Life In Daddy’s Shoes

I have to be careful where I leave my shoes as they quickly get snatched up by Max and become a toy.  There is something that captivates children when it comes to dressing up in their parent’s clothes.  I can remember my sister dressing up in my mom’s clothes when we were little and I’d slip on my dad’s shoes and wonder if my feet would ever be big enough to fill them.  Now, Max is doing the same…and it is an adorable reminder of how much these little guys look up to us and emulate us.  It makes me want to be a better dad…and it also makes me check my shoes for rogue Tonka Cars the way a cowboy checks for scorpions in the desert.  Max has gotten quite good at walking around the house in my shoes which is an odd sight because visually it kind of works…like clown shoes.

The truth is he is pretending to be me.  He plays pretend car and drives to work.  He says things like “Come on Chiefs!” whenever football is on.  Whatever I am having for dinner…make it a double, Max wants that too.  It’s not hard to imagine.  Here I am 33 years old going out to lunch with my dad and when the waiter asks me what I want I say “I’ll have the same.”  At least 25% of my wardrobe has to be hand-me-down shirts from my dad.  Is it any wonder that my soul beckons to be back at Lake George every day and I obsess over the Wichita State Shockers?  They were my dad’s passion’s first…and now they are mine.  I wonder what Max’s will be?

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