Tough Love Comes Early

There are many lessons we learn as we find our way through this sometimes confusing world. While the lessons have been learned by countless people who have come before us, and can even be heard via old songs on the juke box, they still don't come easy. No, we must learn from the toughest (but best) teacher of all -- experience. And we must begin the lesson at once ... life doesn't let us wait and it doesn't allow for mulligans or even second serves.
   My two-month-old son has already received his first class on one of the toughest lessons of all - tough love. Someone gives you the gift of "tough love" when they do something that's the best thing for you in the long run, despite the fact that they know it will make you despise them at the time.
   Sort of like when the father in the Johnny Cash song knew he was going to walk away on his son after birth. He figured the boy would need to grow up strong and tough to survive life without a father. So, he named him "Sue". It was done out of love, but, man, was it ever tough ... but did it ever work! The boy grew up so tough that when he finally tracked down his father many years later he bit off his ear.
   The first bit of tough love I gave my son didn't come at birth, but at the tender age of 9 weeks he certainly wasn't an eager student. I held his arms and watched two nurses immunize him by plunging long needles into his tiny legs. As he fought like a warrior to break free, I tried to offer words of comfort, but he was screaming too loud to hear. I tried to look into his eyes with understanding, but they were too full of tears for him to see. I was later grateful that the tears obstructed his vision, because once I picked him up and he looked into my eyes, the expression was one I'll not soon forget.
   So far in his short life I had played the role of his protector, racing to the rescue in times of peril (like when the batteries in his "bouncy" seat ran out). Then, suddenly, I was the one who not only let him get hurt, but actually aided and abetted his assailants.
   I quickly walked outside of the pediatrician's office with him, figuring he'd think I was rescuing him, but he only screamed louder, even refusing to look at me.
   He remained "fussy" through the day and night, but fortunately all seemed to be forgiven by the next day. However, there is another trip to the House of Hurt where the Nurses with Needles dwell in a few short weeks. So, I am asking anyone who sees my son in the meantime to help me deliver a message: it's for your own good.
   And while you're at it, you may want to mention that in the near future I'll be teaching him lessons that are much more pleasant. Tell him that I'll show him how to bait a hook, then we'll focus on the fine art of fooling fish with a fly rod. Tell him to look forward to the day when I teach him how to throw a curve ball that will make the knees of an opposing Little Leaguer fold like an accordion.
   And you might want to remind him that "Andrew" means "strong, manly" ... and that I could have named him Sue. Maybe that way when I try to comfort him by placing his head on my shoulder in a few weeks he won't bite off my ear.

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