From the moment my daughter was born and I looked into her beautifully calm brown eyes I knew that she would teach me more about myself and my world than I would ever be able to impart to her. And every day since has proven to me just how right my first impressions were.
I have learned harmony is walking barefoot in the morning dew beside your child with their soft hand wrapped around your little finger. I now know how it feels to so desperately want someone to succeed it physically hurts. I’ve discovered awe, empathy, hope and more, and with the addition to the family of her three brothers over the next six years, there are now more life lesson opportunities coming my way on a daily basis than I ever thought possible.
The most recent lesson came my way via my youngest son just a couple of days ago.
My wife called me at work on a Tuesday and very demurely asked me if I wanted to skip lunch and come home for a booty call. As I made the normally ten minute drive home in 5:49 flat whilst removing my socks, shoes, and belt the following conversation took place between my wife and son:
“Hey Owen, how would you like to watch Mickey Mouse clubhouse and eat a big bowl of ice-cream?”
“Daddy’s coming home isn’t he?”
“Yes Daddy and Mommy have a very important meeting tonight that they need to discuss quietly without you interrupting them, so we need you to stay in here and watch the whole show OK?”
“You’re going to have sex aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I heard you talking to Daddy on the phone and you said sex, so that’s what you’re going to do isn’t it?”
This is where my wife took a pause and thought about the best way to handle the situation. She has a policy of being brutally honest with the children to a fault. She believes that if they are mature enough to ask intelligent questions then they deserve the truth to said questions. We differ. My response would have been, “Where did you learn that word? You know what, I don’t want to know. Now mind your own business, shut up and get in that room with Mickey Mouse and your ice-cream and don’t come out until I tell you to!”
Her response, “Maybe.”
At which point my boy doubled over in pain and moaned “Oohhh! That’s like a kick in the balls!”
Apparently when you are a four year old boy, the thought of your father having sex with your mother can best be expressed in terms of receiving a swift foot to the groin.
I actually learned two lessons from this warm and fuzzy family moment. One, the youngest of four kids knows WAY more about things he shouldn’t than I could ever possibly imagine. Two, my boy has a surprisingly advanced command of the English language when it comes to expressing oneself through metaphor and simile. Well said my boy, there is little interpretation left as to how you truly feel about your parents doing it!!
That's my boy!!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Measure of a Man
When was the first time you realized that your father wasn’t perfect? It is a pivotal moment in the life of a boy.
The tragic fall of your first superhero; like finding out that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, hard work doesn’t bring you success, money doesn’t make you happy, eating fat doens't make you fat but diet soda will, and if they look too good to be real then they probably aren't.
Confusing in realizing that if he’s not perfect, then all of the things he has taught you up until this point are likely defective as well. What if my entire, admittedly flawed, five-year-old child understanding of how the world works is wrong? Perhaps I can eat dessert first and it won’t ruin my appetite, maybe I actually can fly if I wear a cape, and I bet you Jesus doesn't care if I wear clean gitch to church.
Empowering in the knowledge that you now are going to be required to think for yourself. If you are no longer able to rely on your father to make all of the correct decisions regarding the direction your life will take, well then somebody is going to have to step up and take control. One step closer to becoming a man.
This empowerment part also breeds another visceral emotion, scared shitless. Who am I to be making all of these important decisions? I just recently learned how to tie my own shoes and sufficiently wipe my own butt and now I have to figure out what I want to do with my life. That is a lot of pressure for a five year old.
From what I understand from discussion with my peers, this monumental event typically occurs much later in life, but I have always been a quick learner so for me it happened the summer before I turned six. We were eating out at a fancy restaurant in the big city when the big aha threw my life into disarray. After being treated to the wonder that is the all you can eat salad bar with child’s chopped steak at the Bonanza in Saskatoon to top off a thoroughly riveting three hour marathon of ecclesiastical pontification that only the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints (the Mormons) could produce, I silently ate my all you can eat ice cream and witnessed the conversation that changed my life forever.
“Here’s your bill sir, thanks for dining at Bonanza.”
“Hey Barb, are we suppose to tip in this joint?” my father asks my mother with a dubious look on his face.
“This isn’t Melfort, this is Saskatoon. Of course we tip.” my mother replies with a disappointed shake of her head.
“Well, it’s not like they did much serving. I got my own salad, my own drink and my own dessert. I don’t think they really earned a tip.” Dad shoots back.
“Bud just leave a tip. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?”
“How much?” serious pained expression on the face here.
“Ten percent.”
“You’ve got to be kidding” absolute shock.
“We don’t get out much Bud, don’t ruin it.” pleading.
“Fine” he replies with lowered shoulders and obvious defeat. Dad picks up the bill and sees me straining to look at it over my third bowl of chocolate vanilla swirl with cherries and sprinkles. He knows I am into numbers and humours me by showing me the total. Twenty dollars and five cents. He drops a twenty on the table and adds a nickel. Then he squints and looks off into the distance before shaking his head and reaching back into his wallet for some more bills. He peeks sideways at my Mom who is not paying attention and slips the tip under the bill with an embarrassed look on his face. I am the only one at the table that sees him do this and he isn’t aware that I am watching him because he was looking at my Mom.
“Alright kids lets go” he says rising from the table in a hurry. But now I’m curious. Why the rush and what was that embarrassed look all about. I can’t help myself. While everybody is gathering their stuff, I lift up the bill and look at the tip he left. I almost throw up in my bowl.
See, most everything my sister who is two years older than me learns at school, I learn as well. And since she has just recently learned what 50 percent and 10 percent mean well so have I. And I know that the trick for ten percent is to just move the decimal one spot to the left. That’s how I know that Dad has left two dollars under the bill. But, when I look I now understand what that embarrassed look was all about, because Dad has left not two one dollar bills but only one. My Father is a complete and utter blithering idiot. He can’t do grade two math in his head.
I walked out of the Bonanza with tears in my eyes and didn’t say a single word on the two hour drive back to Melfort.
Superman was Dead.
The tragic fall of your first superhero; like finding out that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, hard work doesn’t bring you success, money doesn’t make you happy, eating fat doens't make you fat but diet soda will, and if they look too good to be real then they probably aren't.
Confusing in realizing that if he’s not perfect, then all of the things he has taught you up until this point are likely defective as well. What if my entire, admittedly flawed, five-year-old child understanding of how the world works is wrong? Perhaps I can eat dessert first and it won’t ruin my appetite, maybe I actually can fly if I wear a cape, and I bet you Jesus doesn't care if I wear clean gitch to church.
Empowering in the knowledge that you now are going to be required to think for yourself. If you are no longer able to rely on your father to make all of the correct decisions regarding the direction your life will take, well then somebody is going to have to step up and take control. One step closer to becoming a man.
This empowerment part also breeds another visceral emotion, scared shitless. Who am I to be making all of these important decisions? I just recently learned how to tie my own shoes and sufficiently wipe my own butt and now I have to figure out what I want to do with my life. That is a lot of pressure for a five year old.
From what I understand from discussion with my peers, this monumental event typically occurs much later in life, but I have always been a quick learner so for me it happened the summer before I turned six. We were eating out at a fancy restaurant in the big city when the big aha threw my life into disarray. After being treated to the wonder that is the all you can eat salad bar with child’s chopped steak at the Bonanza in Saskatoon to top off a thoroughly riveting three hour marathon of ecclesiastical pontification that only the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints (the Mormons) could produce, I silently ate my all you can eat ice cream and witnessed the conversation that changed my life forever.
“Here’s your bill sir, thanks for dining at Bonanza.”
“Hey Barb, are we suppose to tip in this joint?” my father asks my mother with a dubious look on his face.
“This isn’t Melfort, this is Saskatoon. Of course we tip.” my mother replies with a disappointed shake of her head.
“Well, it’s not like they did much serving. I got my own salad, my own drink and my own dessert. I don’t think they really earned a tip.” Dad shoots back.
“Bud just leave a tip. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?”
“How much?” serious pained expression on the face here.
“Ten percent.”
“You’ve got to be kidding” absolute shock.
“We don’t get out much Bud, don’t ruin it.” pleading.
“Fine” he replies with lowered shoulders and obvious defeat. Dad picks up the bill and sees me straining to look at it over my third bowl of chocolate vanilla swirl with cherries and sprinkles. He knows I am into numbers and humours me by showing me the total. Twenty dollars and five cents. He drops a twenty on the table and adds a nickel. Then he squints and looks off into the distance before shaking his head and reaching back into his wallet for some more bills. He peeks sideways at my Mom who is not paying attention and slips the tip under the bill with an embarrassed look on his face. I am the only one at the table that sees him do this and he isn’t aware that I am watching him because he was looking at my Mom.
“Alright kids lets go” he says rising from the table in a hurry. But now I’m curious. Why the rush and what was that embarrassed look all about. I can’t help myself. While everybody is gathering their stuff, I lift up the bill and look at the tip he left. I almost throw up in my bowl.
See, most everything my sister who is two years older than me learns at school, I learn as well. And since she has just recently learned what 50 percent and 10 percent mean well so have I. And I know that the trick for ten percent is to just move the decimal one spot to the left. That’s how I know that Dad has left two dollars under the bill. But, when I look I now understand what that embarrassed look was all about, because Dad has left not two one dollar bills but only one. My Father is a complete and utter blithering idiot. He can’t do grade two math in his head.
I walked out of the Bonanza with tears in my eyes and didn’t say a single word on the two hour drive back to Melfort.
Superman was Dead.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
First foray
Welcome into my thoughts. I am just a regular Dad with a regular job in a regular suburban existence, but I have had to work hard to achieve my normalcy. I have had an interesting life and love to share my stories. I try to learn something about my world and myself with every experience and these observations are often enlightening, sometimes humorous, and always my own. I am going to try to post one of these stories from random points in my life once per month and see where that leads. Let me know what you think.
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