Being the middle child can be tough or so I’ve heard.  Always trying to keep up with your older brother, while at the same time maintaining a lead on your little brother.  Unsure of whether to look ahead or glance over your shoulder at who is coming up from behind.  That’s where we find our dear, enthusiastic, caring Sam.  Stuck in the middle.

Well, Sam recently had a high in that he was named “Star Student of the Week” for his class.  Being “Star Student” is an honor that features having a poster about you displayed in the classroom.  This week is Sam’s week (naturally for the middle child it is a holiday shortened four-day week) and Monday night we began the arduous task of gathering information for his poster.  Sure, Sam was excited about it on Friday night and wanted to finish up the poster, but I saw the large amount of effort that would need to be expended and put it off.  Off until the last minute.  Off until Monday night.  Way to go, Dad!

Sam and I settled into chairs in front of the computer to select photos of Sam and his family.  Look there’s a nice picture of you on your birthday (with of course your older brother in background).  Look there’s a nice picture of you (with of course your brothers on either side).  Oh well, these are nice pictures anyway.  Click on print.  Onto the next part of the poster, the birth information.  What?  Birth information?  The boy is in the second grade, do we really need to put his birth time, length, and weight on the poster?  I ceased remembering this information about an hour after he was born and now I need to recall it 8 years later.  A nearly impossible task.  Oh dear, we were in big trouble.

I turned to my wife, who has an excellent memory, which has been enhanced over the years, as a result of having an idiot husband.  She recalled the details for Sam, but asked if I would check to make sure it was correct.  So, Sam and I went to the file cabinet and looked in the “Legal Documents” folder, which is snug between the “JC Penney” and “Lowe’s” folders.  “Let’s see, Sam.  There’s the birth certificates for both of your brothers, but I don’t see your birth certificate in here.”  Seeing the sad look coming across his face, I responded, “I’m sure it’s in here.  It was probably just put in the wrong file.”  I probably missed the “Lowe’s” folder and put Sam’s information right into “Miscellaneous.”  Way to go, Dad.

Birth announcement.  We must have a birth announcement somewhere up in the attic.  No dice.  Perhaps, a call to my mom or my in-laws for the info.  No way.  That would just add “Pathetic Son” and “The-loser-man-who-married-my-daughter” to my resume that already features “Bad Daddy.”  Ugh.  “You know what Sam?  Your mom has a really great memory, so let’s just put down what she remembers.”  My middle son, lost.

Skip ahead three days and we arrive at this morning.  The house was hectic, as the boys were eating their breakfast.  Suddenly, Sam slides up next to me and asks, “Dad, did you fill out the ‘Jump Rope for Heart’ form.”  Ah yes, the annual fundraiser for the American Heart Association.  The annual fundraiser that inspires children with prizes for meeting certain fundraising goals.  The annual fundraiser that Sam has asked about nearly every day for two weeks.  The annual fundraiser, where I keep reassuring Sam that we have plenty of time remaining to make a donation and fill out the form.  The annual fundraiser, where Sam would really like to raise enough money to get a t-shirt.  The annual fundraiser that we give to, but now find ourselves with two children raising money for it.  Sam’s older brother Jacob’s solution:  put all of the money in Jacob’s name, earn a bigger prize, and when Jacob grows out of the shirt, he will give it to Sam.  Hmmm, sort of a good idea, but not so much.

I was sure that the form was due tomorrow (Friday), so I kept reassuring Sam that we have more time.  Every day, “Don’t worry, Sam.  We have plenty of time.”  By this morning (Thursday), however, I had had enough of the questioning and was ready to finally commit to filling out the forms and making the donations.  Going downstairs to the “Bill Pile,” I picked out the Jump Rope for Heart form and sure enough, it was due…  yesterday!  Wednesday!  I was a day late.  Sam looked crestfallen.  My middle son, forgotten.

[Sure it’s an excuse, but let me just vent a bit here, knowing that the form being late was my own fault, but really, who puts a deadline like that on a Wednesday?  Really?  Well, it sounds like it would have been a good excuse for me forgetting, if I had not just honestly completely remembered the wrong date.  Good job remembering something that is important to your son.  Way to go, Dad.]

Still, I tried to make things right.  I apologized, swiftly made on-line payments, and filled out their forms.  If all the stars aligned, it would be okay.  Either way, we were still giving money to the American Heart Association (fat lotta comfort that is to an 8-year-old who wanted to earn a t-shirt).  Sam seemed worried, but understanding of the outcome.

Packing the kids into the car to drive them to school (it is still really cold here), I glanced in the backseat to see Sam softly crying.  Asking him what was wrong, Sam indicated that he was worried about the forms being late.  Feeling oh so small, I recommended that he ask his teacher first thing if it was okay to turn in the forms a day late, because his dad forgot the deadline.  Sam seemed to take this advice.  “Seemed to,” which was the best I could hope to achieve at this point.  Way to go, Dad.

After having dropped off the kids, I started the drive to work.  Flipping through the radio dial, I ran across the one song that indicated without a doubt that the universe was frowning at me, “Cat’s in the Cradle.”  So one day, when grownup Sam forgets where he placed my Medicare card (Ha!  As if there will be a Medicare around when I am old.  That unlikely scenario makes my pessimistic soul chuckle.) and misses driving me to my doctor’s appointment by one full day, just remind me that “My boy is just like me.”

Sam at bedtime with his “Bad Daddy.”