Violent Love

The other night, boys won their nightly game of “How Far Can I Push Dad Before He Loses It?”  Within a five minute period, I had removed TV rights, video game rights, ice cream rights and the right to breathe oxygen in my house.  Because oxygen is for boys who don’t pee in the tub.

We all knew my threats were hollow and we’d be pals in the morning, but I felt the need to smooth things over. 

I took a deep breath and explained, “Guys, I’m sorry I yelled at you.  Sometimes you drive me nuts.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.  I love you more than anything.  I mean, I’d die for you.”

Elijah perked his ears up.  “You would?”

“Yes.  I would die for you.  I’d poke my eyes out for you.”

 “What else?” 

What else?  Isn’t gouging my eyes out enough?  I said, “I’d let someone shoot me in the face for you.”

Elijah was now standing on his bed.  “Would you let someone rip the skin off your face?”

“Yes.  I guess so.”

Luca piled on, “Would you let a Rescue Bot smash you and then run you over with their wheels?”

“Alright.  I think we’ve established I love you.  Now go to bed.”

I pulled the covers over Eli and he said, “Dad.  I almost cried.”

I said, “Oh, why?  I told you I was sorry for yelling at you.”

“No, I almost cried when you said that beautiful thing.  About how you’d let someone shoot you in the face for us.”

It’s true.  I would.