Pretty decent weekend. Kicking back on Sunday night watching Braveheart with inexpensive red wine in hand and on tongue. I'm at the part where William Wallace has been betrayed by the Scottish nobles and is out for retribution. Poor Mornay, lying in bed, knows he's going to get it. But not even close to knowing that he'll get it via large metal ball (at the end of a chain) to the side of the skull. I'm all into it, and just before head trauma, the character shrieks loudly. A little too loudly given I have a box TV with no volume regulation. Satisfying all the same.
A few moments later, I hear a faint squeal from somewhere above me (Man Room in basement). My poor son was awakened by that shriek. I run upstairs and slowly push the bedroom door open. He is on his feet, eyes closed, sniffling and clutching his two favorite stuffed animals. Asleep but scared and not knowing what to do in the darkness. Boy do I feel like an asshole. . .my love of blood-thirsty epic films has caused this.
And then I pick my son up. Give him a big hug. He rests his head on my shoulder after a kiss to the cheek and the temple. I say in my most reassuring voice, "It's okay, buddy. Daddy's got you. You're safe." And he falls immediately back to peaceful sleep. No questions asked. Complete trust.
This is a good gig.
A few moments later, I hear a faint squeal from somewhere above me (Man Room in basement). My poor son was awakened by that shriek. I run upstairs and slowly push the bedroom door open. He is on his feet, eyes closed, sniffling and clutching his two favorite stuffed animals. Asleep but scared and not knowing what to do in the darkness. Boy do I feel like an asshole. . .my love of blood-thirsty epic films has caused this.
And then I pick my son up. Give him a big hug. He rests his head on my shoulder after a kiss to the cheek and the temple. I say in my most reassuring voice, "It's okay, buddy. Daddy's got you. You're safe." And he falls immediately back to peaceful sleep. No questions asked. Complete trust.
This is a good gig.