How is it that a three foot tall, 28 month old child can make a grown man feel like a horrible, selfish person?
Tyler likes wearing my shoes. Truth be told, he likes wearing any adult shoes. We are a “shoes off at the door” family, but tend to let Tyler’s propensity for stomping around the house in shoes that could contain three feet his size slide. After some time, and realizing that this “phase” doesn’t appear to be waning anytime in the near future, I explained to Tyler that only a couple select pairs of my shoes are to be worn in the house. The most common pair that he chooses are my running shoes. Not because I never run (which, I don’t), but because they are my treadmill shoes that don’t go outside ever.
When Tyler first developed his affinity towards my shoes, he would simply step into them and start stumbling around the house. More times than not, the left shoe would end up on his right foot, and the right on his left.
More recently, however, Tyler has begun to develop his autonomy. He can put his own slippers on. His own boots. His own pants. Pants are easy to explain to a little one. Put the tag (on the inside of the pants) towards the floor. It’s difficult to say to put the snap or the button in front, because not all kids’ pants have snaps or buttons on them, and are simply elastic waisted. Sarah put an “L” and an “R” on the bottom of Tyler’s slippers so he can differentiate between left and right. His boots have distinct characteristics to help determine which is which. Even though he knows which is which, he still tends to ask, mostly for confirmation.
“Dis goes on dis foot?”
Looking down at his feet, we’ll reply “Yes, Tyler. That shoe goes on your left foot.”
“And dis goes on dis foot?”
Well son, seeing as how you already have one on the correct foot, and you only have one to go, yes, that is the correct foot too.
“Yes, Tyler. That shoe goes on your right foot.”
He has now begun doing the same with my shoes as well.
Recently, Sarah was sitting in her chair. I was across the room on the couch, having a conversation with her. It seemed that, over the last couple of weeks, we haven’t been connecting. She’s had plans. I’ve had plans. I’m coming as she’s going. It’s been difficult for the both of us, but it doesn’t happen terribly often.
Tyler walked into the room with my shoes in his hands. He sat on the floor and asked “dis goes on dis foot?”
“No, Tyler. You’ve got that on the wrong foot.”
He pulled the shoe off, and placed it near his other foot. I turned my attention back to Sarah to continue our conversation.
“Dis goes on dis foot?”
Sigh. After getting Tyler squared away, he happily stomped off. Sarah and I talked for a couple more minutes while the sound of his feet clomping away in my shoes filled the room. We talked about life, things that have bothered us lately, things we need to do… things.
“Skuse me daddy?”
We’ve been working on manners with Tyler. Like most children his age, he thinks the universe revolves around him. No matter what Sarah and I are doing, he tends to think he can run up and start talking to us. Sarah explained to him that he has to say “excuse me” when he needs our attention. On the occasions that he follows those rules of etiquette, we have to make sure and address him right away.
“Yes, Tyler?”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Tyler?” Don’t get frustrated, don’t get frustrated, don’t get frustrated. “What do you want?”
“You tie dis?”
I looked down at the shoe. It was tied. Both shoes were tied. Up until this point, I had done an Emmy-worthy job of masking my ever-so-slight frustration. But it was becoming more and more difficult. Why couldn’t he just let me talk to my wife?
“Tyler, the shoes are both tied already. I’m trying to talk to your mommy right now.”
“Shoes not tight enough,” he replied.
I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and squeezed my hands into fists, driving my fingernails into my palms. Without replying to Tyler, I stood up, walked to him, crouched down, and untied his (my) shoe. I pulled the laces tight and began tying them again. My frustration was unmistakable. I just wanted to talk to my wife for a few moments, and this little… brat… couldn’t give that to me.
“Thank you helping me, daddy. You da best daddy ever.”
A tidal wave of shame rushed and swept away my anger. I looked to Sarah and saw the face of a proud mother. In that moment, I hated myself.
I have an awesome, awesome child.















2011-01-31 - Darn It
2010-12-13 - Tyler Plays Angry Birds
2010-12-05 - Tyler Slides Down the Stairs
2010-11-26 - What you said
2011-01-10 - Tyler Watches Two Minion Videos
2011-01-07 - Tyler Does Somersaults
2010-12-20 - Tyler is Iron Man
2011-01-27 - Tyler Sings
2011-01-06 - Tyler Mimics the Minions
2010-12-05 - Happy Birthday, Grandpa