DadCentric

The Crying Game

I've got no problem with grown men or serious athletes crying.  When you pour your blood, sweat and tears into a competitive event, losing can be devastating.  All you want to do is win.  Coming so close and not completing the job is absolutely gut-wrenching.  I'm man enough to admit that there have been a few occasions in my life where I've cried while competing in sports.   

BUT...

Did you see Adam Morrisson from Gonzaga last night?  With more than three seconds left, he was crying like a 12-year old whose first girlfriend dumped him.  He even had the uncontrollable body convulsions and everything!  They were only down by two points!  He's the best shooter in college basketball.  There was PLENTY of time to pull out a vitctory.  In fact, Batista's shot was pretty darn close.

I've never been a huge Adam Morrisson fan.  Yeah, the hair and the porn moustache make a good story.  There's been way too much hype about him.  But I didn't lose more respect for him last night because he cried.  No, I lost respect for him because he was a premature loser. 

In a side note, I've noticed one more way that fatherhood has changed my life.  While watching the game by myself at midnight and seeing Adam Morrisson break down in tears, I found myself alone in the living room singing "It's Alright To Cry" from Marlo Thomas' "Free to Be You and Me" soundtrack. 

Crying gets the sad out of you
It's all right to cry,
It might make you feel better.

Raindrops from your eyes
Washing all the mad out of you
Raindrops from your eyes
It's gonna make you feel better.

It's all right to feel things
Though the feelings may be strange.
Feelings are such real things
And they change and change and change


Who's still with me?  Was that NOT the best song on the album?  Ok, I'll admit that "When We Grow Up" is pretty darn good also.  Makes you wonder what the hell happened to Michael Jackson. 

Wait a sec.  What's going on here?  Wasn't I just talking about the tourney?  Damn, sidetracked again.

Now excuse me while I go dig up my old copy of "Free to Be You and Me" and lament my emasculation. 

Man Strength

The traditional concept of manhood has been out of vogue for the last few years.  First you had guys going into the woods, banging on drums, and crying on each others laps like little pansies.  Keanu Reeves and Ben Affleck became bankable movie stars, and even Wolverine went soft.  Then Queer Eye and the metrosexual movement showed up to put a vaguely feminine sheen on shaving and three-button suits.  Face it, John Wayne and Teddy Roosevelt would look at us all and want to kick our collective asses.

Why do I bring this up?  Not because I dislike metrosexuals (quite the contrary...I admire their knack for picking the right fabric for the season) or because I hold onto some medieval ideal of manhood that involves chain-mail and morning stars.  It's because I've lately been thinking a lot about "man strength." 

What's "man strength?"  I heard this theory once that men, after they've lived a while and had kids, develop a deep core strength that makes them stronger--in a far more meaningful way--than younger dudes who just go to the gym and never really do anything to test their strength.  It's the kind of strength that, if a father was ever protecting his child, you could break a chair over his back and he wouldn't even feel it--he'd just rise slowly and waste you like the Limey. 

You don't see man strength much in the news or on TV (I'm looking at you, T.O.) but that's not because it isn't out there...it's just too busy taking care of the dirty shit that needs to get done.  Our dads weren't always playing golf and leaving the seat up; they were fixing the leak under the sink or building our Pinewood Derby cars.  They still are.  And there were tons of things we didn't even know about, because part of man strength is that you don't have to talk about it...you just do it.

To me, what's important about my role as a father isn't just the diaper changing and my gentle bedtime readings from the liner notes of Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast."  It's the strength and solidity I project for my family so they will always feel safe.  It has nothing to do with anyone being weak and needing my protection, either...it's just something that I was taught to do.  And yeah, if my wife or daughter were kidnapped by some retired Special Forces wacko employed by a Latin American dictator, you'd better believe I'd load up on my unlimited ammo and go after them. 

I'm not saying us dads are all Navy SEALs or anything, and you're better off having Tom Westman run into a burning building to save you than most of us.  Thankfully no one is asking us to.  But who among us wouldn't?

So, You Wanna Be A Shiite?

As a kid, I remember sitting in church listening to the preacher tell us horror stories about how, any minute now, Communists could come bursting through the church doors [in rural Georgia], put guns to our heads and give us the choice of either denouncing The Lord Jesus Christ or taking a bullet in our skull.  Um...excuse me, I'm 7 years old.  The entire church membership has already laughed at me because I dog-paddled when I entered the baptismal pool.  I'm pissed my Mom wouldn't let me wear my football cleats to service.  Jack Warner, my friend/nemesis, has managed to sit next to the girl in pew 3 that I'm madly in love with, but, who will have nothing to do with me because I accidentally told her her feet stink.  Now, I have to figure out what I'd do when the Communists come calling?  Hell, I can't even decide what cereal I want for breakfast.

Yeah, religion was kind of like that for me.  Stressful, confusing, scary - everything it's cracked up to be and more!  I thought we Baptists had it bad until I saw this picture of the Shiites doing their thing for Ashura, which I think is the Holy Day of Knife Whacking.  Damn, even with the Communist thing I wouldn't have had to pull my own trigger.  I guess I should count my proverbial blessings, huh?

So, I started thinking about the idea of religion and how/if I'd introduce it to my daughters.  I will probably wait till one of them asks about it.  But, when they do, to where do I point them?  (I think I may stray away from the whole Muslim thing - it's just not getting good PR these days...probably a little un-hip, if you know what I mean).  I don't want to leave them hanging with no response or a "figure it out yourself", kiddo.  I'd like to have some sort of plan of attack.  What are your plans for this kind of stuff?

I Was A Teenage Frat Boy!

Early morning exchange between my officemate and myself:

OM: “Did you see Amazing Race last night?”

Me: “Yep. Some of it, anyway. I dozed off in the middle, so I have no idea where the racers ended up. Djibouti, I think. Or maybe Iceland. Hard to tell.”

OM: “Who was Philiminated?”

Me: “The Norah Jones-Jessica Alba Hybrid and her mom.”

OM: “Who won?”

Me: “The Frat Guys.”

Even as I said it, I felt a hint of shame, like a character in a Philip Roth novel. For you see – I was…I STILL AM, at least according to the Laws of the Fraternity…a Frat Guy. I was one of Them. The guys you saw wearing their Greek letter-embossed sweatshirts even when the thermometer read 95. The ones who’d be sitting on the deck of the Frat House tapping a keg at 9:00 a.m. on a Wednesday, or standing on the roof of the House hitting golfballs towards the nearby dorm. I had the red tie-blue blazer-khaki slacks combo. I knew The Secret Handshake (not so secret, actually, as there are about 20 fraternities who have the same shake). I had a stupid nickname (“Scooby” – but that’s another story).

Oh, I tried to maintain some sense of individuality – I read Bukowski and opted for martinis at the bars, and during my final semester I grew my hair and sideburns to Jim Morrison length. Scooby the Brooding Pseudointellectual Frat Boy. But there was no hiding my essential fratness. When the house party cry went up – “DA ROOF! DA ROOF! DA ROOF IS ON FYE-AH!” – I was the guy who stood before the drunken assembled masses and got all William Wallace, leading the refrain. I did not need no water. I let the motherfucker burn.

We Frat Guys get a bad rap. And you can argue (and I’d probably agree with you) that we deserve it; there were and still are far too many homophobic racist elitist date-raping assholes in the Greek system, at least in my experience. Then again, in my day there seemed to be a lot of homophobic racist elitist date-raping assholes who weren’t in a fraternity. As I was not and am still not a homophobic racist elitist date-raping asshole, and did not and do not hang out with HREDRA’s, my experience was a little different than that of the stereotypical Frat Guy. In most regards, I was your typical college student, not so different from you (assuming you went to college; if you didn’t, I still was probably not so different from you, as I wasn’t what you’d call a “Cum Laude”, or for that matter a “good student”). If you prick me, do I not bleed? I am not an animal! Etc.

I’m not one to navel-gaze, especially when it comes to the wacky shit I did prior to the age of 21, because we’re all pretty much a bunch of dumbasses up until that age (yes, you who wore the black turtlenecks and the old Army surplus jacket and spent your Saturday nights at the coffee shop discussing Sylvia Plath and Sonic Youth albums, you were also a dumbass, primarily because you convinced yourself otherwise). Am I proud of my beerbonging abilities, or the streaking, or the water balloon attacks on the freshman orientation groups? Not really, but neither am I particularly ashamed of any of it. It was Good Times, is all, and sometimes things are as simple as that. The big question, which I’ve got about 16 years to spend mulling over, is am I going to encourage my son to go Greek? I’m actually ambivalent about it. I want the kid to enjoy his university experience; if for him that means joining a frat, great, if not, great. What about you guys?

ETA: The statement "I was not and am still not a homophobic racist elitist date-raping asshole" is somewhat erroneous; I could be and still am capable of being an asshole. Example: in college, I once dumped a girl because she insisted on sitting on my lap during an SDSU football game. Again, this is in no way related to my fraternity experience;  I was an Aztec fan before I became a Frat Boy, so I'd like to think that assholeness is a trait that's not unique to the Greek system.

Sad...Amusing, But Sad

And the father of the month (in a very Swiftian Modest Proposal kind of way) in my neighborhood goes to...White Trash Neighbor Dad (WTND).  Yes, our fine white trash neighbors are setting a positive example yet again.

Picture, if you will, a shirtless, hairy-backed, flabby, fleshy guy with random, lame tattoos hanging off the side of his Hummer as his wife drives away in it.  At the top of his lungs, he's screaming "Give me my wallet, give me my fucking wallet, bitch."  All this, of course, while his 8 year-old daughter runs beside him.

It gets better.

While still hanging off the driver's side of the hummer, WTND turns to his daughter, points to the sidewalk and says (I swear I'm not making this up), "Go over and wait for daddy on the sidewalk.  Your mother is being psychotic and is putting you in danger.  Go stand on the sidewalk so mommy doesn't hurt you while she leaves.  Because she doesn't want to be a part of our family anymore."

Can I ask...who the fuck acts like that and who says shit like that to a kid?

Worst Day Ever

Man, you should have seen my in-tray when I got back to my desk at Dadcentric HQ today! And who the hell stole all my paperclips? Dubya, did you ‘borrow’ my parking spot again?

It’s been a while since I graced the halls of HQ so I have a bit of catching up to do. Anyways down to business.

Yesterday. The shittest day I’ve had in ages.
0
I wake up with a mixture of broken glass, sandpaper, chilli and sawdust in the back of my throat. I cough and blood comes out. Yep, I’m getting sick and I seem to be doing it rather well indeed. Bugger

I work for a web-design/software company. So I get into work and my boss has emailed me, telling me that our hosting company (who is the largest hosting provider in the southern hemisphere) is now offering their own version of pretty much all our software products……for free. So understandably she is really pissed. As am I. But…..what can you do.

One of my clients calls me and tells me that he is no longer using our services anymore. It’s done and dusted. Signed off by the CEO. It doesn’t bother me that people want to move on, just give us the opportunity to come to the party for your requirements! It shits me when company’s just move on and don’t say….”hey! We need this or that…what can you do for us”?

So I drag my sick sorry arse through the rest of the day and I’m driving home. My Mobile rings and I answer it and turn the corner to pull over. A cop just happens to be there and motions to me to stop. Fuck!
“Sir, is there any emergency reason why you are talking on your mobile phone whilst driving”
“OK mate, you got me fair and square”
“Sir I’m going to have to issue you with an infringement notice for this OK?”
“What if it’s not ok you fucking pig” Actually I didn’t say that but I felt like it.

$225. Two hundred and twenty five fucking dollars! Ouch, that bites!

So I tell my wife. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t get angry, no tantrums, no trowing things, just an “well, you won’t be doing that again will you”

OK what’s the catch? I learnt later that she was being supportive, and here I was thinking she was going to cut my penis off in the middle of the night to teach me a lesson.
“Thanks for not cutting my doodle off love!”

Bathing the girls and Bubba Gump is getting dried and pees all over the towel. OK bound to happen sooner or later. Get the big one out and quickly grab another towel and SHE decides to pee all over the floor. Really I haven’t seen a bigger puddle since watching the news about Cyclone Larry in Far North Queensland.

So to conclude. Worst Day Ever.

What’s your worst day ever?

Act like a dad then!

I try and avoid talk radio at all costs now.  I used to be a rabid listener until I installed XM.  I would get all fired up and start yelling at the radio -- it was cathartic in many ways and also ensured other drivers would stay as far away from me as possible.  I don't think there's anything more frightening for an elderly driver doing 50 in the left lane than to see some psycho in the rear-view banging on the dashboard and screaming until his face is beet red.  But, like I said, I try and avoid that now.  I'm maturing and want to provide as good a role model for Little Dub as I can.  However, even with 100+ stations to listen to, there was a stretch of my commute yesterday where it was impossible for me to find anything I enjoyed.  So, as I scrolled, I stumbled on Dr. Laura - yep...that Dr. Laura.  For me, listening to her is like having a Jerry Springer show on the radio.  It's annoying on many levels, but, even though there's something sadistic in it, schadenfreude can be quite enjoyable.  But, yesterday, I found myself on the verge of yelling at my radio again.

A gentleman (hmmm, maybe too nice...putz?  schmuck?) called into the show to ask the esteemed doctor's opinion on something he already knew the answer to, but, hey, this was his 30 seconds.  Now, I'm gonna paraphrase this a bit, but I'll keep the spirit.

Caller: Hi, Dr. Laura, this is Dave.  I'm my child's dad  Heh, heh.  (I already don't like him.)
Dr. Laura: Hi, Dave, what's your question?
Dave: Um, yeah, my daughter's 10 and is asking for a cell phone.  Do you think I should get her one?  (Ok, Dave, you just said you are your child's dad.  Are you capable of thinking for yourself?  Don't you already know the answer, Dave?)
Dr. Laura: I would tell her that once she has a job, then she can have a cell phone.  Before that she'll just be texting and yapping away with her friends and costing you money.  If she has a job, she can pay for it.  What does she need a cell phone for anyway?  (Yep, you guessed it, I'm beginning to seethe now.)
Dave: Well, she says all her friends have one so she wants one.  (He didn't just go there did he?  I'm too stunned to actually even consider yelling right now.)
Dr. Laura: (sounding equally stunned) Her friends have them?  C'mon, Dave, you know the answer to this, right?
Dave: Yeah.  No.
Dr. Laura: Why do you think her friends have them?  I would suspect that their parents feel guilty for one reason or another and get them the cell phones.  What kind of parents do these other children have?  (Ok, um, still speechless.  We've gone from Dave, who starts off bragging that he's his child's dad but then shows he's incapable of making a decision himself, to now throwing other parents under the bus to be taken to task by some shrew.)
Dave: Yeah, I imagine they do feel guilty and just give them whatever they want.  It's kind of sad that they're not acting like parents and doing whatever they can to make their kids happy whether or not it's right for them.  (Did he just get on a soapbox?  I am actually incapable of yelling hypocrite.  I only hear myself mumbling, wha-?  Wha- tha f-?  Are you fuckin' kidding me?)
Dr. Laura: Well, that's the type of world we live in now, Dave.....

(I have no idea how this ended as I am sure there was something to be found on another station.  I would have even settled for the 40s channel and a Glenn Miller Monday or something as long as it wasn't wishy-washy Dave covering up his own inability to act like a parent by blaming society in general for his shortcomings.)

 

C'mon, Kid. Keyboards?

It seems my youngest is showing some interest in keyboards.  No, not the computer type...the Yanni type. For the past two months she's been all over this little crappy keyboard my wife bought for our eldest daughter a few years back. This doesn't look like a passing interest either as she plays with it all the time.  If she's not dancing around to the pre-programmed beats and riffs, she's concocting her own [fucked up] pop tunes -complete with a 2-year-old's idea of lyrics sometimes- from morning to night. 

"5:15am?  No problem.  Here's a little something I whipped up for you guys to get your day started," (insert synthesized version of an elephant stampede through a pipe organ).
"Snack time?  Here's a little strawberry yogurt Bossa Nova number for you, Mommy.  I'll be including an interpretive dance. "
"I like to call this one Poopie Diaper Intro To Europe's The Final Countdown in Bm, F#, C and possibly  a D7 Thrown In."

I guess I'm excited that my girl is showing some definite signs of musical interest, even if her path leads her to becoming the uncoolest member of the band a keyboard player. I was kind of hoping for a guitar player out of the deal, and I guess there's still time for that, but, I'm happy that she's at least sharing a little bit of her Daddy's penchant for all things musical.

No matter what happens, at least she's not showing any interest whatsoever in the accordion.  I would have to intervene at that point.

How NOT to be a man!

Are all of you out there following the story about the smug frat-boy asshat who filed a lawsuit claiming that men have the right not to pay any support for a child they fathered by accident?  The press has taken to calling the case "Roe v. Wade for Men." 

The case was filed at the U.S. District Court in Detroit by an organization called the National Center for Men.  However, the plaintiff is Matt Dubay, a 25-year-old computer technician from Saginaw, Mich., who claims he and his ex-girlfriend did not always use birth control because she believed she could not get pregnant due to a medical condition. But the couple, who were together for about three months, did conceive, and Dubay's ex elected to keep the child, for whom he now pays $500 a month in child support, despite his contention that he was always clear about not wanting the child.

In pursuing the case, NCM and Dubay have likened the case to a woman's right to abortion and have actually sought to create an alliance with pro-choice activists in order to help their cause (needless to say, most pro-choicers are staying out of the debate.)

Here's my take on THAT issue...

(1) There is, at best, a very slight tangential connection to the ongoing debate in this country about abortion.  There is a critical difference between the right not to have to pay child support and the right not to be forced to bring an unwanted pregnancy to term inside your body.

(2) I agree that it may not be fair that women have reproductive rights while men have reproductive responsibilities.  However, I think it's a pretty flimsy argument to say that ending paternity suits against men is the equivalent to legalizing abortion for women.  At the very least, it's an insulting argument no matter how you feel about abortion.   

Now, I'm not going to get into a debate about abortion and I'm purposefully keeping my views on that subject out of the discussion here because I think it's irrelevant.  The pertinent debate here really relates to the issue of child support.  And while some are hailing Dubay as a champion for men's rights, I'm of the opinion that he falls squarely into the "deadbeat dad" category. 

In fact, I'm so pissed off about this ridiculous "Roe v. Wade for Men" case that I thought I'd use this forum to pass along some advice to young Mr. Dubay.

Here's the deal, Numb Nuts.  Pay attention because I'm only going to say this once.  It's pretty fucking simple.  Since you're a computer technician, I'll even try to put in terms a dipshit like you could understand.  Ready? 

When you stick your little firewire penis into your girlfriend's hard drive, you do so with the knowledge that if you bring a life into this world, that life is your responsibility!  Even if it means living in your parent's basement for a few years, working a second job at McDonalds, or driving an econo-van instead of a Viper!

Clearly, you're not a gentleman but, at the very least, be a fucking man!  Step up to the plate, you little weasel!  I know that current child support laws tend to favor women.  Is that fair?  Maybe not.  But you know what, young Jedi?  As you get older, you'll realize that life and biology aren't always fair. 

As you get older, I also hope you'll learn that actions have consequences and that the best you can do as a human being is to take responsibilities for those actions.  It's part of what being a real man is all about. 

And aside from an opposable thumb, it's what separates us from the animals. 

What do YOU think, my friends? 

Ask DadCentric!

Welcome to another installment of Ask DadCentric!, where we dispense fatherly wisdom in our own inimitable style. Today's question comes from exasperated reader/blogger Kevin, who writes:

"Dudes, you've got to help. Our little girl is just over 9 months old. She's got 4 teeth through successfully now, two up & two down, and we're pretty sure she's not teething at the moment, but she's suddenly become a TERROR to put to bed at night. She had been putting herself to sleep pretty well for a while, but it's like that skill has flown out the window. She goes down easily enough during the day for her naps, and she plays quite happily until she gets tired in the evening and starts rubbing her eyes, etc. She's a happy, healthy baby in all other respects. But when we try to put her down she goes nuts. We cuddle her, and sing to her, and she gets all dreamy & sleepy, and then we set foot in her room, and she knows she's going to bed, and it's on. We've tried Bongella (for her teeth), but no difference. We've taken her for walks, and she just cries. We can put her to sleep by taking her for a drive, or rocking her in my arms (eventually), but those aren't really feasible long-term. We'd try controlled crying, but there is no control to be had. Once we are able to get her into bed, she stands at the edge of her crib, screaming like something possessed, and it goes on & on & on until we pick her up, and then we go again, and she eventually exhausts her little self. My wife is frazzled beyond belief, my heart breaks every night as I don't know what to do & I can't stand to see my little girl unhappy, and I haven't had any sex for wayyyy too long. Help a brother out...."

Kevin, you’re fortunate that your little girl is 9 months old. The standard infant warranty covers one year, so you should be able to contact your customer service representative and get either a replacement or a full refund. Unless you got a display model, which are often sold “as is”. See what happens when you try to save a buck?  It sounds like you’re somewhat fond of your child, so I’m guessing that you’re not looking to trade her in. So let’s take a step back and look at the two general factors that could be at play here:

Physical ailment. My kid suffered from recurring ear infections, which often made it tough for him to sleep. If you haven’t done so, make an appointment with your pediatrician and get her checked out.

Behavioral issues. Well, duh. I’ll preface my advice here with a couple of disclaimers. First, starting at about 6 weeks of age, my kid slept through the night. Like a rock. Still does. (I’ll pause here to allow you all to make obscene gestures at your computer screens. Feel better? Let's move on then, shall we?) Second, it goes without saying that I’m not a Professional Child Behaviorist; my expertise extends to surfboard recommendations, what TV shows you should be watching, and where to get good Mexican food. But since you asked, here’s my five cents. I keep zeroing in on the notion that you’ve got a bit of a battle of wills going on here. This is one of the things that they don’t tell you about in Dad School: as your kid grows, they become more and more self-aware. This is fun when they do cool things like point at their reflections in the mirror and say their name. It’s not so much fun when they realize that strained green beans taste like ass, there’s no such thing as predestination, and flinging said ass-flavored beans across the room is now an option. Now, she’s eventually gonna lose this battle, since sleep will catch up with her. The trick is to avoid a Pyrrhic victory; you need to retain what’s left of your sanity, and the sex thing? Kind of important. One way to do that is make the crib a place that she enjoys – stuffed animals, a mobile, music, all of the above. Reinforce the notion that bedtime is a pleasant experience. We used one of those Fisher-Price Aquarium Thingies (yes, I believe that’s what they’re actually called) and it really helped settle Lucas down at bedtime. So there’s my admittedly pedestrian advice. Oh, and if you’re ever in San Diego, El Callejon has fantastic carnitas, and the salsa verde is to die for.

Want advice from the untrained, semi-skilled nonprofessionals here at DadCentric? Read this!