When I was a boy, I had the greatest dog a boy could have — B.D. His initials stood for “Big Dog,” which is probably why you shouldn’t let a 9 year old name a dog. B.D. was fiercely loyal and protective of me. I couldn’t even play pick-up football with my buddies in the neighborhood if B.D. was with us, as he saw any attempt to tackle me as a declaration of war, something my childhood friend Jason can attest to, probably with a still-evident scar on his head.
As a parent, I never thought I would get to the point where I would say these three simple words: I love bedtime.
It took a while to get here. A long while. My kids are 14 and 12, so some might say it took 14 years to get here. Of course, figure that both kids account for their own years, I think it’s only fair to count both of their years, and thus it has been 26 years of bedtime. But no longer. My wife and I are free.