How did you find out?

My narcissistic daughter loves looking at pictures of herself. Earlier this week she got out one of the scrapbooks. The first page features a used EPT stick. “What’s that?” she asked. “Oh, that’s just something your mother peed on and decided to keep sealed behind velum forever,” I thought to myself.

“That’s just a stick, honey,” I said. “Let’s see what else we can find.” She accepted my non-explanation and turned the page. I, however, was still thinking about that stick.

When we first suspected that my wife was pregnant, we got one of those over-the-counter pregnancy tests. I remember sitting on the bed while she was in the bathroom. I also remember floating on the ceiling and watching myself sitting on the bed, which I believe is what they call an “out-of-body experience.” She returned from the bathroom with the used test and a puzzled expression.

“That looks blue, right?” she asked, handing it to me.

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Mommy’s way vs. Daddy’s way

Shortly before Grace was born, we attended “parenting prep” classes at the hospital. When the nurse wasn’t showing us just how pliable my wife’s vagina could be, she was offering practical advice. The most useful, it turned out, was directed toward the future moms.

“Moms, don’t pay attention to the way Dad does things.”

Now let me make it very clear that this is NOT one of those “silly fumbling Daddy just can’t get the poopy diaper right” deals that seems to pass as comedy these days. I detest that nonsense and, frankly, find it insulting. However, it is true that my wife and I do certain things differently. For example:

• I have washed my son off with the sprayer in the kitchen sink. I’m pretty sure my wife has not.
• I told Grace that sticking raspberries on the ends of her fingers is “funny.” I think “rude” was the word my wife used.

• I’ve noted that I think it’s a riot when Grace’s  poo-poo “looks like tortellini,” and encourage her to compare it to other nouns in her world: Animals, toys, even Dora the Explorer.

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On the beach

Remember that?

I remember my father in  his twenties — younger than I am now — wearing plaid pants, dollar store slippers and a bright blue t-shirt that read “Master of Disaster” in fuzzy iron-on letters. A soggy cigar hung from his mouth. It was early in the morning, and we had already been up for hours, fishing for our breakfast in a Canadian lake. Standing in the grass, he was gutting a perch. I must tell you, there’s nothing quite like sawing the head off of a still-gasping fish.

Years later my aunt brought me to an Indy Car race. I saw Mario Andretti’s car up close, stuffed myself with junk food and then threw it all up again on the way home.

As the years went on my sisters and I buried three dogs, two cats, and a brown rabbit named Rainbow. These are the things that a child remembers: Feeling special with dad; a fun outing with a favorite aunt; burying the family pet.

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Dark Daze

“The child is father of the man” – William Wordsworth

By the time a boy is 15 or 16 years old, he has inherited his definition of manhood. Observations of his father play a major part, as do experiences with other male role models. Your first basketball coach, who taught discipline, teamwork and selflessness. Your first boss who expected you to adhere to a code of conduct and to complete a list of tasks in a prompt and effective manner.

The high school teacher whose chalk-stained sport coat hung just against the ledge of the blackboard, gathering ever more chalk dust as he droned on by rote, teaching you both algebra and the danger of settling for “good enough.”

But at the end of the day, and at the end of your twenties, it comes back to dad. Dad, who left home before you were awake and returned after it was dark. Dad, who delayed dinner and set your stomachs to rumbling because “…we’ll eat when your father gets home.” Dad, who sat  you on his lap and let you steer the car as he worked the pedals, and you felt so empowered, so privileged, so grown up.

Dad, who listened to you bemoan student loan payments and a steady diet of tuna, spaghetti and powdered iced tea mix, and cheered your first job after college, and visited your first apartment, which was scarcely bigger than your childhood bedroom.

“Work hard,” he said. “If you work hard and pay your dues, you’ll be rewarded. You’ve just got to pay your dues first. Everyone does. Someday you’ll get married and have kids of your own and you’ll provide them with a home, hot meals, clothing and school. That’s what you’ll do.”

And that’s what you do. You marry a beautiful woman. You find a decent job. Nothing that’ll buy a house on Capri but it’ll pay the bills and allow for a small vacation to the shore in the summer. You have a child, then two. You’re paying the bills. You’re providing for your family. You’re a man.

Then, it ends.

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My kids the geeks

“…I’m gonna be like you, Dad. You know I’m gonna be like you….” – Harry Chapin

“I shall call him…Mini Me.” – Dr. Evil

“Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son.” – Darth Vader

I’m a nerd. Before you say, “Oh, Dave, no you’re not,” let me stop you. Yes, I am, and I love it.

I watch Nova. I’ve seen the Star Wars movies more often than George Lucas has. Charts and graphs make me happy. I long for my days in band (not “a band” like Van Halen, but “band,” like “ride the bus with the woodwind section.”).

My iPod is full of audio books, not music, and our basement is brimming with vintage computers in various states of repair, especially the room I’ve cornered off as my Man Cave. Furthermore, I believe that everything in the world is a knowable system. For a thorough description of a nerd’s perspective, look here.

As a kid I spent a lot of time taking things apart, much to my parents’ dismay, to see how they work. Radios, clocks, etc. all ended up a pile of parts on the basement floor. The cool thing is, my kids seem to be future nerds. Nerdettes, if you will. Here is the evidence I put forth.

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Father to son, Part II

Son:

Ah, you’re growing up so quickly. It’s been a few days since our last man-to-man. We’re a little older, a little wiser — and a little closer to the years when you’ll want nothing to do with me. Thus, it’s time for another talk. Like I said last time, this is important, so pay attention.

1. Learn how to make a decent paper airplane. Don’t scoff, this is important. A good paper airplane will allow you to entertain yourself, impress your friends, annoy your teachers, and even amaze other kids once you’re an adult like your old man. It requires only a single sheet of paper, so you can whip one out almost anywhere — the airport, a restaurant, Easter Sunday Mass — and often for free. What’s more, you can use almost anything you find lying around, like a place mat or a parking ticket.

There’s more to it than simply folding a piece of paper into a triangle and tossing it onto the floor. First, fold a lengthwise sheet of paper in half, then lay it flat again. Fold the top two corners to meet the seam you made, then do so again. Next, re-fold the paper in half along the lengthwise seam. Finally, fold each side in half so that the top meets the bottom edge to make wings. Throw and enjoy. Note that putting a paper clip on the nose doesn’t really help, despite what people will tell you.

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Five things I miss about babyhood

Last weekend I visited friends who are pregnant with their first. It was fun to hear the excitement and anticipation in their voices. Though I must admit, I had to stifle laughter when dad-to-be said, “I’m not worried about it at all. I mean, my life’s not going to change….”

You just keep telling yourself that.

Amid stories about Babies R Us and some really good pizza, I started to think about all of the “baby things” that my kids don’t do anymore. While I don’t miss changing diapers at 3:00 in the morning, there are several things I do miss. They should tell me, “Dad, this is the last time I’m going to do this. Pay attention, because this is it. Ready?”

Here’s my list of five things I miss about babyhood.

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