to get them to become involved in it. It’s definitely not an easy task when you’re taking the reins from someone else who didn’t really give two shits and who also told his kids they aren’t even allowed to mention my name around him. Basically what that tells me is he feels stupid because he doesn’t want to hear about all the things I’m doing with his kids that he never bothered to do. I’m ranting but it feels good to get this out there. Anyway, kudos Brian.
Damn bro, thanks a lot!!! I’m about to become a father for the first time in about a month and I’m not sure when the fuck I became such a softee but I had tears in my eyes by the end of that.
I think that time is flying now, but everyone tells me I haven’t seen shit yet. Honestly though this was a great read and there where a few things in there I needed to hear. Thanks for this, seriously.
P.s. Make sure to tell your son that shots of jäger are the devil incarnate. That shit is awful coming back up lol
I’m up to my knees in parenting, my boys are 3 1/2 now and just about to start full time daycare as I start a new job on Monday. Have I done well in my time home with them? I like to believe it, has it been fucking hard? Oh hell yes. And as you mentioned I am also (already) looking at my mistakes, times I lost my temper, or whatever else makes my mind spin at night.
One day they’ll be 21 but until then, I can only imagine what lies ahead. A very nice post, Brian.
Oh and, I can kick yer ass, too. I quit smoking in 2005 and have been off them ever since. If I can do it… bla bla bla.
*Hugs*
Marcy
Aww! Congrats! But ya know, some of us are *still* white trash and live in a trailer :p
You’re a great father. You have always been a great father.
It is one of the things I love about you. Your boys are very lucky.
Good man you are Brian.
I remember very fondly the years when our kids were small. In two weeks, I’ll go see the EPITAPH tour with my son, and two childhood friends of mine. Things have been very good, most of the time, with them at every age.
Hey Brian,
Beautiful, wistful writing. I’m 35 and have two daughters, ages 5 & 3. Love ‘em so much sometimes feel like I can’t breathe, and wanna squeeze ‘em so they don’t grow up. But yeah, being a parent is also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Frustrating, funny, forever. I guess it’s all about learning to be selfless. I’m gonna have my first horror book come out Dec. 1st, (THE TRAIL, Damnation Books) and I can already feel the time pull between writing and parenting. Seems like when I’m doing one well, I’m doing a crappy job with the other. Not enough time in the day.
Anyway, thanks for your post. I met you at the WHC in Austin last year, and you were a nice dude. We talked about central PA. (I lived in York for a while.)
take it easy,
Brian
You’re a great father. Your son is lucky to have you. He may not always agree with you, but deep down he knows what an awesome dad you are
Truer words never spoken.
That was a sweet, heartwarming blog. Congrats on raising a son who sounds like a nice, responsible kid, about to have some good fun with good instructions from a loving Dad. good luck and have fun imparting hangover cures tomorrow! Thanks for sharing this!
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The one thing my two sons always tell me is “I had a wonderful childhood, Mom”. I am so glad they feel that way as life after childhood is often very difficult.
Thank you for this heartfelt writing on being a parent and having no guidelines whatsoever, as we all have none, and feel our way along.
I wish my father wrote zombie books, wore an Anthrax tee shirt and drank whiskey while rockin’ to Iron Maiden.
You done good!
You want me to sign on to kick your ass, too? You’ve seen me fight. {wicked grin}
Even if you’re not a parent, there was still never any instruction manual, and sometimes you end up in the wrong place and sometimes it takes longer than expected to end up in a right place; and sometimes, the right place just passes you by and when you realize it the only thing left to say is, “What the fuck happened?”
Thanks, folks.
Marcy: Bring it Italiano!
Urbancik: You bring it too, fucker.
Val: And that is why I love you. Well, that… and the fact that you rode herd on The Keenedom for so many years.
Beautiful post Brian. My son is 19 and my daughter 16…they’re the greatest things to ever come into my life. And being we like the same films and music, we have a bond my old man and I never had (although he was still a cool dude for a jock/military type!).
I got choked up reading this one, Brian. As a father of 3 small ones, I think about this stuff all the time. It all goes by so fast.
Keene, you made me cry reading that. My girls are 4 and 1, and right now I’m struggling with keeping the site going because I would rather spend more time with them then writing reviews. My hit count has gone down a lot this year, but in the end your right , being around your kids is all worth it. That’s why I’m going to start doing video book and movie reviews on the site and through youtube, so I can spend less time in front of the computer writing and spend more time with my family.
Brain, I love you. I’m not a woman, nor am I gay, nor am I talking about a love between a man and a woman. I am talking about a love of honesty and a way with words that is real and confident. Your books are, for a lack of a better phrase, totally fuckin’ badass, but your posts show your true passion for writing. They inspire me to someday acquire even a quarter of the success you have. Thanks for being such a champion.
Bravo, Brian!
Sitting here, ass deep in Angry Bird plush toys, drinking coffee and reading your article with one eye while being forced to watch Angry Birds videos for the 80 bajillionth time until I think my eyes are going to bleed. (Although the Lego Angry Birds is kinda cool.)
Am I doing it right? Considering that we almost lost her, my concern these days is to just do it right now. We’ll resume the regular fretting in a few more months when most of this is behind us.
Then I flashed back 12 or so years when instead of her and all things birds it was him and all thing Pokemon. History does repeat itself.
Countless battles to do his best, stop slacking, don’t be so half-assed. Helping with homework in classes I haden’t had in 30 years (yikes!) Teaching needed life skills, or trying to. Now he’s becoming his own man, almost finished his first year in the Navy, stationed half-way around the world in Guam. But I’m still there looking over his shoulder. Monitoring his accounts. Ready with answers and advice just a call (and 14 time zones) away. Being a dad is a job for which there is no retirement plan.
Sometime in my mid-twenties I was visiting, in a car with my mom heading somewhere in a bad snow storm. Small talk. That night, for no particular reason, I thanked her. She did the whole single parent thing with my sisters and I, and it was nothing but uphill the entire time, and I thanked her for it.
I suspect that if one of mine ever has that epiphany, then and only then will I feel like maybe I’ve been doing it right. Maybe.
While you may be most known for your horror fiction, it’s your non fiction, truth to your heart, pieces like this that make you one of the best damn writers in my book.
Happy birthday to your eldest!
Being a parent is so hard yet so wonderful, especially when we all survive to see those boys reach their twenties. Mine are 24 and 20 and it is so worth it to make it this far, because now they are friends and wonderful people. We’ve all made mistakes but hey, we’re all human too. And it’s fun to sit and have a beer with them now and again. Drinking age is 19 in Canada.
I’ve finally quit smoking cigarettes too, so that I can survive for my boys. (though now I’ve gained twenty pounds!)
Very cool.
I have three girls, 19, 23 and 27. My oldest lives in up-state New York, the middle one got married a couple of weeks ago, and my youngest is about to begin nursing school. I found myself sitting on the back patio at 3 AM a few weeks ago bawling my eyes out because I had realized that, amidst all the working long, odd hours and struggling to pay bills when they were young I had forgotten to remember everything. The memories of them as children are too spotty, too fragmented, and I wept because I hadn’t committed every minute to memory. I meant to, but the days ran together and when they’d all piled up, there was too few of them stored in the old noggin. I’m not sure how relevant this is to what you posted, Brian, but I’ve been needing to tell somebody that, and this seemed as good a time and place as any.
Good stuff Brian. My girls are still small (2 and two months), but I often think about how I’ll feel when they grow up and what it will be like. Most of all, I try to enjoy every single moment with them at this age and burn it into my brain. I realize these may just be the best years of my life. I’ve often said that it really doesn’t matter what else your good at or what your not. What else you fuck up and what you don’t. If you can be a good parent, that’s really all that matters.
This was a wonderful post. It got teary eyed. You and your sons are lucky to have each other. I am so happy for you.
Eh, I don’t drink.