by Dan Hiland

Created on: November 12, 2009

As my wife and I approach the "empty nest" portion of our lives, I pause to look back at all that time spent raising kids. True, we still have a 13 year old teenage son in the house, but the way time flies assures me that it won't be long before he too is gone.

As I reflect on the parental advice we received over the years, I realize that a few items were never shared with us.

Sure, we heard all about how little girls need to be treated differently than little boys- that kind of thing- but girls seemed easier to plan for. Yes, there came the time when they graduated from blue jeans to dresses, and the battles over who took whose makeup and clothes would replace arguments over which doll to play with today.

It was the information on boy's that was lacking- and as a Dad I found that puzzling. After all, I had been one myself, albeit some 45 years ago.

Has it been that long? Good grief...

Anyway- the early years were okay. Toys and games and miniature tools came and went- but then my son pulled the first of several fast ones on me.

Suddenly he developed an interest in all things mechanical. Now, when I was a kid, I liked to goof around with Dad's tools, though my talents were limited to two things: tearing things apart in such a way that they would never go back together again, and losing tools so thoroughly that they could never be found again.

But with my son Connor, the focus was on building something useful. As such, I had to rely on my narrow knowledge of mechanics, and in the end found that he was usually able to figure out a better way to construct things than I. Which is where I learned about yet another type of humility.

Then there was the matter of his being the only son. And as much as he tries to play with the neighbor kids, they are either younger or older than he, so eventually it becomes my turn to hang out with him- which I love, don't get me wrong. But as I was the only guy in a family with three sisters, I never had a brother, or knew how to do brotherly things.

So I had to learn how to wrestle, play physical games, and most interesting of all, survive punching matches with him. When he was little it was no sweat. I was the big guy, and if he got too feisty, I could always lift him into the air and hold him upside down as he laughed himself silly. But what to do when your son is now the same height as you, and seems to have learned how to not only parry your flying fists, but sneak a good one straight to the ribs, causing you a momentary surprise

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