Reflections on fatherhood, Part 1

Sorry, blog readers, more recycling -- this time, a collection of Facebook statuses about fatherhood from last June. So, some of you have read these before. Watch this space for Part 2 in a few days.

-- Fathers of girls, at least once in your life take your teenager shopping for jeans or shoes. It's an intense bonding experience -- you will be amazed at your daughter's excruciatingly discriminating standards, and she will admire your laserlike ability in any clothing store to settle for the first item you see on the shelves. Either that, or one of you will come home in a body bag -- and I'm betting it's you, dad.

-- Dad's prayer for his kids on their becoming parents: May you be wise and, when not, quick to admit error and, if necessary, ask forgiveness; may you gain daily in appreciation of your parents' brilliance, or at least their good intentions; may you not repeat mistakes but rather make all new ones; may you not forget you were a child once; may you be forgiving and willing to be forgiven; and, finally, may you be blessed with a child just like you. Maybe two.

-- When you call home, mom's just glad to hear from you, but dad suspects some ulterior motives when you ask to talk to him. That cautious tone in his voice is because he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. You're moving back home; you married someone you met last night in a bar; you're starring in a reality show; some guy named Guido is looking for you; you need $15,000 wired to you in a Juarez jail by midnight. No way you're calling just to chat, so what the hell have you done?

-- It's cute when people say they're waiting to have kids until they can afford them. Really? Look, kids are a financial disaster, a money pit. Latest estimate for raising one: $222,360. And that doesn't cover the cost when your adult child moves back into your basement some day. Don't get me wrong -- most kids are worth the investment, but if you do the math, BP stock probably makes more sense.

-- Just wondering, fellow dads-- when did you bail out on one of your simplest, but most fundamental, responsibilities: teaching your sons to take their ballcaps off when they're indoors? C'mon guys, this is a slippery slope. Next thing you know, you'll be letting your kids go out in public with their underwear showing.

-- You do your best to shepherd kids through the pop-culture minefield, shielding them from the worst sleaze but knowing you can't seal them off from the outside world. Sometimes you just get lucky, as when your daughter loses interest in Miley Cyrus right before Miley metamorphoses from Disney innocent Hannah Montana into a sluttier persona, presumably to be renamed Hannah Idaho.

-- This is not a democracy. At best, it's a benevolent dictatorship, but at times more like a North Korean labor camp, without the beatings, of course, and with slightly better food -- mac and cheese rather than maggot-infested gruel -- but with bouts of solitary confinement and plenty of "re-education." And, by the way, it wouldn't hurt if you genuflected in front of the Dear Leader every now and then.

-- Any father can yell at his kid until his lungs bleed. It takes a true dad to send a cold chill down a child's spine with nothing but a glance from across the room.

-- For you men without kids who have doubts about becoming a father, this is important to understand: You don't have to like kids to love being a father. Yes, children are rude, smelly, self-centered, obnoxious and in some settings -- Chuck E. Cheese, for example -- virtually feral. You can't imagine how much you'll love yours anyway -- although I'm pretty sure I won't care for them.

-- It's a dad's job to love, shelter, feed, teach and clothe his children, but not necessarily to entertain them. So, Daddy doesn't want to hear "I'm bored" even once this summer -- but especially not on a Monday morning as he's leaving for work. Is that clear?

-- I can be either Good Cop or Bad Cop. Sheriff Andy Taylor -- gentle and wise, full of warm, folksy advice; or Harry Callahan -- hard-assed and steely-eyed, just begging for some punk to make my day. But there are days I feel like Clueless Cop -- Deputy Barney Fife, bug-eyed, bewildered, blundering and blustering, accidentally locking myself in a jail cell, turning everything I touch to crap.

-- There are moments of pure, unfettered pride, joy and bliss in which dad cannot believe he actually had a role in bringing this remarkable person, his child, into the world. Then there are moments when he'll consider demanding a paternity test because there's no way this creature is the fruit of HIS loins; clearly, there was some sort of baby-switching snafu at the hospital.

-- We set out to raise our children and one day we realize they've raised us, too. And when it's all said and done, we can only pray we've taught them half of what they've taught us.