Reflections on fatherhood, Part 2

OK, I promised (warned?) you. More recycling of Father's Day-related Facebook posts from last year, which I've compiled into a blog this year. We writers call this repurposing, though you may call it lazy. This is Part 2. I posted Part 1 earlier this week.

-- All chest-thumping bluster aside, the truth is I probably can't beat up anyone's dad. Might I propose a spelling bee instead?

-- Dad thinks being on time means being 10 minutes early. That's why he's already in the car, alone, scowling, fiddling with the controls to get the interior nice and cold the way he likes it and drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He's about to lean on the horn, which will really piss Mom off and make that ride even colder. So, everybody hurry the hell up in there, OK?

-- Fatherus americanus -- slayer of spiders, spinner of tales, dozer of recliner and church pew, teller (and reteller) of bad jokes, buyer of off-brand cereals because doggone it they taste just as good as the expensive name-brand stuff, griller of meat, avoider of honey-do lists, butcher of the hits of the '60s and '70s, embarrasser of children in front of friends, silent investor in Kool-Aid stands, searcher for cheapest motels on vacation, defender of lawn, human ATM, quality control inspector of chores, dispatcher of bedroom-closet monsters, hunter-gatherer extraordinaire (albeit at grocery store), assembler of toys and appliances so efficient there's always a couple of parts left over, and master of the remote control.

-- My T-shirt and coffee mug notwithstanding, I realize I have no empirical proof that I am, in fact, the "World's No. 1 Dad." But I'm pretty sure I'm in the top 25, so let's just leave it at that.

-- I'm not angry at you. I'm just disappointed. OK, I lied. I'm angry AND disappointed.

-- Sometimes, you know you're lying, and dad knows you're lying, and you know dad knows you're lying, and dad knows you know that he knows you're lying and you know dad knows you know that he knows you're lying -- and you both just decide to walk away and let it be, like a couple of gunfighters in the Old West who've drawn on each other, then decide to back down and live to fight another day.

-- I have grimaced through endless takes of "Ode to Joy" squeaked out on a recorder. I have made emergency reed runs to the music store. I have heard "Shortnin' Bread" undercooked and Sousa marches turned into dirges by 5th-graders. I have marched in place on cold metal bleachers during late-fall marching-band contests just to keep my extremities from freezing. Damn straight -- I am a Band Dad.

-- During times of family strife, threats to run away from home are fairly common, but rarely successful. I oughta know -- my wife manages to hunt me down every time.

-- New parents will find this hard to believe, but your child may at times make you angrier than you can imagine possible. Count to 10. Then 100. Then 1,000. If that doesn't work, weed your garden. With your teeth. Then your neighbor's garden. Then the whole damn block. Return home and resume counting, if necessary.

-- Sometimes I long for the days when my kids were small, helpless and cuddly. But then I sit and drink a beer, man to man, with one of my sons, or I listen in awe to my teenaged daughters laugh and rave about their day's events as if life is just one great, big, wild lark. And I think, you know, this is pretty darn sweet, too. Also, they can go to the bathroom by themselves now.

-- My children are the light of my life, the wind beneath my wings. I love them unconditionally. I would give my life without hesitation for any of them. Yet, to be completely honest, the week my youngest spends at summer camp is one of my favorite weeks of the year. My guilt is only partially mitigated by the fact that I'm quite certain it's one of her favorite weeks, too.

-- Sometimes I take great pleasure in the intellectual exercise of crafting a well-reasoned, compelling explanation for the unpopular answer I just gave to my child's question -- one so clearly and brilliantly stated that my child will say, "why, yes, father, now I see it your way and, as always, your reasoning is unassailably wise." But usually I don't have the energy, so "because I said so, dammit" will have to do.

-- Perhaps it occurs when she sees you play softball, or try to parallel park. He walks in on you when you're competing in a karaoke contest, or catches you crying during "Oprah." It's the moment when your child realizes you're not Master of the Universe, after all. It's a necessary rite of passage between father and child. But painful, too. Or so I've been told. Hasn't happened to me yet.

-- Dads don't have a favorite child, of course. However, the poll rankings are in constant flux -- not just weekly or even daily, but hourly. This morning's No. 1-ranked child may well slip two or three spots in the rankings by evening and, at times, out of the Top 10 altogether, which, considering you've only got four children, would seem impossible. But it can happen -- right, dads?

-- Yes, dad can tell you’re rolling your eyes even when your back is turned. To let you in on a little secret: There’s this tiny spot at the base of your neck that wrinkles every time you do it. So don’t give me that look as you’re walking away from me, kid.

-- The first time you see your child as a young adult is an exquisitely bittersweet moment. Where did the years go, where is my baby, you ask as you contemplate your 13-year-old in makeup and dangling earrings, teetering on high heels, wearing a formal, grown-up dress. Wistful tears fill your eyes, as you choke out the words, "Damn, son, what are you doing in your sister's clothes?"