There are some things a dad just shouldn’t do. Now this is not going to be some sexist, misogynistic diatribe about why men should only eat meat and watch football and women should bake pies and pump out kids like a Krispy Kreme assembly line. What I mean is that in the course of everyday life, dads need to exercise restraint and good judgment which, in turn, benefits the entire family. It’s like in those old National Geographic films where the unsuspecting Gazelle wanders close to the watering hole and gets his head eaten by the lurking alligator. “Yes Marlin, watch as the normally cautious creature simply wants to have a drink and...Oh! Heavens to Betsy! Did you see how agile that gator was? Just lopped off that head in one manly snap! Yep, that Gazelle is having a bad day!” Sometimes all us dads want to do is get a drink of water and Bam! Off with our heads! Let me give you an example.
Not long ago I was minding my own business relaxing in our kitchen with a manly cup of dark roast java, and my two daughters were discussing whatever daughters discuss (in my usual manly stupor I had no idea of the topic), yet I detected a somewhat disrespectful tone to the conversation. I was brought up in a house where showing disrespect to anyone, anytime was tantamount to committing a war crime, so I have this “disrespect” radar that can sense such activity even if my mind is focused on other things like a Glen Beck rant. I sensed this tone in their conversation so I commented that I thought they could discuss boys or clothes or global warming with a bit more congeniality. Mistake! As soon as the words came out of my mouth they both turned to me and like the aforementioned Gazelle, Snap! Off with my head! A sure fire way to cure your teenagers from arguing is to instantly give them a common enemy. Never mind the fact that all the women in my household are on a synchronous hormone pattern that would make a Swiss watch maker envious. So not only had I intervened in a conversation in which I was not welcomed or needed, I had done it at a time when the alligator in each was in its most ravenous state. There are some discussions that dads just need to stay out of, and I have been rendered headless many times to validate that conclusion.
Dads don’t need to do the wash. I can hear the NOW supporters bristling in their “I Am Woman” tee shirts but hear me out on this one. I do believe in a division of labor around the house. In today’s society almost 70% of women work outside the home, so it is only fair that the responsibilities be divided from those according to their ability to those according to their need. (Where have I heard that before?) For example, I love getting the dishes out of the dishwasher. I imagine each time I am doing this that the items I am placing on the shelves are new (even if they are the same ones we have had since 1991). This somewhat delusional game makes emptying the dishwasher fun as it seems like I have a big Christmas package that I get to unwrap every night. On the other hand, my wife , who is mysteriously grounded in reality, hates doing this chore, mainly because she sees it for what it really is, a drudgery akin to working an assembly line checking bananas for bruises. So the fact that she despises this and I adore it makes it easy to understand who empties the dishwasher at our house. Don’t get me started about getting the kids to do such a thing. That would be like trying to get Barney to go straight...a battle not worth fighting at this point. So why, you ask pensively, should dads not do the wash? I guess I should clarify my statement somewhat by saying that dads with teenage daughters shouldn’t do the wash. There are things you discover in folding clothes that you were not meant to know. The other day I was sorting and folding a load of wash (yes ladies, my wife married a jewel!), and I came across a piece of fabric that confused me. It was close to Halloween and for all the world it looked like an eye patch. I tried placing it on my head in the right position and the triangular, stripped fabric barely covered my eye. During my investigation my wife walked in the room and gave me one of those “What in the name of fabric softener are you doing” looks. I asked her who was going to be the pirate for Halloween and, knowing my propensity for delusion, she just laughed and said no one that she knew, and then she calmly asked me why I was wearing my youngest daughter’s underwear on my head. Jerking the minuscule swath of cloth off my head I look incredulously at the nearly non-existent fabric and shook my head in an attempt to grasp that this microscopic snippet was used for anything besides a blanket for a baby hummingbird. Once my wife gained her composure and I voiced my fatherly objections, we agreed that maybe I should go back to emptying the dishwasher.
Dads should not dress themselves, especially if they are older like myself. We have a propensity for wearing such atrocious items as high water pants, dad jeans, and wife beater shirts. If you don’t know what these fashion items are then you certainly don’t want to adorn your form by yourself as you are probably wearing all of them. If your sole goal in life is to embarrass your children and humiliate your wife, go ahead and pick out your wardrobe everyday and you will most likely accomplish this task. Most dads get excited when we see a sale on jeans at Target or find a stash of ties for a dollar at a garage sale. Wise up guys, they are on sale for a dollar for a reason as most of these ties were rejected by Goodwill! Not everyone needs another salmon colored tie with a swordfish the size of New Jersey on it. ( I have three).
I have what I call my “bringing sexy back” line of clothing for the middle aged dad. It can be one or a combination of items that can illicit nausea and uncontrolled laughter from anyone within viewing distance. There are the “Richard Simmons” workout shorts and shirt. I got these from a clearance sale (first red flag) and the shorts look like hot pants from the 80s and the shirt is mesh see through. The first time I wore these to go exercise, my family, once they stop seizing from laughing so hard, threatened to move to California if I ever wore them in public. Then there are my black “compression socks”. Now these are legitimate tools for recovery after a long race, they just happen to look like support hose. So picture, if you dare, a middle aged man in black support stockings up to his knees, plastic like gym shorts, and a Boston Marathon tee shirt and you can see why my family wants me on house arrest.
I love being a dad, but I have learned that there are just some things we have to avoid if we want to excel at it.
Not long ago I was minding my own business relaxing in our kitchen with a manly cup of dark roast java, and my two daughters were discussing whatever daughters discuss (in my usual manly stupor I had no idea of the topic), yet I detected a somewhat disrespectful tone to the conversation. I was brought up in a house where showing disrespect to anyone, anytime was tantamount to committing a war crime, so I have this “disrespect” radar that can sense such activity even if my mind is focused on other things like a Glen Beck rant. I sensed this tone in their conversation so I commented that I thought they could discuss boys or clothes or global warming with a bit more congeniality. Mistake! As soon as the words came out of my mouth they both turned to me and like the aforementioned Gazelle, Snap! Off with my head! A sure fire way to cure your teenagers from arguing is to instantly give them a common enemy. Never mind the fact that all the women in my household are on a synchronous hormone pattern that would make a Swiss watch maker envious. So not only had I intervened in a conversation in which I was not welcomed or needed, I had done it at a time when the alligator in each was in its most ravenous state. There are some discussions that dads just need to stay out of, and I have been rendered headless many times to validate that conclusion.
Dads don’t need to do the wash. I can hear the NOW supporters bristling in their “I Am Woman” tee shirts but hear me out on this one. I do believe in a division of labor around the house. In today’s society almost 70% of women work outside the home, so it is only fair that the responsibilities be divided from those according to their ability to those according to their need. (Where have I heard that before?) For example, I love getting the dishes out of the dishwasher. I imagine each time I am doing this that the items I am placing on the shelves are new (even if they are the same ones we have had since 1991). This somewhat delusional game makes emptying the dishwasher fun as it seems like I have a big Christmas package that I get to unwrap every night. On the other hand, my wife , who is mysteriously grounded in reality, hates doing this chore, mainly because she sees it for what it really is, a drudgery akin to working an assembly line checking bananas for bruises. So the fact that she despises this and I adore it makes it easy to understand who empties the dishwasher at our house. Don’t get me started about getting the kids to do such a thing. That would be like trying to get Barney to go straight...a battle not worth fighting at this point. So why, you ask pensively, should dads not do the wash? I guess I should clarify my statement somewhat by saying that dads with teenage daughters shouldn’t do the wash. There are things you discover in folding clothes that you were not meant to know. The other day I was sorting and folding a load of wash (yes ladies, my wife married a jewel!), and I came across a piece of fabric that confused me. It was close to Halloween and for all the world it looked like an eye patch. I tried placing it on my head in the right position and the triangular, stripped fabric barely covered my eye. During my investigation my wife walked in the room and gave me one of those “What in the name of fabric softener are you doing” looks. I asked her who was going to be the pirate for Halloween and, knowing my propensity for delusion, she just laughed and said no one that she knew, and then she calmly asked me why I was wearing my youngest daughter’s underwear on my head. Jerking the minuscule swath of cloth off my head I look incredulously at the nearly non-existent fabric and shook my head in an attempt to grasp that this microscopic snippet was used for anything besides a blanket for a baby hummingbird. Once my wife gained her composure and I voiced my fatherly objections, we agreed that maybe I should go back to emptying the dishwasher.
Dads should not dress themselves, especially if they are older like myself. We have a propensity for wearing such atrocious items as high water pants, dad jeans, and wife beater shirts. If you don’t know what these fashion items are then you certainly don’t want to adorn your form by yourself as you are probably wearing all of them. If your sole goal in life is to embarrass your children and humiliate your wife, go ahead and pick out your wardrobe everyday and you will most likely accomplish this task. Most dads get excited when we see a sale on jeans at Target or find a stash of ties for a dollar at a garage sale. Wise up guys, they are on sale for a dollar for a reason as most of these ties were rejected by Goodwill! Not everyone needs another salmon colored tie with a swordfish the size of New Jersey on it. ( I have three).
I have what I call my “bringing sexy back” line of clothing for the middle aged dad. It can be one or a combination of items that can illicit nausea and uncontrolled laughter from anyone within viewing distance. There are the “Richard Simmons” workout shorts and shirt. I got these from a clearance sale (first red flag) and the shorts look like hot pants from the 80s and the shirt is mesh see through. The first time I wore these to go exercise, my family, once they stop seizing from laughing so hard, threatened to move to California if I ever wore them in public. Then there are my black “compression socks”. Now these are legitimate tools for recovery after a long race, they just happen to look like support hose. So picture, if you dare, a middle aged man in black support stockings up to his knees, plastic like gym shorts, and a Boston Marathon tee shirt and you can see why my family wants me on house arrest.
I love being a dad, but I have learned that there are just some things we have to avoid if we want to excel at it.
