The Reluctant Daddy

I never really wanted to be a dad.

There, I wrote it. It looks strange on the page. Kind of like writing something pornographic – it’s honest, brutal and meant for my readers only. It’s not that I don’t like kids – I like kids. I certainly liked other people’s kids. In my pre-parenting days, I believed kids were like kittens or puppies – you played with them, fed them and when they shit on the floor you handed them back to their owners.

Most of my experiences with other people’s children involves a round of martinis first. Properly hammered, I fail to comprehend what these mealy-mouth parents are complaining about – I mean their kids seemed perfectly nice to me. Little Luca, Jack or Felix never gets on my nerves after two stiff ones. Hell, I could play SHOOTS AND LADDERS for weeks if I’m drunk. As a matter of fact – I am a far better player drunk than not drunk. I get super competitive and never let any of the little kids win. Letting little kids win is Bullshit – if you’re going to play SHOOTS AND LADDERS with me PLAY-TO-WIN or don’t play at all!

I can’t tell you how many times my son Ethan would go to pieces after I kicked his ass at SHOOTS AND LADDERS or CANDYLAND. No one could ever accuse me of being a ‘graceful winner.’ I take my victory lap around his room and enact my YOU SUCK victory dance. He usually doesn’t see the humor in it – he charges out of the room, tears streaming down his face uttering some nonsense about me cheating. Now, I can assure you that I NEVER cheat. Sure, I may keep a PRINCESS FROSTINE card under the table now and again – I may have even moved COOKIE MONSTER ahead a color or two in CANDYLAND – but this in the interest of moving the game along.

So, like I said, I never wanted kids. How did I arrive here? How did I wind up with this alien child whose moods, desires and interests shift on a minute-by-minute basis? One second he’s loving, devoted and polite – the next he’s spiteful, mean, and manipulative.

My husband George likes to churn out ‘useful’ parenting chestnuts such as ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You – you have to model the behavior you want Ethan to emulate. He lacks the ability to decipher your sarcasm and bitterness. You need to speak from your heart and use ‘I’ statements such as I FEEL SAD, I FEEL FRUSTRATED, I FEEL ANGRY. Therein lies your salvation.”

Yes – George actually talks like that. Enchanting isn’t it? I can’t tall you how many times I’ve wanted to shove a Popsicle in his mouth during one of our many parenting arguments. Is George right – of course he is! Who gives a flying fuck? You try telling a hungry eight year old already engaged in an ‘You’re-absolutely-not-getting-a-Frappacino’ meltdown that you’re feeling ‘frustrated’ by his behavior. I’m sorry, but that shit just doesn’t work.

When we’re bored, my son Ethan and I play a little game in carpool called ‘Let’s talk about our feelings.’ It usually involves me imitating George and using lots of ‘I’ statements, “What are your feelings about my feelings not feeling the same as your feelings?” Ethan usually puts his hands to his ears, cackles and then makes his own ‘I’ statements such as ‘I’m feeling like I need to run away from home,’ or ‘I’m wishing you would stop pretending you have feelings.’  I laugh to myself and realize that in the game of parenting, I am a mere pawn and my son is in fact the grand master.