All along I thought that getting older than my father ever was would cure me of the possibility of ever going as insane as he did. But there turned out to be another mark that's beyond this, and I think I've truly hit it now. 

We were camping at South Dakota's Custer State Park, a fantastic place in the Black Hills that I highly recommend. I'd gotten sick of getting in and out of our brand-new tent in the rain, particularly because many of the things I had to get out for were things my wife or I had told our older son Lucas to take care of before he went to bed. He'd forgotten this, so dad went out to the car to get it. He'd forgotten that, so dad went out tot the car to get it. 

Ugh! You're nine and a half, take care of your own shit! I could have sent him out himself, but he wouldn't even begin to know where to find these things because I'd piled everything into the car in haste because of the rain. He'd end up wet and miserable, all our stuff would be soaked, and I'd just be another asshole father. 

So out I went to fetch whatever we needed––inhaler, socks, diabetes test kit, whatever––and I got increasingly pissed off after multiple trips, to the point where I yelled at him for not getting his shit together and acting like a five-year-old instead of a nine-year old. I almost made him cry, and I could tell Jen wasn't happy with me for being so harsh. Then I did some mathematical thinking. 

It was the night of August 14, 2014, almost thirty-nine years to the day from when my own father lost his shit. By the time I was Lucas' age in that moment––nine and a half––I not only had been earning money with a paper route for over a year (something I remind him of periodically when I feel the need to increase his level of responsibility) but had also watched my father go certifiably and criminally nuts. 

I blurted some words out to that effect. Something like I'm sorry I'm being so hard on you, but by the time I was your age I had to grow up fast for a lot of wrong reasons, and I'll try to let you be a kid again. 

And it struck me as I finally fell asleep that the real insanity expiration date is raising a child to the point where I'd gotten by the time my father went insane. But was one child enough? Do I have to raise both to that point before I can rest? Lucas hit nine and a half in August of 2014; Landon will hit that mark in September of 2016. 

Should I have a party when that time comes––if I haven't gone nuts by then, of course? Or just let it slip by, unannounced to all but me (and you, who know all about it now)? Oh, and by the way: Lucas had a holiday of sorts in November 2015 that's worth reading about.