—
It was my intention this week to write about family vacations. I planned to talk about the long car rides to Tennessee when I was a child, in the middle seat of our station wagon, or sitting for twelve hours in my dad’s van on a five-gallon paint bucket as we drove into the mountains to stay with my uncle. I was going to compare that to our family vacations now, with me as the patriarchal figure, and find some way of juxtaposing those memories with the ones I am helping my own family create.
Tonight, as I tucked my son into bed, I decided to do some research about said vacations. He climbed into bed, went through his usual routine, fixed the blankets according to his quirky requirements, turned on his rain maker/music machine and took off his glasses. I laid down next to him on the bed, careful not to lay on big black dog, or Train Bear, or Freddy Bear (he still has half a dozen or so animals which find their way back into the bed). We spoke for a few minutes about family trips, where we have gone as a family, which portions of those trips he liked and didn’t like, and he numbered them from one to five. “There are more than five,” he told me, “but I think five is more than enough for your column.” I agreed, and slowly rolled off of the bed to leave the room.
“Did we do NNKs?” he asked. “I can’t remember.”
“I think so, Buddy.” I turned toward the door, putting all my focus on not stepping on a random Lego on my way out.
“We should probably do another round, just to be sure.”
NNKs is the acronym for “No Nightmare Kisses.” It is an organized system of kisses that we exchange before bed. The order is very specific, and it goes Left cheek, right cheek, forehead, nose. My wife, in her own version of NNKs with him includes a kiss on the chin as well, but the original version, the one between Jack and me, is specific to those four. In order for NNKs to be successful, however, they must be delivered in not only a specific order but in a specific pattern. I give him a round, then he to me, then I to him, then he me again. Two rounds each, in that order, every night since he was old enough to have nightmares.
When he was three or four, he started having terrible nightmares. Inevitably, he would end up on my side of the bed in the middle of the night, alert and alarmed, asking me to come tuck him back in. The NNKs were born out of exasperation and hope. Hope that they would dispel whatever fears he had long enough for him to get into a deep sleep. Exasperation in the fact that I couldn’t remember the last time I made it through an entire night without him coming in. The NNKs were part of a lengthy bedtime ritual. Kisses, hugs, multiple stories, the arrangement of his friends in the bed, lying with him for at least two songs on the same playlist, and the final stage, trying to maneuver out of the bed without waking him. It seems like a lengthy process, and many nights it felt that way. Some nights he would wake when you tried to get up, or the door would creak when you opened it, or the cat would meow loudly at the exact moment the door opened, and then the process would begin again. Some nights, even if everything went perfectly, he would still end up next to my side of the bed in the middle of the night. “Dad, I had a bad dream.”
As he grows older, the bedtime rituals have become shorter and shorter. We still make an effort to read when we can (my wife and I each have a different book going with him now), and we no longer have to stay the requisite two songs. But the NNKs, the NNKs are a must. When one of us is sick, either Jack, or my wife or myself, the NNKs are competed in “blow me a kiss fashion” where I blow him four kisses, he catches them with his hand one at a time and places them on the appropriate spot (cheek, cheek, forehead, nose), and then he performs the same task back to me. Every night, without fail, this ritual occurs.
So tonight, after lying in bed talking about family vacations, and what we used to do as children, and why grandpa couldn’t just rent a minivan like we did, I said the appropriate goodnight and headed for the door.
“Did we do NNKs?” he asked. “I can’t remember.”
“I think so, Buddy.” I turned toward the door, putting all my focus on not stepping on a random Lego on my way out.
“We should probably do another round, just to be sure.”
I went back to the bed, leaned over, and gave two rounds of NNKs to my eleven-year-old son. For a moment, I thought to myself How long will I have to do this? Until I don’t, I think. And I am fine with that.
—
If you believe in the work we are doing here at The Good Men Project, please join like-minded individuals in The Good Men Project Premium Community.
◊♦◊
◊♦◊
Get the best stories from The Good Men Project delivered straight to your inbox, here.
◊♦◊
◊♦◊
Sign up for our Writing Prompts email to receive writing inspiration in your inbox twice per week.
♦◊♦
We have pioneered the largest worldwide conversation about what it means to be a good man in the 21st century. Your support of our work is inspiring and invaluable.
—
Photo credit: Getty Images