There is no stronger tie than that which binds a father to his sons. Well, maybe the one that connects sons to their mother, but that's different. The father-son relationship is one that hums to mystic chords of foolishness and bravado; a mother comes into the room and suddenly a strain in A minor is heard, and it's time to take a bath and go to bed.
For men like me who grew up without brothers, sons are another chance at a boyhood we never knew; a chance to punch your sibling in the arm and not get double-crossed by a two-timing broad for the first time in your life as your sister yells "Mom-he hit me " down the stairs after she told you to do it
These stories are an account of my journey through my sons' first childhood as I experience my second. I've changed my kids' names to the all-purpose generic monickers "Scooter," the older of the two, and "Skipper" his younger brother, to protect their innocence. The statute of limitations on what some would call arson is apparently quite long.
These tales of youthful hi-jinx under one dad's semi-adult supervision will demonstrate for you the truth of the age-old adage:
You're only young once, but you can remain immature-forever.