Gasping Dad

I've come to the conclusion that I will explode soon.  I don't mean emotionally, mentally or financially.  I don't mean, "If you can't get in touch with me, blow me up on facebook."  I mean literally, I am going to explode, with little pieces of Daddy J debris flying through the air. 

"Why?" you may ask. 

You see, as a parent of a small child, it is imperative to teach them day to day functions through repetition and routine.  And, as the parent of a stubborn child, it is imperative to make everything that they don't want to do seem like something that they do want to do.  And that requires trickery.

I know my parents tricked me.  But usually by making me the butt of a joke.  I don't ever recall a point in which they got me to do something, like take a bath, and as I sat in the middle of the Mr. Bubble deluge, thinking, "Hang on a sec!"  No, instead, they would get me to believe things that were completely outrageous and cause me to think, "Either, this is going to be really cool, or I am REALLY dumb."  For example, I remember a time when Dad had put a new stereo in his work truck.  It was the eighties, and I was about 6 or 7.  I had never seen a digital tape deck before then.  It was complete with green illuminated back lighting and smooth turning volume and tuning nobs.  It even beeped as you punched your selection into the number pad that held the stations in it's memory.  Memory!  To me, it was if he had stolen a piece of the USS Enterprise and installed it into his beat-up Silverado.  Anything was possible with this wonderful piece of technological advancement.  So, of course, I didn't think anything of it when Dad started shouting "Change!" at the dash and the stereo would automatically change stations.  It was voice operated!  Amazing!  So, after he demonstrated the unique capabilities of his new stereo, he jumped out of the truck to run into the hardware store real quick.  While he was gone, I sat there in the truck, shouting "Change!" at the truck, but to no avail.  Years later, when I started driving, I finally discovered the SCAN button that is on every digital car stereo...

I don't trick my kids this way.  Mainly, because I don't want them to grow up with the same sense of low self-esteem that I did from years of realizing that I was an idiot for believing crap like that.  I, instead, will trick my kids into thinking something that see as terrible is actually fun and exciting.  Like, bed time, for example.  James, for the most part, hates bed time. And when Gina says, "It's time for bed," he usually protests with angry tears.  In my childhood, that would have been countered with, "Too bad."  But instead, I have turned into the "Gasping Dad."  Gasping Dad is the guy that takes a giant inhale after the suggestion from the mom of anything that the child won't want to do. 

Gina:  James, it's time for bed.

James:  No!

Me:  (Gasps) We're going to bed?!?  Alright!

Gasping Dad works for just about anything.

"(Gasps) You get to take a bath?  Alright!"
"(Gasps)  You get to eat brocolli?  Alright!"
"(Gasps)  You get to sit on the potty? Alright!"

And every time Gasping Dad makes his appearance, the task in usually completed with minimal or no conflict.  Baths are taken, food is eaten, and beds are slept in.

But, simply because of the sheer amount of things that James hates to do, I spend most of my time sucking in giant gasps of air to convice him otherwise.  By the end of the day, my body is holding more air than an tractor tire.  And this will be what ultimately will cause me to explode...Or, at the very least, light headed and dizzy.

Zoom, Zoom

My wife's car is a pigsty.  All the time.  I can spend hours at the car wash; vacuuming, wiping, shampooing and tossing out trash to give her a clean, organized car.  But within three hours, it will, once again, be cluttered with papers, coffee mugs, toys, and countless other types of litter.  I've often imagined a day when I call A&E and have them conduct a special "Car Hoarders" episode.  In the episode, family members (me) would, in front of the cameras, hold an intervention, full of tears and sobbing the phrase, "You need help!"  To which, my wife would defiantly reply, "I don't have a problem!  I NEED all this stuff in my car!"  And I'm sure that at the end of the episode, across the black screen in courier font, the update would read, "Since the taping of the episode, Gina was able to successfully keep her car clutter free for 48 hours.  But after two days, she relapsed and started hoarding once again.  Justin has begun crying himself to sleep in the garage every night, wondering how it could all be possible..."

And the worst situation, as a man, is when I swap vehicles with her for the day.  My car, for the most part, is fairly "trash-free."  My front seat is passenger ready at any given time, and my trunk is clear and able to haul any grocery store conquest on a moment's notice.  But (and any man can relate) if you give a wife/mother your car for an afternoon, it will come back to you in her own state of chaotic ruins.  It drives us insane.  What did you do today that would constitute leaving this much clutter and junk all over my car? 

It's that question, though, that we never really think about the answer to.  "What did you do today?"  There is a reason why there is everything in your car.  Because they just spent the day doing everything.  I wake up, go to work, drink a cup of coffee on the way, take my cup inside with me, and come home in the evening.  My day's activities involving my car are limited.  My wife, on the other hand, has an average day that goes like this:  Wake up, get the kids fed, get them dressed, load the diaper bag, gather up toys for car ride, take a quick shower, run out the door, drop off at day care, run and pay a bill, grab a McCafe from the drive-thru, work half the day, run home to let the dog out and grab a bite to eat as she runs back out the door, go pay more bills, run copies at front office, go back to her office, meet with youth group kids, run back home to let dog out again, Sonic "Happy Hour,"pick up from daycare, run to the store, collect permission slips for youth group trip, go home and make dinner.  And that's not even including the "at-home" activities.

I don't always remember how much my wife does throughout each day...every day...all day long.  But with all that she executes, there is bound to be some residual clutter left over in her car.  And I have to remind myself that sometimes.  She is an amazing woman.  And if she needs me to clean out her car for her from time to time, that is the least that I can do for her. 

Now, if only I could get her to find some connection between my strong work ethic and the fact that I leave my wet towels on the bedroom floor...

Hit the Road, Jack!

The summer family road trip! A rich family tradition that has been ingrained in the hearts of the American family for nearly 100 years. But, like all traditions, it has been diluted over the last few generations. The rapid advancement of technology over the last 15 years has somewhat tarnished the amazing experience that is a family vacation.




The greatest part of the road trips from my youth was the invention of games. There were no real video games to speak of (a black and white Game Boy with approximately 20 minutes of battery life), and the idea of TVs in cars was something you would only see in JR Ewing's limousine. So, it was up to our own vivid imagination (along with Mom's and Dad's own influences) to create games that could be used to occupy hours upon hours of road time. They always started out wildly creative. Like, the "cow game." You would each count the amount of cows that pass your respective side of the car. If you passed a cemetery on your side, you would start back at zero. And, then, the creativity would start to slow down. Next, came "Car Nintendo." In this game, each person on the car would close one eye, focus on a bug spot on the windshield, and move their head back and forth to move the image of the splattered insect, weaving in and out of the dashed lines on the highway. The only problem with "Car Nintendo" is that, as other travellers pass on the highway, they catch a glimpse of a car full of people with one eye closed, bobbing back and forth, mouths gaped open and ridiculous, delirious laughter...A car full of morons... After that excitement had settled down, the game would change to something a little more simple. This round was usually determined by where you were seated. Growing up, we had the awesome, wood-paneled station wagon. And, being the middle child, but the youngest boy, I would usually end up in the back. For my brothers and sister, it was "The Alphabet Game." But, for me, it would usually end up being a game of "Staring Blankly at Truckers for Thirty Minutes." Such a sad place, the back of the station wagon, all alone. I could hear the laughter of everyone in front as they played "License Plate Bingo," as I sat in the back, reenacting "Being Born" to the family that was stuck behind us in a construction zone. That's where you pull your t-shirt over your head and pull your arms in and pretend that you are a baby, breaching the neck hole of your shirt...So, Mom, THAT'S how all my shirts became so stretched out...




The music of a road trip usually was determined by the person driving. No MP3 players, no laptops....Just the turn dial AM/FM radio that was usually static as you passed along the countryside. And the majority of the songs we heard were the sweet melodies of tunes like, "Get Back Over On Your Side!" and "Why Do I Always Have To Sit On the Hump?" or "We Just Stopped! Why Didn't You Go To The Bathroom Then?" Usually, when it was Dad driving, it was the the classic song, "Wind Whipping Through The Little Triangle Window Because The A/C Eats Up Gas Mileage."




I pass by the minivans on the road today and see the DVD screens in headrests and the headphones jacked in. It's amazing, the docile nature of children in vehicles today; comatose zombies watching Yo Gabba Gabba on a 4.5" screen, slurping down a GoGurt and the parents just humming along to satellite radio with a happy little smile on their face. I couldn't imagine the parents in these cars ever having to hold on to the steering wheel with one hand, keeping one eye on the road while the other eye is in the rear-view mirror and the other hand is frantically trying to find the nearest child to spank. My parents could have been stunt drivers for the movies. They were not just good at punishing us locally...They decided to take their show on the road. And the other parents on the highway never looked at them with disgust. In fact, I saw one guy pass us during one of mom's "High-Speed Spankings." He just looked over with beady eyes and clinched teeth, and I swear I could make out the words "Get 'Em!" pass across his slightly upward pointed lips. And there was an art form to it. Each of my parents had their own style of backseat discipline. My mom was more of a "Mohammed Ali" or "Joe Frazier;" quick, precise movements. Dad, on the other hand, had the wide, broad, powerful sweeps like Butterbean or Foreman. Now, before you even try to judge my parents, you have to know this: We were terrible little kids. We would pinch each other, hit each other, throw each other over the bench and toss each other's toys out of the car window. The day we got the station wagon, we became worse, because we could escape the flying hands of rage by clamouring to the back of the wagon, where our shenanigans would continue.




And we could ride in the back of the station wagon, because there were no seat belt enforcement laws. I always found that the best place to sleep in the car is in the back window, being kissed by the sunlight. I actually saw a child's neck pillow for sale in store recently. A neck pillow! Whatever happened to just sitting on the floor of the car, and laying your head down on the seat. Seat belts were just those things that could launch popsicle sticks like torpedoes and what you would have to cram back into the seats when you were trying to fit for than four people into the backseat.




And now, you can see a lot of the Highway Patrol "Motorist Assist" vehicles on the road. These are the units that scour the freeways, looking for broken down travellers to help. You'll see the officers hunched over, grappling with lug nuts to change a flat as the driver looks on. How are kid supposed to enjoy the exciting entertainment of watching their father change a flat in the pouring rain and swearing under his breath while simultaneously avoiding the the barrage of oncoming interstate traffic and yelling at the children as they make faces at him through the windows?




So, this summer, if you are planning a road trip, do your kids a favor: Plan the entire trip "unplugged." Remove the DVD players, leave the MP3 players at home and ditch the video games. In fact, un-suction the GPS from the dash and get lost and then argue about it. Make the conscience decision to enjoy and hate each other's company all at the same time...like a real family...

James' Anatomy

A Conversation with my Two Year Old, James.  Well, he is babbling and I try to decipher it as best as I can...


Me:  What are you doing, buddy?

James:  I'm building something out of Legos...

Me:  That's cool...What are you making?

James:  A heart...

Me:  Awww!  That's sweet!  Who are you making it for? Mommy?

James:  No.  For Clifford.

Me:  Your stuffed animal, Clifford the Big Red Dog?

James:  Yep.  You see, Clifford's large size has caused his enlarged heart to wear out at an early age.  I am creating a new artificial heart that, with proper and routine maintenance, will actually last longer than the average dog's heart.

Me:  Wow!  That's impressive...Wait, where did get the steak knife?

James:  It's a scalpel...And how did you think I wad going to complete a successful transplant?  Now, I am making a four inch horizontal incision along the sternum ...

Me:  I don't think you should be doing this...

James: Quiet in my OR!  If you distract me, we could lose him!

Me:  I'm sorry, I just think you might be playing-

James:  BP is dropping! We're losing stuffing! Get me some cotton, stat! ...You will not die on me today, Clifford! Do you hear me? Don't you dare die on me!

Me: James, you're making a mess!  There's stuffing everywhere!

James: I'm almost there...Got it!...Vital signs are levelling off...Back to normal...Welcome back, Clifford...

Me:  I knew this day would come, but I had thought it was something else to play "doctor."

James:  Doctor?  Surgeon, please...Now, close him up.  I've got a 3:15 tee time to get to...

Me:  I think you've watched too much "Grey's Anatomy" with your mother...