My Buddy

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“Father of the Year Moment #267: Raising a man.

This is my son’s doll. He is very protective of her and demands that she is in bed with him at night. I don’t care that he has a doll, I am just glad he has a sensitive side.

The ladies love a sensitive man.

Trust me.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

This post from four years ago set off a friendly debate amongst people who read my social media post.

A little background:

Before my son was born, both of my daughters had an American Girl doll. They promised anything and everything to have one, and when they received it, my wife and I were the best parents ever. But soon after, as with all toys, they lost interest. Sure, they took it to bed with them at night, but months after purchase, it was not cared for with the same love that they once had.

Enter my son. He found the discarded doll and really took to her. He named her after a newborn who attended his same daycare. He took care of her and demanded that she be in bed with him at night.

I am not going to get deep into the whole men vs. women, boys vs. girls, gender roles arguments, but I did have some takeaways from witnessing this experience:

  • It brought him closer to his mother: Every night when she would tuck him into bed. He would talk to her about his doll. She would talk to him about what his doll would like to do when they both woke up in the morning. She would talk to him about treating that doll with respect, often asking if that doll would appreciate him acting in a negative way.
  • It prepared him for any future younger siblings/younger playmates at daycare: We were not sure if we were going to have any other kids (we did), but we did know that there were younger children at daycare. So, we used the doll as a tool to show him how to care for a baby. Many times, he would gently rock the doll to sleep, exclaiming, “It’s okay,” only to drop the doll on its head when he felt his job was complete minutes later. We were able to show him that a baby is something to be continuously cared for.
  • It made him soft: Yes, I said soft. But really, what in the hell is wrong with that? There are definitely worse things that could happen to a young boy. I highly doubt that having a soft spot for a favorited doll is one of them.

 

Oh You’re That Dad…

Sorry, but you are that kid.

You are the kid that never has any fun.

You are the kid that does not have to newest gadgets.

You are the kid that has to check in all of the time.

Sorry, Kid, but your Dad is an asshole.

It is not that I am trying to be mean to you, really it isn’t. It is the fact that I believe that everything should come in its own time. You do not have to grow up too fast, you do not have to get everything quickly, and you do not have to make the right decisions all of the time. And that is the thing, you are not equipped to handle a society that will hold you accountable for your actions. You are not equipped for a society that will record you, store the video, and bring it out to use against you thirty years later when you are being considered for a career. The world is not that same as it was 10 or 20 years ago – the level of personal accountability has been heightened.

You want to be out a few more hours past curfew? No!

You want to host a sleepover? Uh-uh.

You want the newest cell phone? HELL NO!

I am sorry that you have to be asked, “What’s with your dad?” or “Why is he so mean?” On second thought, screw that – I am not sorry. I am not their parent!

You have parents who are highly involved in your life, you Lucky Duck. I cannot control what you do when you leave the nest; but, I hopefully have some sort of influence on how you choose to live your life after you leave it. I am your parent and I take that role seriously because I have a sole duty to society to place a responsible, resilient, and reliable person who carries my last name amongst the community.

It may seem like I am doing this to punish you; but, believe it or not, I am doing this our of love.

And some fear. Lots of fear.

Fear of you being in the headlines. Fear of being a part of a scandal. And I’ll admit — fear of someone saying, “Where were the parents?”

Think of your mother’s heart.

Now, go play outside and have your ass in here before the street lights come on.

“Hair” or “Culture Shock”

Prerequisite: Watch the Blackish Episode “Chop Shop”

Today, my kids experienced something that took them out of their comfort zone. Something that is their birthright. Something that I got to experience as a child and hold dear to me to this day. Today, I took the kids to The Barber Shop.

We are not talking to any barber shop. No.  We are talking about Thee Barber Shop. A place that is a staple in the community. A place where people congregate to talk about a plethora of topics that may have nothing to do with hair – regardless of education (or actual knowledgebase of any particular subject). A place that is the center of fashion, social status, and well-being. A place where it is okay to own your individual style (especially if you are able to take some shit from everyone because of that style).

 

What my kids walked into that day was a venue like no other. They had no idea of the type of culture that existed in front of them. Laughter, loudness, languages, and hair. Braids, tapers, edges, fades, and braids. Hair lotions, spritzes, sprays, and gold chains. The smell of burnt African ancestral hair everywhere. They stood there, looking around – astonished and wide-eyed. And I, well I stood there like a proud father who had just walked his kids into Disneyland.

A taste of my childhood.

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The Shop, During less crowded

As per custom, simply walking into The Shop initiated the rituals of salutations – Acknowledging everyone in the building. There were enough pounds, head nods, daps, points in the direction of, and “wassups” to go around. As I turned around, I noticed the look on my kids’ faces, they now saw me as some type of celebrity.

“Do you even know these people?”

“Some. But that doesn’t matter when you are in The Shop. Everyone gets some sort of acknowledgement.”

Shocked.

We managed to find a place to sit down. As usual the place was damn-near standing room only.

“Walk in, or appointment?”

“Appointment.”

You damn right appointment. I sure-as-shit know better than to walk in an establishment such as this without an appointment unless I had half of the day to wait for an open seat. Don’t get me wrong, if you got the time, the barbershop is the place to sit and bullshit and/or catch the game, whether you need a haircut that day or not was of no importance. The wait was well worth it if you had a favorite barber. Plus, that kind of wait speaks to the quality of the shop. Longer wait = better haircuts.

“Dad, why do you have a winter cap on your head?”

I believe that this would be the perfect time for us to discuss barber shop etiquette. When at the shop, you:

  • do not switch barbers within the same shop. You must stick with the barber that cuts your hair. If you decide to switch to a different barber, know that your actions are giving a clear sign that you think that he or she sucks. This will diminish your loyalty in the entire shop. Now, every barber within the shop will look at you with a side eye.
  • always tip your barber. If you don’t have time to sit, make an appointment. But, if you tip your barber well, he or she will have your back when you are in a bind.
  • never, ever, ever (ever, ever, ever) come inside the shop with a fucked-up hairline. At 38, my hairline runs faster than I do, so I save the money and shave it bald myself. I wore a winter cap because I wasn’t about to be the subject of ridicule on that day, or any other.

“Shut up!”

“It’s because your hairline is messed up, isn’t it?”

She got me.

I was not going to honor that with an answer. She knew what the problem was. The asshole smirk she gave me — my asshole smirk that I give out regularly — was very telling.

My son was called up to his seat. Having had his hair cut before at this shop, he was somewhat of a veteran.

Somewhat…

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“Why is he making that face?”

He was still clearly out of his element. Every time he would look up, he would give me a nervous half-smile as if he were saying, “I’m okay, I’m okay, I can do this…” But it seemed too much for his anxiety.

“Why is he making that face?”

“Shhhhh!”

Twenty minutes later – a quick cut by any means, being that hairline perfection and presentation is key, and conversations are to be had both by barber and those in the vicinity – my son hopped off from the chair with a fresh cut that made him look much older, and much cuter.

“Do you like it?

“Yup.”

“Can we go get ice cream now?”

He truly didn’t give a shit.

“Sure.”

And away we went.

 

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Fresh Cut.

Father of the Year Moment #493 – Therapy Awaits

‪Oldest daughter, grossed out:‬

‪“Put a shirt on!”‬

‪(Bouncing my pecs) “Why should I? I look damn good for my age!”‬

‪“Okay, that is just weird”‬

‪“Pretty sure your friends’ moms don’t think so…”‬

‪“What!”‬

‪“That’s right! I am funny, good looking, and I rock the muscles; sorry, but I got it all. (Double bicep) I’m a hot dad…”

*shocked and mortified*

‪“Mom!”‬

Aging Gracefully, or, Damn You’re Old

As children, we believe that we are invincible. We think that we can do things without any kind of repercussions. Realistically, when we are younger, we can.

Climb a tree, fall, hurt, cry, get back up.

Ride a bike, miss the pedal, hit the middle bar, cry, get back up.

Rush down the stairs, fall, slide the rest of the way down, cry, get back up.

You get the picture.

But then comes a time when you are a tad bit less sharp than you were in years previous; where invincibility becomes mortality; where each ache is a reminder of what you did to your self and fleating youth.

For me, it started at age 33.

At 33, I discovered that there comes a time when you have to be more preventative with your care. I discovered that it would behoove you to listen to your body instead of trying to work through it. I discovered that my body would force me to take days off in order tto recover from what I put it through rather than going full bore all of the time.

At age 33, my back when out.

Look, I would see the family television shows where the father’s back would go out and he would not be able to stand straight up causing him to go throughout his day hunch over for the entire episode. I thought, “There is no way in the hell he can’t just straighten out his back. What a wimp!”

And then it happened to me.

I was the father of a three-year-old and a baby. The family had just returned home from watching a local varsity basketball game at the high school. It was late, and I was putting the baby to bed. As I gently bent over the crib to place her down… It happened.

I was flat on the ground before I could brace myself.

I cannot explain the pain I was in (it was a lot), and I knew what had happened –  I just don’t know why or how it happened. While bear crawling to my bed, I questioned everything about my body and its abilities, “How could this be?! I had never had a back problem in my entire life! I was in really good shape! My body has failed me! Is it normal for a 33 year old man to have a bad back?” What amazed me the most about this happening is that I never realized how much you depend on your back muscles for mobility. I learned that day. *side note: I got the chiropractor to write me a note saying that I was no longer medically cleared to change diapars. My wife failed to see the humor.

Speaking of humor, at age 35, I ruptured my Achilles tendon.

It happened during a pick-up basketball game with my students. One student challenged me to drive past him and go to the hole using my left hand. As a former jock, I am way too much of a “man” to not oblige him. I had always had a pretty good first step, so there was no way in the hell that this doofus was going to stop me.

He didn’t.

My Achilles did.

Surprisingly, there was no pain. Also surprisingly, my tendon did not recoil into my hamstring like I had heard. But, it was torn completely in half. Grabbing my ankle felt like grabbing my wrist. As I was sitting on the floor unable to stand, it hit me:

Holy shit, how was I going to explain this to Heather?

This is when the story gets good.

The first doctor – we will call Doctor Dumbass, diagnosed me with a serious ankle sprain. I politly informed her that she was wrong and that there was, in fact, no tendon attached. “Yeah, but you can move your toes.”

Dumbass.

So I went to a specialist. She looked at it, laughed at me and asked who diagnosed me. I told her. Without a word, she walked directly out of the room and closed the door.

Somebody got cursed out (I could hear her in the next room).

She comes in smiling: “Welp, we will schedule you for surgery next week.”

“Doc…uh…my son is due by C-section in two weeks.”

“Why wouldn’t he be.”

The  surgery was scheduled that week. Post-surgery, I was not, under any circumstance, supposed to touch my foot to the ground. Let me set the stage for you (sans all of the curse words my wife enjoys using when telling this tale):

The day of my oldest son’s birth. My wife had to make sure that I was in the van and properly situated (I am in a soft cast and, remember, no touching my foot to the floor). When we arrived at the hospital, she dropped me off under the awning and parked the van, 100 feet away, while I found the nearest wheelchair. Then she wheeled me to the appointment desk:

“Sir, are you here to check in?”

“No, my pregnant wife.”

There was a look of utter disappointment and/or disgust of me from ever women within earshot. If those women could push my wheelchair down the steps, I believe they would have. It gets better. How? Well —

When it was time for my son to come out, my wife’s nurse wheeled me into the operating room while she walked.

Mic Drop.

Believe me, it is a much funnier story when she tells it; and, she loves to tell it when attending get-togethers where the women outnumber the men 3 to 1. Nothing I have done or will ever do will make up for it.

At age 38, I had figured by now that I should probably go for a yearly check-up. I had been doing a check-up for the last two years after I realized that, A) I have a mortgage, B) have 4 kids, C) have a family history of high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and D) have proven to myself that my body is deteriorating. But this time, I had to do blood work. Simple enough, right. Yes. Until I saw the results:

My kidneys were not working at full capacity…

WTF!

That was not even on my radar.

“You should see the specialist.”

Shit.

So, there I am, three weeks later; sitting in the kidney specialist’s office. Wondering if I am going to be in dialysis within a year.

Note: For the love of God, do not interpret your results through WebMD. Ever. There are so many things you can die of. Don’t let fear be one of them.

“We will send your blood sample to Mayo Clinic for a more accurate test. I will message you when the results are in. Don’t worry.”

Hmmm… Ok. Wait. Shit. Mayo Clinic? Shit. Shit. Shit.

Results came in. Everything is normal. Great, I just almost crapped myself, but great.

So let’s review what we have learned here.

  1. You really are not as invincible as you think. It will catch up to you one day and you will not see it coming.
  2. You are as old as you feel, unless you feel like you are 55 and your actual age is 35. Take preventative measures in order to maintain the machine.
  3. See a doctor once or twice a year. Sure, I got a scare, but that is better than not seeing it coming and leaving your loved ones to pick up the pieces.

Father of the Year Moment #49: Shopping For a Car Seat

Seat #1:

Positive – Comfortable

Negative – Buckles contain lead

Seat 2:

Positive – Ease of use

Negative – Too big to see out of the rear view mirror

Seat 3:

Positive – The “name your website/magazine/report” seal of approval

Negative – cannot remove belts or cushion. If your child pukes in the seat, good luck.

Seat 4:

Positive – Safest in all crash tests

Negative – Welts on the skin from an unknown source.

Seat 5:

Recalled

Seat 6:

Recalled

Seat 7:

$500.00 (no thanks)

So, buying a car seat is really about picking the best of the worst, right.

A Letter to My Children About Turning Left

What if I fall? Oh, my darling, what if you fly?

– Erin Hanson

Eight years ago, I sat in a room across from both of my bosses and realized ahead of me lay a fork in the road — a decision was being forced upon me. I had two options: One, stay in a place that did not deem me or my services valuable, yet provide a comfortability. Or, two, go with the uncertain, improbable, and uncomfortable. Looking back, I can now say that without a shadow of a doubt that I made the right decision.

I had always loved the poem, The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. But I was never put in a position where I would have to put those exact words to the test – until that moment. When I am old, and it is time for me to reflect upon my life, that meeting will be the pivotal point in my life. It will be the time when I told the right people where to shove it and chose to take my own path.

I want you to believe in yourselves as smart, able-minded people. I want you to be able to depend on your education, grit, and skill to choose the path that you want to take. If you choose to switch careers, or start your own business, I hope that you are able to make sound decisions that won’t incur a ton of risk. But if you choose to risk it all, I hope that you do it without fear because you are willing to put your all into it.

During that pivotal time, I was father who was expecting his second child and in need of all monetary compensation that I could get my hands on. Everybody, including your mother, was very fearful of what we would do next. But I was not. I saw that moment as an opportunity for me to grow both as a person, and as a professional – that is what is most important. It is important that you have a job that will help you attain your goals; a job that will provide you with an opportunity to advance – both monetarily and position wise. It is easy to be comfortable; it is extremely difficult to rely on yourself and your training to reach your goals.

People will call you a fool. They will ask what in the hell you were thinking. They will sit back and whisper to others about your sanity while waiting for your failure so that they can tell you that they “told you so.” But after a while, they will admire you because they could not take that leap themselves.

Do not listen to the accolades and do not track the accomplishments. Those things show you an event or feeling from a snapshot in time. Many people have heard their praises only to fall from grace soon after. But, on the other hand, do pay attention to the doubts and the criticisms. Those come from true feelings. Use them to fuel you, but not burn you. Use those to help you and not hinder you. Use those as reasons and not as excuses.

Because of my choices, I am living a life that I once believed was only a dream. I am only to that point because I understood that there is truly no such thing as luck – good or bad. So, I’m telling you that there are no wrong decisions, only consequences. If you choose to do something. It is no one’s place to tell you that they, “told you so.” Don’t use that to make your decision. Whatever you choose, go about it with reckless abandon, pour all of your heart into the venture, and live with the consequences.

Go Left. Everyone chooses right. No one wants to dare because of the possibility that it could lead to failure. I am begging you, go left. You are stronger than what you realize. You will not know that stregnth until you put it to the test. If you are willing to put the work in, go left. We only get one life to live, don’t live it trying to be someone that you are not. Don’t live it trying to do what others think that you should do. Do what makes you happy — unless it hurts other people, then take one right.

Reflection: Glad that’s Over! (2 years ago)

Top 10 reasons I fear for my life right now:

1. I am not pregnant.

2. I can sleep in whatever position I want.

3. I send my wife the weekly “Baby Center: Pregnancy this week” emails that I receive detailing the baby’s progress.

4. I coach football.

5. I breathe air.

6. When she is cooking and has a knife in her hand, I can feel her looking at me like, “Someday…:”

7. She takes my kids to their sporting events.

8. It is about that time in her pregnancy that I get hurt and need surgery.

9. Because we are due for a boy version of Claire.

10. Let’s face it, I am a Jackass.

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