DaddyisBest

I made the list of one of the Top 50 Dad Bloggers of 2016 by The Baby Spot (@thebabyspotca)!!!

Thank you so much, Baby Spot!!!

Top Dad Bloggers 2016

It was the last day of camp today for the little buggers. I switched with a guy at work so that I could have the day off. The camp was to present the musical “Hairspray” and the boys were going to perform. I thought it would take about fifteen minutes to get there as it usually does. I could take the highway or go the local road with approximately 3800 lights in a stretch of three miles. Rockland County has more lights than all five boroughs of NYC combined. In fact, I would prefer to drive in Manhattan than in Rockland County.

I decide to take the highway to avoid the overabundance of traffic lights. But, the other downside to driving in Rockland County is that drivers go either 80mph or 20mph, regardless of what street they’re on, including the highway. So I get stuck behind a 1990 Plymouth Fury with a blind driver. Of course, the person behind me in a Benz SUV wants to go 80. Fortunately, I only have to go a half mile before I turn onto the Interstate highway. Traffic there is generally better.

Somehow on the turnoff onto the exit I need, I get behind a blue something. I have no idea what kind of car it was, but the really interesting thing is that I couldn’t see the driver but I could see their arms and hands which looked they were working overtime gesticulating to the person in the passenger seat, if such person really existed cause I couldn’t see them either. As destiny would have it, I followed them through three turns (going 20mph) and wouldn’t you know it, they were going to the same place I was, the boys’ camp.

I pull into the camp and the parking lot is packed, overcrowded. I find a place to park. Wouldn’t you know it was the ONLY parking spot and it was in the sun and it was 90 degrees. The last parking spot, but I got it. I was tempted to park on the grass underneath the trees. Being a good boy, I chose the spot in the sun.

I take a seat towards the back as the front seats were all full of parents. There were about nine songs chosen from the musical and the little buggers, Archibald and Mortimer (not their real names), were in two of them plus the grand finale.

It wasn’t really a dramatic presentation of the musical as it was just a musical review. The kids sang and danced on stage to the music but there was no real “play”.

For some reason, the tears started to accumulate in my eyes as the review started. I don’t know why. My boys weren’t even on stage yet. I must say that I’ve gotten more sensitive as I’ve gotten older. Again, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the collapse of my emotional boundaries or somehow I’ve gotten more sensitive as I’ve gotten older or it was the weakening of my usual strong facade. I don’t know. I am reminded of the movie “The Godfather” when the Don expresses a similar concept to young Michael, except he was talking about wine.

The same thing happened exactly two weeks ago when the boys “performed” at the final day of that camp. They danced to a Justin Timberlake song. I’m not a big fan of contemporary music, but I like JT. I think he’s a fine actor, like in “Trouble With the Curve.” And he drove a hot car, a Pontiac GTO (my dream car), in the movie.

I teared up at that, too. I couldn’t decide if I was more overjoyed at watching the little buggers perform, (they did really good, by the way, as an objective Daddy as I can be) OR if I really wanted to be on stage, too.   I still want to be performing. I am also very proud of the little buggers.

The boys come on in Hairspray and they were cute (of course). The same feelings return to my psyche. I tear up. But, they quickly evaporate as I focus on recording their Academy-award winning performances on my camera.

In the end, my sensitivity is probably caused by a couple of things like age, feeling of vulnerability and being a daddy. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I will cry for my boys (or myself or anything) if I damn well feel like it. Perhaps the person who has the most problem with it is me anyway. On the other hand, I cried when I watched Love Actually and The Dark Knight Rises (Batman dies???) and even Godzilla. I mean who would be so insensitive to NOT CRY when the giant lizard thing was really a mommy and it was protecting its young? Oh, the humanity, or lizardry, whatever.

Pre-birthday eve celebration:  Cheetah boy eating his dessert through a straw, Sparky chillin with Daddy and the gang of two riding a ride, Cheetah boy was really scared!

 

The monkeys weren’t too excited or happy about getting their hair cut.  All they cared about were the lollipops!

Cheetah boy showing off his choppers and Sparky showing off his chocolate goatee!

 So much for hula hoops!  This must be over 20 feet in the air.  Never got a satisfactory or reasonable explanation for how it got there….

 

We still give our boys baths…. most of the time together. We do it because Archibald (not his real name) cannot be trusted to bathe himself by himself. He’s a great kid, don’t get me wrong. But, he is a little on the wild side. Or, I should say, he has a spark of curiosity so strong in him, he sometimes takes things to extremes and, unfortunately, breaks a lot of things, or uses more cleaning products than he should

Mortimer (not his real name either) can be trusted except when he’s with Archie. He’s the perfect co-dependent.

Anyway, it was my turn to bathe the little buggers the other night. Mommy and daddy take turns so that one person doesn’t have to do it every night. After all, we both work full time. Usually, mommy does the bathing 4 nights and I do it three. Only because I usually work at least one night of the week. A couple of weeks ago, I did it five nights because mommy had special events to prepare for at work and was unavailable. I don’t mind it.

I want to be involved in my boys’ lives. My dad did not do one-hundredth for me what I’ve done for my boys. I’m not upset or angry over that. He was who he was. He gave everything he could. I understand that now. Times were different.

The boys get into the bath and, of course, they talk like they talk all time. I mean they talk all the time. No, really, all the time! I know when they are awake in the morning because they start talking immediately upon rising.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Morty says, “My life sucks.”

How about that from a seven year-old!?

I immediately chastise him and tell him never to say that again. Well, he can’t say it again until he’s sixty when no matter what, his life will suck like it does for everyone sixty years old.   I suppose there are sixty year old people out there who are having the times of their lives and frolicking around like wild donkeys. But, I don’t know. Or maybe, it’s just me.

Sometimes I feel like my life sucks. My job is not just raining on the altar of my psyche, it is thundering and lightning-ing on my emotional, spiritual and mental well-being. Its influence is spreading into my relationships at home, not because I take out my frustrations and disappointments on my family, but because I am not at my best when I deal with them. In other words, it is time to move on.

Plus, I do not like the house we live which, I kid you not, is haunted. Doors mysteriously open and close by themselves and the ice cream in the refrigerator, my ice cream mind you, somehow gets emptied overnight. I know nobody in the house is responsible for those things because they deny it every single time!

I don’t like our cars, the neighborhood and the county, the driveway and yard. I don’t really like living with my mother-in-law either, but unfortunately, that will not change anytime soon. She is just under 3000 years old and was a personal friend of Jesus. Unfortunately, she will probably live another 3000 years. She is talking about walking on water but I tell her that’s just the deck after it rained.

Some days are better than other days. But, the bad days seem really bad. I know my psyche will improve once I find a job I can believe in again.

But, for a seven year-old to say his life sucks? Preposterous! What could possibly suck when you’re seven? You don’t get enough ice cream or TV or playing time??? I mean those things could POSSIBLY suck for someone my age, but seven???

As it turns out and after a long conversation with Morty, he doesn’t feel like he gets enough attention. We spend a lot of time with Archie because of his special needs, so we let Morty do his own thing. He is pretty conscientious about it anyway. But, Morty doesn’t like to always be left alone. Ok, I get it. That sucks. It sucks when you’re seven and when you’re older and probably when you’re 3000, too.

Of course, it’s always hard to get the right attention at the right time from the right people. When you’re young, you need it. When you get older, you learn to live without it. I don’t know which sucks more, not getting it or learning not to expect it.

Here is my latest article on The Good Men Project.  All about Father’s Day!

One More Father’s Day for the Books