I don’t review films. I haven’t even seen Grown-ups, yet. It’s only by coincidence that I prepared this post about fatherhood the same week that a movie opening Friday shows what happens when a mom couple with two teenage children meet their sperm donor in The Kids are All Right. Fatherhood is a really stupid topic for me to write about because I'm not a dad. Some of my best friends are dads. I even own one. But I, myself, was never infected. I am, however, deeply concerned for those young men who are considering allowing themselves to be transformed into fathers. I understand that no amount of caution can dissuade a guy from taking that irrevocable step. He feels it in his blood that it's going to happen. He hears the voices of his forefathers ringing down through generations, "It's time to beget a likeness of yourself, Numbnuts!"
Fatherhood is kind of like a hangover. It's not your fault. It could happen to anyone. There should be no judgment attached. You just get through it. And everyone knows the best treatment for a hangover. Stay drunk. The fatherhood equivalent of staying drunk is staying in the garage. My dad's garage was more like several farm buildings stuffed with farm machinery that was worth hundreds and hundreds of dollars when it was actually working. Now and then he would consider buying new equipment that would free up his time, but he always opted to keep on farming with his little John Deere tractors that were about the same size as today's lawn service equipment. I realized many years later that this was his way of staying drunk. He was just following in the wake of his fierce viking forebears who crossed the Atlantic in tiny wooden boats with five wives apiece and God knew how many kids. Try that one time sober.
Of course, it takes two to tango, so I should be remiss if I didn't address the full mathematical fact that gives rise to the production of offspring. The Internal Revenue Service. As a man gets older, his income naturally rises, pushing him into a higher and higher tax bracket. He begins to fret about all the extra money he is making and feels his soul being sucked away every year as he pages farther and farther back in the tax table to figure his obligation to Congress. Words cannot express the satisfaction a man feels as he rolls off a new mother (could be anybody) and leans back thinking of the thousands of dollars in tax deductions coming his way following the blessed event. A simple act of Congress has done more to make fatherhood a proactive concern for men than all the books ever written on the subject.
Okay. Okay. Some of this is a little off color. I admit that. Tessa, my senior editor, says it sounds slightly bitter. But I'm not bitter. What could I possibly be bitter about? That my baby batter is a couple tablespoons short of sugar? I have no idea whether it is or not. Don't care. I've just never made a new person when I didn't want to, which has been my case since birth. But I understand there is no resisting the call of the wild. When you're considering a hazardous spill of crud that could lead to fatherhood, you must learn to stay in your garage, and, if necessary, make your own beer.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The Dads are All Right
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11 comments:
A couple of tablespoons? Really. I'm sure the IRS would appreciate more sugar.
Oh, Man, Tessa. Now you just got McGinty started, probably.
My mom used to say, "Donna, don'ta get married and don'ta have'a kids." My come back would always be, "But mom, then you wouldn't have me?" She'd just smile and say, "I know." She would have been proud of you if you were her son since none of the Bailey's followed her advice. :) Should you change your mind and decide to have spawn, Dave told me, "If you're going to have three kids, you may as well have 10 because you're already out numbered." We stopped at two, thank you very much. btw, I'm thinking Tessa has a point, maybe a couple of cups of sugar?
omg! I finally figured out what I've been doing wrong...I just realized this is a "google" account and not "yahoo"! So, I'm listed as an "anonymous comment" because of my impatience to actually READ where I'm at on the internet!!! So now I can at least comment on your Fred Effect. I think I should go back to bed...this sucked up a lot of time this morning. :/
The IRS will never have enough sugar.
What a hell of a ride fatherhood has been. And you're right. Every year at tax time those extra tax deductions came in handy.
I like what you've done with your blog. But does the new "Copyright Warning" mean you want all the stuff I've stolen from you with the intent of selling it and making millions of dollars back?
Oh, hell no, Kevin. I just want the cash. By all means steal it and market it. I just want to get PAID!
Donna. I wish I could meet your mom. All her kids have this raunchy sense of humor. So weird. We grew up within ten miles of each other in a state with a population density of about six and half people per square mile. Hope to see you at the end of the month.
Have I told you lately that you are very funny?
Sad to say, our mom is gone and TERRIBLY missed by all of us. Just to write that makes me cry. But then you think about all the funny stuff she used to do and say and it brings a smile to your face. From the Bailey, "WHAT?" to the way she would scratch your back, then slap it really hard when she was done. She would have liked your "bluntness". I'm looking forward to seeing you on the Prairie, I'll be at Shari's table with the rest of the Bailey clan...that is when I'm not dancing. :)
Lily, you are very kind. I love checking out your images from Long Island. I'm Kansas born and bred, but I spent a few years in and out of New York City and just across the river, too. I miss it. I'm glad you're being eyes for me. Showing me the real place.
I'll tell Jim about your mom. He probably knows. I'm going to call him this weekend and see what his plans are for the concert. As far as I know he hasn't contacted Dave, yet. His back has been giving him hell. I think it's stress. He owns a construction company and he's struggling right now. I think he needs a Clevermax show.
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