Chase is 14

My first-born turns 14-years-old today. His official name is Chase Alexander Brown, but he's gone by a variety of names over the years. Chasey. Chaser. Chasey-poo. Chaser-baser-big-boy. And Stinky.

When he was a baby, he was the laziest baby in the world. He loved just rocking in his car seat, and though we took him out quite a bit, he didn't seem to care too much. He was content wherever he was. He didn't walk until he was 18 months old. But, it worked out perfect for me. He was my introduction to the world of babies, and as it turned out, I couldn't screw up a thing. I was a success as a dad as long as I was around to make faces at him.

At 14, Chase is like me in almost every measurable way. Well, except for the Wilkinson blonde hair. He's smart, but not so smart that he's overly burdened. Lucky for me he got the ridiculously corny Brown sense of humor. I can joke with him about anything and he just gets it. When I start singing "All the Single Ladies" out of the blue, Chase is always there to join in.

He loves sports, and just like me at his age, he is always ready for a pick-up game of basketball or a quick football toss in the yard. He's not the fastest or strongest at anything, but he's competitive. Just like dad.

Chase is great because he rolls with the punches. He can get really upset of course, but he never holds onto it. That's a rare thing, you know.

He is funny. He's nice. He's laid back. He's a goofball.

In a mixed up confusing world, we understand each other. And I'm he's biggest fan. But, don't let him know.

Today, I'm going to take him to the court and play him one-on-one. I'm going to beat him down, and hopefully, make him cry a little. Then, I might sing him a song about how much it sucks to be a loser. He'll laugh.

Happy Birthday, Chasey.