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.