Fatherhood

Fatherhood

by

Victor Epp

Listen, I wouldn't even be telling you this if it wasn't the absolute plain bald-faced truth! But the fact is, as painful as it might be coming straight at you out of the blue like that, is that dad's are generally about as incompetent as it's possible to get.

Now before you go off in a huff, harumphing on how some people don't know what they're talking about, just bend an ear a bit. You might just learn a thing or two. I speak from experience. You see? Right off I'm letting you know I include myself in this pathetic bunch of wannabes. Truth be known, this is probably more about me than anyone else.

Not that dads don't have the desire and affection for their offspring. No, not at all. They got lots of that! They got so much of it in fact that at the first sight of their children, the go all out of shape with pride. Sometimes they're so full of it you think they might blow up.

Wellsir, it's a good job they got that, because that's about all they got going for them. That's about the whole enchilada. Well, okay - enthusiasm then, but that's it. That's absolutely it! And don't you kid yourself, it's a lucky thing the dad's have the love and affection to hang on to. The desire and enthusiasm gets so many holes poked in it's sails so fast and so often, it usually ends up turning to raw fear - sometimes even outright terror. No more forceful was that point ever brought home to me than by my own pride and joy, my first-born number one son.

Not long after the arrival of his own pride and joy, his first-born beautiful daughter, we happened to be visiting there along with a number of friends, sort of celebrating this new addition to the family. Of course, we could have just been celebrating the fact that it was Saturday night for all I know. Anyway, we're standing out on the moonlit deck in the warmth of a summer evening, just he and I. When he turns to me with that terrified look I hadn't seen since he stepped into the bath tub with his socks on. He frankly admitted that looking back over his own life growing up had given him a glimpse of what lay ahead and he had absolutely no idea of how he was going to cope with it.

It was one of those nostalgic father and son moments and I told him that anybody could make a baby, but it takes a real man to be a father and if anybody was up to it, he was. He wasn't so sure. Secretly, I said to myself, 'What goes around, comes around' and hoped my smile didn't show.

Well, he had plenty to worry about, given the number of times he ground me into a useless piece of frustrated fatherhood. He wasn't even finished teething before I had some concept how this was going to go.

Now to be fair, I have to put this in proper context. The kid didn't really have all that easy a start in life. I mean, there's a heavy price to pay for his lofty place in the hierarchy. Here he was the first-born child, and a son to boot. That was a million-dollar start to our brood. Added to that, being first grand child on either side of the family was the crowning glory. He was going to be the patriarch of his generation some day - on both sides! With all the attention that got him, I wouldn't have been at all surprised if the three wise men had shown up at our place,

Say what you like, but celebrity like that is hard on a kid - causes severe colic from time to time. Our boy sure had his bouts on a pretty regular basis. You could never say he did anything in half measure. By the time I'd get home from work, his mother would be crying as hard as the kid was, and so would most of the neighborhood women. He could get everybody so upset they all felt like a helpless bunch of amateurs. Of course once he had everybody at the end of their wits he would drop off to sleep and leave us all ringing our hands.

You might say he went right from colic to teething. Well, that's what it seemed like anyway. These things of course, can't be helped. You have to deal with them the best you can. Quite frankly this 'best' deteriorates in direct proportion to your own sleep deprivation. And it isn't helped by all the advice from grand parents on all sides either. The point is that it's got to come to an end sooner or later. Any dad worth his salt has to step in and start building some character in the boy. After all, with the whole world at his feet, the kid has to start taking on some responsibility don't you think? He's going on two years old and if you don't start now, well - who knows?

So one night some friends are over visiting and they see this erratic sleep/cry pattern we are enduring. They've been through this before. They know the answer. Put the kid in his bed and if he acts up, don't pick him up. Take all your clothes off and go stand there over his crib and stare him down. Works every time.

Why hadn't I thought of that before? It's only natural. I've done it with angry dogs, even cattle. Well, I didn't have to take my clothes off for them, but I sure could send them into a corner with the 'Evil Eye'. Perfect, I think. At least now I have a plan, so the evening improves and we have a fine time visiting. I can't wait to try this out. In my mind I'm almost daring the kid to make a fuss. Now we'll see who's the dad around here!

Sure enough, that very night I get my chance. I rip off my pajamas and stomp noisily into the kid's room like a naked ape. Actually I'm about a foot shorter than my friend is but still I think I'm towering over the bed like a wounded bull and I stare. There is total silence but the eyes are still open so now I glare. I don't want to break the spell so I say nothing.

The kid looks at me like I'm some weird kind of apparition. It looks like it's going to work. He'll want to close his eyes just to spare himself from this alien authority. Then he starts to laugh! Can you believe that? He actually starts to laugh.

Wellsir, that's it! Now it's fight or flight. I go storming back to our bedroom with a great gaping wound in my ego, passing the mirror on my way. The obvious doesn't hit me until I see the wife laughing too. The humor of it was lost on me at the time, given my vulnerable state.

By now you see what dads are up against. The whole world is snickering while they are left alone to deal with the awesome burden of bringing up a child the right way. A dad needs every last ounce of love and dedication just to survive. I mean the kid has to behave right doesn't he? He also had to look right. All of that put together is what'll make a real man out of him.

Right along about this time, what with getting out of toddler's clothes, I notice that maybe the boy needs a haircut. I sure don't want him looking like a girl - not my boy! Well he's still too young to go to the barbershop. Nope, I can do the job myself. After all, my old man cut my hair when I was a kid. What was good enough for me will be good enough for him. So I go and borrow the hand clippers.

As usual there's a catch. I forgot that you've got to be coordinated to squeeze the clippers to a rhythm while moving over the head of hair. Otherwise you tend to pull a lot of it out and cause all kinds of discomfort. You also end the project in yet another failure. Humiliation is quickly becoming a way of life. Will I never get the hang of this dad stuff?

It helps to admit defeat, especially when it's staring you in the face. Oh, you don't have to give up the moral high ground. You just change tactics and forge ahead. Perhaps the kid is old enough for the barber after all.

Maybe 'Seven Minute' Gus wasn't quite as good as old Charlie, but then Charlie was long gone and Gus was not. Gus got his moniker in the army during WWII. He could do a little better than nine haircuts an hour, so they called him 'Seven Minute Gus'. I figured if I took the kid with me a couple of times while I got my own haircut, he'd get the idea and wouldn't make a big stink about it when he finally got around to having his own ears lowered. Gus thought it was a good idea too. He even filled the kid full of candy and gave him pennies and everything. The two of them got on like a house on fire.

Well, the moment of truth comes one day when we figure the kid is comfortable enough. With two fists full of candy, the kid lets me hoist him onto the kiddy platform on Gus' chair. Gus is yakking away so fast the kid doesn't seem to take any notice. He even lets him wrap the big towel around him. This is way too easy! Then Gus turns on the dreaded electric clippers. Wellsir, the scream that cut through the barbershop and the dry cleaners next door would have wakened the dead. I never knew a quiet electric hum could create such a ruckus.

Well, you've got to give Gus his due. He tries three more times over the next few months. After all, he's used to battle hardened infantrymen. He's not afraid of some little tousle head. But finally he gives up too. So I go home one more time with my tail between my legs. The kid in the mean time, bounces along beside me with a big lollipop in his mouth, his long blond curls blowing in the wind.

Now you'd think I'd be happy when one of the grandpas decides to take over. Let him deal with this I think. He'll never make it - probably disown the kid before the day is out. Go for it, I say and secretly laugh to myself. A couple of hours later he delivers the kid back to our house brand new haircut and all.

There is just no way to win at this game - no way at all. But I notice something else though. See I've been busting my butt at being the best dad I know how to be and failing miserably at every turn. Yet when grandpa takes over, it's as easy as pie. While that doesn't solve my immediate problem, I've suddenly got a lot more use for grandpa - in fact, both grandpas. They got tricks of the trade I never even heard of. It turns out with this haircut business that the barber, just like our boy and grandpa, is a huge wrestling fan and he's got a whole wall full of picture photos in his shop of a local ring hero. This wrestler also happens to own a restaurant in town so Grandpa says if they quickly get a haircut first they can maybe go down and meet him, maybe even have a cinnamon bun or two. No problem. Suddenly the kid just wants the barber to hurry up so he can go meet a rassler.

Lucky for me I not a sore loser. By now I've got absolutely no ego left. From now on whatever happens, happens. What doesn't, doesn't. All I can do is give it my best shot however bad my aim. But I got one ace up my sleeve. The time will come when I'm the grandpa and he gets to deal with his insecurities.

As I said, what goes around, comes around.

It was worth the wait.