I’ve always operated on the assumption that somewhere on the DNA helix rested the sarcasm gene. A scientist could point to its native region and say: “This is the part of your DNA structure that tells us if you are a pleasure, or a pain in the ass to be around. It’s something that is passed down from generation to generation. Kind of like hair, or eye color.” (This scientist would have a remarkably pedestrian dialect for an advanced education, but you know…) I believed that my grandpa likely passed his sarcasm to my dad, and my dad lovingly gave it to me. It’s my duty to treat this family hand-me-down as if it were a nice relic, such as a piece of furniture or a watch. It’s my duty to keep it traveling to a new generation. Apparently it is not passed on quite the way I imagined. Time with the sarcastic is a strong requirement in honing your interpretation skills. Another way to say it – sarcasm is learned, not inherited. Yet another way to say it is toddlers will follow your words, and not your inflection. I feel oddly disappointed at this revelation. Much to Jamie’s detriment, both Meg and I lean toward the sarcastic side. We recently found ourselves scrambling to put together a bag of Jamie’s stuff before we all left the house for a cookout with some friends. “I go too?” Jamie asked, with genuine concern. I wish I could say that my restraint was due to me taking the high ground here. Who am I kidding? No I don’t. Meg just simply beat me to this one. “No kid. Daddy is going. I’m going. Captain is going. You’re staying here,” she told him. If the sarcasm gene were real, surely it would be coded with some natural ability to decipher when people are joking, but sadly this is not the case. He would understand what a ridiculous (and dangerous) idea it would be to leave him home alone. We would have all been OK, and had a good laugh at this point. “NOOOO I WANT TO GO TOOOOOO!!!” He insisted. The smile turned upside down and tears were being conjured up as he worked to convince us of the urgency to the situation. Jamie took mommy at her word, which in this instance was a dangerous thing to do. Genetic or learned – the fact remains we have a long-standing tradition in this family that spans back several generations. We clearly have work to do. If you like what you read, please vote for me by clicking the Top Daddy Blog Link below or sharing on social media....

“BEATLES MUSIC!!” he cried loudly from the back seat. No, I’m not talking about a one-time teenybopper on his way to a concert at Shea Stadium in New York. I’m talking about my 2-year-old son on a recent car ride home, and his newfound musical obsessions. I have to say, I’m becoming more pleased with his tiny hipster sensibilities. He can move to A Hard Day’s Night quite nicely. And if there ever was a boy band I’d endorse, the Beatles would be a fine choice. Jamie’s even got the haircut to feign solidarity. Right now he just likes to move to the beat. Soon enough I’ll introduce him to the think pieces on Magical Mystery Tour and Sgt. Pepper’s. I’ve already written about the input I intended to have on my son – the kind of idealized stuff most first time parents likely feel, and then it all goes out the window by 2. For instance, a little piece of me died when I realized he could point out SpongeBob. Then you realize you just have to let it g…uhm nevermind. Eventually you start to see the victories take root and they make you smile. He starts to show interests in your interests, and it creates moments that just make you smile. Sure, I’ve got the soundtrack to Frozen, Mickey Mouse Club House, and every other cartoon to contend with, but that’s a challenge I can accept. I’m willing to sprinkle culture over the top. A few weeks ago I came across the Onion article Cool Dad Raising Daughter on Media that will Put Her Entirely Out of Touch With Her Generation. I laughed because the story featured a dad giving his daughter a Talking Heads album – one of the first bands that Jamie started dancing to (He’s a big fan of Take Me to the River). When I saw him bouncing to a Talking Heads song being played as exit music for a news show I was watching, I realized there was a foundation I could work with. I would love if my son learned how to play an instrument when he’s older, but for now I just want to introduce him to as much new music, movies and books as possible, to lay the foundation for cultural literacy. Maybe next up we can trade episodes of Mickey Mouse Club House for the Prisoner, or Silverstein for Camus. I’ll leave it up to you to determine whether I’m joking. One piece of parenting advice I remember receiving is to raise the type of person you’d want to grab a beer with when he’s older. Maybe I’m starting that process about 19 years early. But I do want...

Growing up I had GI Joe, He-Man and Star Wars action figures. I flew them around in shoes, played with them in their castles, and took them on missions wherever they were needed. Who knew those things were so much the rage, if I kept them in their original packaging, they probably could have paid for my college tuition? Heck, possibly my retirement? But hey, that’s another blog post. My action hero phase probably didn’t last as long as some kids’. My demand is not the reason those things became collectors’ items. I began playing with LEGOS, and collecting baseball cards. Soon I gave up baseball cards when I discovered the transformative power of music. Before I knew it, I was traveling in the adult world. You meet a woman, you marry, and eventually you learn what having an actual decorating style looks like. Apparently you reach a stage in life when it’s no longer appropriate to have pictures of Jim Morrison adorning your living room walls, no matter how much you liked Road House Blues. But hey, trees and landscapes are aesthetically pleasing, too. Eventually you become a parent, and something magical happens. It’s the circle of life. That “adult” decorating style goes out the window, or at least gets overrun, and it becomes acceptable for function to outrank style. I’m not talking about the Jim Morrison posters (those stay put away, or at least displayed in a far more discrete location), I’m talking about the resurgence of toys in your life again. Now, sometimes I think about the ways it sucks to be a grownup. There are bills to pay and chores to do. Then I think about the fact that a key feature to our front room is the toy basketball hoop and racetrack. I have two options for what to think about this. I can blaze on with my “adult” decorating style, and not accept anything other than functional furniture, or pictures of trees. Or, I can act like Tom Hanks in Big. Play with it all, and accept everything! Jamie’s not much of an action figure kid either, at least not yet. I don’t need to fly GI Joes around. But I like having Jamie cook for me in his toy kitchen. I also work from home, and sometimes when I get stuck on a project it’s nice to take a couple free throws, or run a car down a racetrack. Now all I need is a life-size keyboard and to learn how to play it with my feet. When you feel like Tom Hanks in Big, the world can’t be all that bad. If you like what you read, please vote for me...

“Dad. Dad. Dad.” I feel the back of my leg being tugged on and pressed by tiny little digits. “What is it Jamie?” “What’s that?” he asks, pointing. “That’s the dog.” A few seconds pass… “Why do you keep asking if you already know the answer?” “I don’t know.” As the parent of a 2-year-old, I must have some version of the above conversation at least 100 times a day. After the first 99 times, repetitive, obvious questions become as painful as a back alley colonoscopy. I’ve written about my chronic impatience before, and in moments like this it rears its head. He’s likely to pull this unoriginal gem out in those moments at the dinner table while his mother and I are trying to figure out our schedule for the next day, or when we need to talk about something of significance. Sometimes he follows the question up by flashing an adorable smile, and it’s impossible to remember that less than five seconds earlier he was grinding so hard on my nerves. There is a tiny, inconvenient fact I try to keep in mind when I can’t seem to let these transgressions pass. I’m raising a miniature version of myself. As a parent, that sentiment alone is nothing new or shocking. But as my 2-year-old gets older, it becomes more glaring, and not always flattering. My wife occasionally brings up a story that may have served me better untold. When I was a kid probably not much older than Jamie, a friend of the family threatened to charge me a nickel a question. Even at that rate, he likely could have become rich. All of the goofy behavioral quirks, they come from somewhere. Genetics plays a big role in this family. I get it. I asked a lot of questions as a kid, and the universe is paying me back. As hard as it can be to listen to at times, I hope he retains that curiosity. It paid off for me, with a career in journalism. I got to explore a variety of issues, asking a steady barrage of questions well into adulthood. I’m rewarded with a lot of knowledge about random subjects that I wouldn’t otherwise understand. His curiosity is growing, and with that will come more advanced questions. He’s already begun to ask a few. Some of the questions he’s asked are rather impressive, and a few questions make me want to crawl into a corner and hide. I’m also confident that someday he’ll understand that’s his dog, and he can begin asking a new set of questions. I know they’ll evolve, but I’m 100 percent confident they’ll never stop, and I don’t want them to. For...

Jamie’s extremely adept at piecing his surroundings together. But for every time he pulls out a new word we weren’t aware he knew, or every time he learns a concept, there is an equal misinterpretation. I’m not talking about something simple or benign. I’m talking about piecing your world together in a way only a 2-year-old could. Toddlers are a resourceful bunch, and they work with the information that’s been presented to them. But sometimes that information is simply not enough. Following are six of the most awkward, strangest or scariest things my 2-year-old has said in his short time. “Chip and Dales” – This is how Jamie refers to chips. Meg and I thought it was so funny the first time we heard it that we haven’t made a strong effort to correct it. I believe it comes from a cartoon. But try explaining that when you have company over. “Is that a dinosaur?” – Kudos to you, kid, for trying to make sense of your surroundings. But I don’t think the woman you pointed at in the grocery store would appreciate your question. Even though she was a stranger, and it wasn’t me there, it was Meg, I can definitively answer. No, she was not a dinosaur. “There’s a spider on your back.” – You could probably tell mommy this an infinite number of times, and never be labeled as the boy who cried spider. This is because mommy is terrified of spiders. Trust me, she’ll take you seriously. For everyone’s sake though, you might want to make sure it’s an actual spider and not just a tag on the back of her sweater while she’s driving. Next time she’s liable to put the car in the ditch. “Look, it’s a spider in the sky!” – No buddy, that’s a ceiling fan. And for reasons stated above, a ceiling fan is how you should refer to it. “It’s a sky monster!” – Ok so this one is a pretty adorable way to refer to the loudest jet we’ve heard coming out of our local airport. He followed this up with “It goes ROOOOAAARRR!” A logical connection to a 2-year-old, but strange all the same. “That’s not a lady!!” – Another comment made about a stranger while grocery shopping. Again, I wasn’t there, but I am pretty sure he was wrong. Another shining example of our 2-year-old making friends. If you like what you read, please vote for me by clicking the Top Daddy Blog Link below or sharing on social media....

“Bob! Bob! Bob!” “What are you talking about kid?” Jamie and I were the only two people in the birthday card aisle at Jewel on a recent evening. There was no one around us. And as I scanned the vicinity of the cards he pointed at excitedly, there it was, plain as day – a yellow sponge that lives under the sea, featured prominently on the front of the card. I had no idea he knew who that was. As a new dad, there were movies and shows I couldn’t wait to share with my son, such as the Looney Tunes cartoons, Inspector Gadget, or the Peanuts. Jamie seemed like the perfect excuse to re-engage with some older classics from my childhood. Conversely, there were a few movies or shows I didn’t want to suffer through. Watching Frozen, Barney or SpongeBob Squarepants seemed like their own unique brand of parental torture. But then, I’ve written about my limited tolerance for some children’s movies in the past. Reality and well-placed intentions have a funny way of not lining up. There is an amazing level of outside influence on the entertainment that even a 2-year-old consumes. For example, a 30-second SpongeBob commercial during a different television program could be all it takes to trigger an obsession. We’ve seen Frozen more times than I would care to recount. The phrase “Let it Go” triggers an anxiety in me that makes my brow sweat and my hands reflexively cover my ears. It triggers an urge to go listen to some music, ANY music to knock that egregious earworm out from between my ears once and for all. I don’t think he’s watched much Barney, but he does have a purple dinosaur puzzle. “Always avoid purple dinosaurs” just seems like a sage piece of fatherly advice. Like I said, I have no idea how he knows SpongeBob. Purple dinosaurs and yellow sponges make it hard to do your job as a parent, instilling a proper suspension of disbelief. Some of these children’s characters are beyond ridiculous. Maybe the people in our society who are concerned about marijuana as a gateway drug should refocus their energy onto children’s entertainment. Because watching something like SpongeBob is going to leave an impressionable mind with some crazy ideas. “No kid, you cannot go live in a pineapple under the sea. As a matter of fact pineapples cannot live under the sea.” I shouldn’t have to explain these things. Not to a 2-year-old. Not ever. As a consumer of movies or books, I’m personally interested in realistic characters and plausible plotlines. For these reasons, I’m really not much of a science fiction or Star Wars fan. I saw the movies. I thought...