I want to be four.

And here is why.

I stopped Son 1.0 from doing something the other day. I truthfully don’t remember what he was doing, but it was one of those things that you know is going to end up with blood coming out of him or Daughter 1.0 or 2.0.

“Why are you doing that?” I demanded with all the righteous indignation that a concerned father can muster. In case it has been a while since your father asked you this, it is a lot of indignation. He looked up at me from under blond bangs, a sure sign that he needs a haircut, and said with a level of honesty and conviction that is only carried by the very young, “Um….”

He didn’t have a clue. “WHY” he was doing it was not a concern to him. What mattered was that he “WAS” doing it. That is a very big distinction. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so he went for it. And THAT is why I want to be four.

I want to live again with out the concerns of “Why”. I want to do things because they seem like a good idea at the time and not have a friggin’ drop of remorse in my body when I am done. If I get hurt, I want a band-aid and a Popsicle and put my ass back on the street! Just think of what you could accomplish if you were not afraid to throw caution to the wind and just flat out go with it. Just think how much freakin’ fun you could have.

I can just see me rolling into the house about midnight, sleeves rolled up smelling like a brewery (For those who don’t know, I like to brew beer).

Wife: “Where have you been?”
Me: “Brewing.”
Wife: “Why?”
Me: “Um….”