Guys Night

This is a topic that I'm sure every father either thinks or writes about: the evolution of the time-honored "guys night."

Once upon a time, it was all about spending the night at a buddy's house as we played video games, munched on Doritos, and drowned ourselves in Mountain Dew (because it was cool and it allowed us the normally taboo caffeine high, which exceeded that of normal caffeinated drinks). Later, "guys night" became a gathering at some's apartment as we played darts or pool, noshed on cheese fries, and guzzled beer. Now, "guys night" has become one of my favorite things to do with a pretty cool little dude: we spend the evening playing with mulch or flowers or plant stalks in the flower bed, chowing down on fish sticks, and drinking Diet Mountain Dew (me) and milk (Brody).

My, how things have changed!

"Guys night" has gone from involving good buddies, "bestest" friends, drinking buddies, and "bros" to my best little buddy, Brody.

Tonight, Emily is enjoying a much-deserved evening out with a good friend, and I'm pretty well entertained just watching as Brody stomps around making myriad odd noises. Every note from his mouth is full of glee, but from time to time these noises have a trace of frustration, most likely due to his inability to grasp the concepts of nature at this point. When he sees Billy the dog pressing his nose against the window, he barks back at him; he doesn't go up to the window and interact, he just goes about his business and utters, "woof-woof-woof." Some of his other noises are nonsense syllables, but my heart melts every time I hear him say "Daddy" or "Dada" and he gives me that adorable toddler's toothy smile -- his mommy's smile.

He busies himself by making scattered piles of mulch, all the while looking back at me, as if he's making sure that I'm as proud of his work as he is. At one point he sets down a large piece of mulch at the top of a pile and looks up to me, squeals from a huge smile and claps his hands. He trots back and forth around the landscaping bricks, playing some new game that only he understands -- and it's only important that he understands it, not that I do. He then starts climbing up the front step only to turn around again and step off because he now knows how to do it without falling down and he wants to show off.

Brody now goes about picking more and more of the stalks from the flowers... Only the green stalks, though, and not the dead ones. I wish he knew the difference so that he could help with the gardening. He casts the stalks down into a new green pile -- he won't mix the green stalks with the brown mulch -- and then stops to stare at it. Maybe he's unhappy with his creation, or maybe he's just having fun being random and chaotic, but he then sweeps his pile with his hands and scatters green and brown all over the gray concrete sidewalk.

He's so full of smiles and giggles that it breaks my heart to take him inside, but it's getting cold and he's refusing to put on his sweatshirt. I ask Brody if he wants to go inside. Nope! What do you want for dinner? Nope! (It wasn't even a question that warranted a "yes" or "no" answer.) Just the same, he only wants to play around outside. He cries and whimpers as I carry him in, but at my mention of Mickey Mouse, he forgets all about his woes. Our biggest concern now is which Mickey Mouse cartoon we'll watch tonight.

Soon, we'll go up to the kitchen to get something "yummy" to eat and then we'll chill in the basement. I'm just amazed at how things have changed so quickly -- how "guys night" has evolved over the years. It certainly wasn't an overnight change, but I wouldn't have it any other way.