Its like being a rodeo clown-

Everyone that's ever been to a rodeo or watched it on television knows about rodeo clowns. They're wildly dressed, they wear funny hats and wigs and are out in the rodeo ring during the bull and bronco riding action. The clowns are out there to distract that angry, kicking, flailing pile of animal flesh when the ride is over, protecting the cowboys or when the animal wins, giving the cowboy the needed chance to pick himself up out of the dirt.

That's what I feel like right now, a rodeo clown. The cowboy in this rodeo is my son Kye and the bull he has strapped himself to is named Marital Distress. In this circumstance, I'm an old cowboy myself and I understand all the reasons that have caused him to rosin up his glove and straddle this angry beast. I hate it that it is now his turn to take this ride into the painful ring of married life.

I'm not a spectator in the rodeo seats with only a casual concern for this rider, more interested in the spectacle than the injuries. I'm not even the guy that assists the rider in the chute as he prepares for the ugly ride ahead. My son chose that assistant and the circumstances that got him into the fairgrounds. No, I'm the rodeo clown, right out in the center of the ring, closer to the action than anyone else, watching the rider take his thrashing, hurting because I know what each turn and jolt feels like. I can't do much to keep him from getting stomped except run around and wave my arms and then be prepared to pick him up and brush him off when the ride finally comes to an end.

And like a bull ride that in reality takes just 8 seconds but must feel like an eternity while its happening, my son's ride is occupying his complete attention. I know that right now he can't see the end it. He has to subdue that bull and ride it to the end or get painfully thrown to the ground. He is going to be hurting no matter the outcome.

And all I can do is wave my arms, wait to pick him up, dust him off and hand him his hat when it is all done.