DadCentric

Shake your harumph-a

Son-of-a-bitch. I've gone and gotten old. O-L-D. And not in an age-related way, mind you. Although some of those people I call friends might say differently. No, it's far more profound and disturbing than that.

I've gone and gotten old in my opinions. My perspective has changed and although I should attribute that to some level of maturity, as an old clothing ad once stated: Maturity is a high price to pay for growing up. Things I once found cool? Meh, not so much anymore. But what troubles me more is that I have opinions and thoughts about people and events that I once swore I'd never utter or, for that matter, think. I've become...shiver...judgmental. I may be a parent, but that doesn't mean I have to become my parents.

I know what you're saying: "What the hell, Warren? What in God's name are you talking about? Has senility started to take hold or something?" No, not quite, though I do sometimes forget to wear pants, but that's neither here nor there. I'm always better with examples so allow me to regale you with a vignette.

Fatherhood in a Moment

"That looks like a DadCentric moment," yelled my neighbor as he approached the fence.

"This?" I answered.  "This is a tax write-off."

"Or a Norman Rockwell painting," he added.

"All I'm missing is a pipe," I said. 

We chatted for a couple of minutes and I promised him that I wouldn't use his name in the post, what with the witness protection thing and all, and then I returned to the game of catch that I was playing with my 5-year-old son.

Catching was optional.

The Answers: They Are Many

“So why do it?” she asked. The inquisitor was a friend of mine, married with no kids and no intention of having any. The “it” in this instance was the having of children. The question was not rhetorical. She really wanted to know. Why do people do this to themselves? Or more specifically, why did my wife and I?

I confess I had to stop and think about it for a moment. Not because we didn’t have our reasons for jumping into the parenthood fray, but because that time of consideration feels like it was so very long ago. Two kids ago, to be scientifically inexact about it. The whos and hows of the matter were pretty much a given, and all questions of why and when have long since been resolved. We are now so steeped in the execution portion of the plan, the everyday doings and happenings that take up so much of our time and brainpower, that the question and answer period is practically another epoch. 2005 B.K.

In our case, there was never really a question of should or shouldn’t we. We said our I Do’s knowing full well that we both wanted children. But still, we asked ourselves the question of why do we want to. From whence does this wish to procreate spring forth? Biological imperative? Social conditioning? A few chances to go at it like a couple of make-up sexing badgers with no worries whatsoever about contraception? The first two reasons, at least, can’t just be dismissed out right. Most of us don’t like to think of ourselves as slaves to natural urges or society’s demands. Human beings have proven their ability to withstand both of these forces from time to time, or otherwise keep them in check. Still, that doesn’t mean we’re entirely free of their pull. It’s just part of that whole being human thing. So I think it’s safe to accept that these influences play a role in the process.

And of course, worry-free fucking is always nice. Ask your mom.

Beware the Cave Dweller

(reprinted without permission from the upcoming D&D Monster Manual V)

Troglodyte, Lesser

Size/Type:  Small Humanoid (Mammalian)
Hit Dice: 2d8+4 (13 hp)
Initiative: –3
Attack: Barbie Doll +1 melee (1d6) or crayon +1 melee (1d4) or yo-yo +1 ranged (1d6)
Special Attacks: Stench
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Abilities: Str 4, Dex 3, Con 1, Int 8, Wis 2, Cha 18
Skills:  Hide +5*, Listen -3
Environment: Any Interior or Underground
Home plane: Material
Challenge Rating: 1

Description

Unlike their reptilian namesakes, lesser troglodytes are creatures of immense personal charisma.  Rarely seen unaccompanied by an adult male or female, these small creatures bear many of the characteristics of young humans, even so far as their rudimentary use of the Common Tongue and consumption of frozen dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

However, what distinguishes these creatures is their stubborn refusal to leave the confines of their house/apartment, regardless of how spectacular the weather may be.  In fact, lesser troglodytes have a reputation for fighting with great tenacity to stay indoors, using numerous verbal and physical maneuvers to halt departure.  The only known exception to this behavior is at bath or bed time, generally when the sun is going down and it's pointless to go outside anyway. 

It is rumored that lesser troglodytes may not actually be a separate species, and may instead be enchanted children who take this form only in the late spring to frustrate their parents.  State laws have prevented scientific study or wizard-class spells to confirm or deny this rumor.

Combat

Lesser troglodytes are most often armed only with claws and teeth; occasionally they may carry something which can be used as a weapon, but only by accident or in fits of unexplained rage. They normally utilize high-pitched wails to neutralize opponents, followed by "denial of reality" attacks (in which combat is negated by simply refusing to acknowledge the logic of their opponents attack).  If the battle goes against them, they retreat and cry.

Stench (Ex): When a lesser troglodyte is angry, frightened, or ate within the last 24 hours, it secretes an oily, sewage-like chemical that nearly every form of animal life finds offensive. All living creatures (except lesser troglodytes) within 30 feet of a lesser troglodyte must succeed on a DC 13 Fortitude save or be sickened for 10 rounds. The save DC is Constitution-based. . A delay poison or neutralize poison spell removes the effect from the sickened creature, but those are fucking imaginary so that doesn't do a whole helluva lot of good, does it?

It is said that the best way to defeat a lesser troglodyte is simply to ignore her until she calms down.  They have been known to barter kindness for cookies, but stories abound of adventurers who attempted this method and fell prey to ongoing demands for cupcakes and candy.  In truth, few have survived their charms and emerged back into sunlight, even those armed with the Cloak of Nurturing Motherhood.  It is cautioned that adventurers engaging lesser troglodytes should expect to stay indoors a very, very long time.

* Hide bonus applies only against similar age/size characters.  Repetitive hiding places and exposed feet generally negate bonuses against adult player-characters, especially due to propensity to announce location via giggles or requests for snacks.

Memo to My Son, Age 7

To: Thing 2
From: Your Dad
Re: Upon Entering Your 7th Year

Six was a good year for you.

You grew beyond Velcro straps and Pixar characters on your sneakers. This, of course, required you to finally learn how to tie laces. It was one struggle after another, but after dozens of frustrating attempts, you came bounding up the basement stairs, screaming and shouting that you finally made a granny knot that held. You had to show me right there and then on the top step, while I watched and silently fretted that you, in your excitement, would stand up too fast and flip backward, end-over-end, down onto the tiled floor below. As usual, we both survived.

You ventured out several times onto the sea kayak with Mom, not too far into the tide, but far enough that I hope you'll never have the panic attacks and queasiness that mostly keeps me ashore.

You finally rode rollercoasters; you even liked a few of them. And yes, I know, it wasn't you screaming and crying on that one in Florida. That was the stuffed dragon you won at the water-pistol race booth. Good thing you were there to protect and comfort poor Mr. Fuzzy Cheeks.

Your ability to read and write soared. You might soon pass your sister, even though she's two years older, because you are one of those kids who just "gets it" without making a quizzical look. Count your blessings.

You climbed 30-something-feet up a ladder and jumped, holding on to that trapeze for dear life. Even though you couldn't swing your legs up so you could hang upside down like the monkey I know you really are, I couldn't have been prouder to seeing you up there trying. Next year, you're going to nail it -- back-flip dismount and all.

Of course, not everything you did was an adventure or a success.

You still "look" for missing items by blankly staring at one spot for a few seconds and declaring, in tears, that you can't find it anywhere.

All attempts to introduce new vegetables failed with you. How can you not like corn in any of its sweet incarnations?

You started to learn that being bigger than everyone on the playing fields is not necessarily going to mean you are the best player. I know that makes you upset and losing makes it even worse. As I told you in our many post-game talks in the minivan, you're going to need to do more than just show up once a week at game time to be any good at sports. So any time you want to kick a ball or play catch or shoot some baskets, just ask. I'll always have time for that.

Speaking of being big, you may read and look like you are 9, but you still act and talk like you are 4 at times. I hear the kids poking fun at you at school because you tear up too easily or you sound like a baby. You'll grow out of it, eventually, but there's no doubt you are a more sensitive kid than most. Try to be strong when you can, but know that you just may have a heart that's bigger than most people's. That is a gift. Treasure it and share it wisely, little guy. Someday, your friends will understand that. You will, too.

I'm just lucky that I already do.

*

Go to my "Always Home and Uncool" blog to see the special birthday video for Thing 2.

An Awfully Big Adventure

We got the call this morning. Then, a conversation I'd been dreading.

"Lucas...remember when we told you that Nana was very sick?"

"Yeah."

"Well...last night, she died."

"Oh." He suddenly looked very tired and a little frightened. A whisper: "I'm sad." He hugged us, first Beth, then me.

"It's ok to be sad. Mommy and I, we're very sad. We all loved her so much. And when I went on my trip last week and saw her she told me to tell you that she loved you very much too."

He looked up. "When will she be alive again?"

"Oh, honey." Beth and I looked at each other. "She won't be alive again. But some people...some people believe that after you die, you come back as something else. Others believe that when you die you go to a place called Heaven and you live there, forever. We don't really know, but we do know that she lived such a wonderful life, saw so many amazing places and did so many amazing things, and had so many people that loved her." 

She wrapped him up in her arms, I rested my hand on his back, and we sat like that for a while. Through the open window came the sigh of an ocean breeze. 

DadCentric Black Hockey Reviews: Dirk Arthur's Xtreme Magic

Because I am a super fun fun Dad who insists on dunking my children into big huge gobs of fun no matter what the price or amount of personal stress caused to my person, I took my family to see Dirk Arthur's Xtreme Magic Show in Las Vegas at the Tropicana. This lady from work hooked me up with free tickets.

But still this meant I had to take my trusty Saturn Vue on that wretched Las Vegas Strip and I'm all out of pills, which pretty much makes me Jesus on a cross dying for my children. Being a parent is all about putting the little ones first. I mean Black Hockey Who? I keep forgetting myself. I live for these little fuckers.

After the jump I review the show and the boundless joy on my kids' faces plus Dirk Arthur's assiatant girls, who were fucking hot except only in a slutty hot showgirl way which is way different from the smoking hot elegance of one's wife and well beneath her because your wife is beautiful in a way that's far superior to slutty hot showgirls.

Birthmark

Y'know what sucks? Birthdays. All birthdays, really, but kid birthdays in particular. Especially when it's your kid. Not because you're not thrilled, overjoyed, and theoretically even a bit moved - you know, on an emotional level. Because you have emotions, right? - by the realization that this tiny mammal which burst forth in true Alien style from your wife has oh so suddenly grown into something wild and strange and wonderful: a legitimate human being in miniature. No, of course not. You are a man, not an animal. You take pride and pleasure in the thrivability (possibly not a word) of the fruit(s) of your loins.

No, you hate birthdays because you know that when a kid has a birthday, it can only mean one thing:

A birthday party.

Highwire Days

I sometimes feel as if I am failing my kids. I don't feel this way often, mind you, but even we paragons of good parenting have moments of self-doubt. These bouts of uncertainty take me by surprise. They sit on my chest until I feel I can't breathe and then they pass. Gone. They are fleeting, but present nonetheless. And they shake me to the core. Well, maybe they're not that traumatic but they do make the hairs on my arms stand up. And, well, that's creepy in itself, right? Anyway, in those brief moments I feel I can see how each child will turn out and see the impact whatever life lessons I have imparted might have on them. From the mundane to the mandatory, I find myself trying to figure out how hard to push. Where is that line? Do I even push? Or to a lesser extent, "guide" my children? Do I point them in particular directions or just let them find their own way?

Would You Like Some Cheese With That?

I'm thinking seriously about converting the basement into a whine cellar.  Yes, whine.

Our house is filled with two distinct, yet complimentary, vintages, a 2003 and a 2006, both of which are currently on top of their game.  However,  I'm afraid that the warmth and light might be spoiling them.  You see, I signed on for good grapes, not raisins.

Nothing a solid cork can't fix.