My wife and I are very different people. Her delicate, careful nature has always opposed my reckless and adrenaline-junky lifestyle. She’s tamed me down quite a bit, but people still comment that we are the definition of “opposites attract.”
When my wife announced the pregnancy, our families placed bets on who he would take after. My wife and I prayed that he might just adopt both of our traits, because admittedly, our strong personalities had their flaws. She was a perfectionist to a fault, and I was a troublemaker at heart.
When I held Hayden in my arms for the first time, I felt full in a piece of my heart I didn’t even know existed. I’ve not always been the nurturing type, but Hayden made me want to be.
It didn’t take long for Hayden to grow into his personality. He was carefree, adventurous, boisterous and snarky. It was clear who he took after. Everyone called him my “mini-me.” My wife rolled her eyes every time that comment was made. I could tell she was insanely jealous, and it was like she was angry with me for it.
By the time Hayden was 8, he had developed a scary number of my traits. I mean, it was scary. His mannerisms, his interests, his way of thinking, his argumentative style. It was like he was a reincarnation of me, much to my wife’s disdain.
The truly scary part was the speed at which Hayden adopted my traits. He was already mimicking my troublemaking behaviors; sneaking out, talking back, playing recklessly, even being a bit of a bully to his friends. Even I didn’t start acting out like this so early on.
It got worse. I watched him shoot a squirrel with a BB gun then strangle it until it stopped moving. Weeks later, we found our cat Baxter barely moving, covered in blood in Hayden’s room. Last month we went on a father-son fishing trip. He put a fishing hook in my shoe. It pierced right through my heel, and he insisted it was a prank.
“He wouldn’t be like this if he wasn’t so much like you!” My wife screamed at me.
She was right. A lot more than she knew.
But still, I didn’t think it’d happen so soon.
I didn’t start strangling animals until I was at least 16. I knew what came next after the animals and “pranks” stopped satisfying the urge. I knew what he truly craved, because it’s what I crave.
With age, I’ve learned how to manage my urges. But Hayden was only 8, impulse control was non-existent for him. Only time would tell what he’d turn into. There was no fixing it.
I looked into Hayden’s eyes, tucking him into bed. I prayed that I’d see something in them, but all I saw was darkness.
He only squirmed a little as I held the pillow over his face.
I just wish he could have been more like his mother.
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