Thursday, October 27, 2005

Who's Your Daddy?



I have a three year old daughter. I have another daughter due to arrive on December 12th. I am a Dad. I am a Dad.

I had to say that twice because I still don't believe it.

Just yesterday I had purple hair (or hair for that matter), played in really shitty bands and had way too many things pierced. This morning I was rocking out to "The Wheels On The Bus" in the car. I was alone.

You always hear 80 year old people say, "I feel 17!" I always think, "Yeah, a 17 year old going on their second hip and third liver." But for the first time, I think I understand. Life is moving pretty fast.

What scares me more is that someone allowed me to be a dad. I didn't have to fill out an application or anything! When I bought my last car, the salesman went over it in such detail and I left with a huge instruction manual. When I left the hospital with A HUMAN BEING I got 2 complimentary diapers and a bill. I feel like I shoplifted something really expensive and just waltzed out of the store with nobody stopping me.

Several times throughout the day I have a mini outter body experience. I suddenly see myself from above and am able to take in the whole scene. Then I feel like an idiot.

This little flashes have occured when:

- I made Ella's Speak n' Spell Catepillar say fuck, damn and dick. (For the record, it substitutes a little giggle and a "Ooops, that tickles" rather than pronouncing the last syllable.) You know what that means - someone got there before me.

- I threw her on her bed. From 12 feet away.

- I made her stay in the bath an extra half hour, or at least until I could shoot three swishes from behind the toilet, over the shower rod and into her bath basketball net in row.

- I tried to pop a wheelie on her new tricycle. Still have the scar.

- I smeared mashed potatoes all over my face to make her eat. After she started eating I didn't stop. It was very liberating.

- I yelled at Ella because she walked in front of the TV while I was playing XBox. The Raiders were about to score their first touchdown in 2 seasons (this includes the real NFL team as well).

- I taught her how to break dance to the theme from "The Backyardigans."

- I jumped out of her closet and scared her so bad she almost took a dump taller than her.

- I taught her all the dirty words to Gwen Stephani's "Holla Back Girl."


Am I immature? Or am I a fun dad?

I don't know how to change the oil in my car. I was never in the army. I can't spackle. I can't throw a curve ball.

But I can tell you which member of the Justice League should sit at the head of the table (Superman, duh). I can tell you the actor that played Boba Fett (Jeremy Bulloch). I can tell you that Ringo Starr did in fact NOT play drums on the Beatles' first single, "Love Me Do" (it was a studio musician producer George Martin hired).

Are dads supposed to know that stuff?

People are always shocked when they hear I have a daughter. Maybe it was the "I Don't Give a Rat's Ass" T-shirt I had on, or my classic shell top addidas. They quickly accept that I do. Anyone can have one kid. A huge portion of the people that have one kid aren't even married.

But, now I am about to have 2 kids. That is serious business. We had one and then we CONSCIOUSLY DECIDED to have another. Adam Freeman doesn't have two kids. Mr. Cunningham has two kids (if you don't count Chuck, the mysterious brother who disappeared after season one).

But you know what? I like my XBox. I like my comic books. I like my "Free Katie Holmes" T-Shirt and I like my lightsaber-shaped tv remote control.

When you are a little boy you dream of having your own place. You imagine everything you will fill it with and that image ends up looking like Tom Hank's loft in "Big." I'll put the trampoline there, the pinball game their, the Coke machine there... Then you grow up and you can finally AFFORD all the cool toys you couldn't as a kid, and what do you do? You buy an amoire, you buy stackable photoboxes, you buy coordinated throw pillows.

Not this guy. I have three PS2s and 2 X-Boxes. I walked into a comic store after a 10 year absence and bought every issue I missed. I got the semi-hollow body Gretsch guitar I always dreamt of so I can play "Stairway to Heaven" really fucking loud while I jump up and down on my bed. All I need is the Yamaha electronic drumset and I will be all set...and probably divorced.

Sure it's immature. Sure it's fiscally irresponsible. But when we all of the neighborhood families get together for these massive playgroups - I'm the dad the kids want to play with.

And that's much cooler.

3 comments:

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