Gentleman Unafraid

Keeping the kids busy hasn’t been terribly hard. Keeping them from engaging in periodic sibling head-butting is the main issue, though they’ve shown remarkable restraint (why is restraint always remarkable?) and have yet to bludgeon, guillotine, or otherwise massacre each other. As mentioned, until their school sets up tele-classes, or what have you, we’ve given them a loose educational schedule involving worksheets, reading time, art classes, and phys ed (“GO OUTSIDE, DAMMIT!”). It’s not always easy to mind them while keeping on top of emails from work and meetings, and the various teaching, editing, proofing, copywriting, and podcasting tasks that come along. Fortunately, they’re both old enough to occupy themselves. Yes, as I said, there’s the occasional scuffle, born out of boredom, usually starting as wacky hijinks but quickly devolving into lizard-brain screaming and pushing. Mostly though, they’ve been a dream.

They’re lucky they don’t have a social media presence yet. Beyond what I say about them, of course, though I try to keep the pictures and accounts of their lives to a minimum because their lives are their lives. What I mean though is that they have the barest awareness of what’s going on right now. We aren’t keeping them in the dark, and certainly their teachers have talked about what’s been happening. But I doubt the gravity of the situation has really hit them. So far Flynn seems perfectly content, but like her father she prefers to be home. Nate was a little depressed the other night, and when we asked what was up he got teary-eyed and said he missed his friends mostly. He’s been able to play games and chat with his buddies Ike and Francisco via FaceTime, but I imagine that’s not enough. We consoled and promised him that when this is all over—quickly, quickly, and may we all be safe and healthy—he’s going to see celebrations like you wouldn’t believe. And surely, he can have all his pals over for game night or whatever he’d like.

That’s an ongoing challenge with kids and acclimating them to social isolation, particularly if they’re pretty social. You have to make it all seem normal, but at the same time you have to throw in a surprise or adventure once in a while. We told Nate and Flynn they could camp out in the living room tonight, which is little more than sleeping bags in front of the fireplace. They were all for it though there was one trade-off. I had to sit in the easy chair nearby, in the dark, while they drifted off. Living rooms are scary places after hours, don’t you know? No problem. I sat and socialized my media, wrote up the early part of this post, and plotted for tomorrow while they sailed off to hushabye mountain. One more day down. How many more months to go? Sigh.

Back from Destroy All Monsters! with Nate.

Mike: How was the movie?

Me: About what you’d expect. Giant monsters battling each other.

Mike: Uh huh.

Me: Though the ending still gets to me. It shows Godzilla, 60 years later, sitting on his home’s porch dressed in a white kimono and greying at the temples. His friend ‪Anguirus‬ is sitting next to him, and he says, “You know…What the hell were we fighting about back then anyway?” And ‪Anguirus‬ says, “I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” And Godzilla replies, “In the end, we were only destroying…ourselves.” Then a single tear trails down his scaly cheek.

Mike: Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Me: Wouldn’t it be awesome if it did? I’d pay to see movies like that.

Talking to my Wife (Not verbatim, but close.)

Me: Nate told me all about the leprechaun traps they set at school.

Wife: Yes, I heard about those. They come in and mess up the classroom.

Me: Uh, you know he made a trap for home too, right?

Wife: Yep.

Me: (Pause) The boy really believes in leprechauns, doesn’t he?

Wife: (Laughs) Yes, I think he does.

Me: (Sighs) So, do we need to fill the trap with something?

Wife: I guess so.

Me: I’ll pick up some chocolate gold coins at Fannie Mae. You hide the trap somewhere and I’ll load it up when he’s not looking.

Wife: Sounds good!

Me: (Mentally counting) So, that’s Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, leprechauns… How many goddamned mythological creatures are allowed to just walk around our house whenever they feel like it?

Wife: Ha ha ha!

The surprise that Obama would choke up (“show emotion,” as ABC’s site refers to it) while thanking his staffers reminds me of the older relatives who think of me as one of those “new fathers”—that is, a guy who’s deeply involved in raising his kids. They mean it admiringly, but it’s funny that in 2012 some folks still react as if it’s a rare and unusual thing. Crying tears of joy and pride? Staying home to change your kids’ diapers, play with them, and teach them? INCROYABLE!

Of course, most people in my circle think, “Wow, that Obama. What a mensch!” I find it nice to know that society’s opinions about “proper” male behavior are changing for the better. I’m not saying we should be bawling all the time, guys, and fretting about our lack of life-giving milk production ability (from what my wife and lady friends tell me, breasts are a pain in the ass—so, we dodged that boobular bullet). I just think a real man (and hell, a real woman) should be able to survive in wild with nothing more than a pen knife and a single match, AND willing to get a little weepy while delivering a wedding toast.

We require a new definition for “man up.”

Mike, Nate, Flynn, and I are on our way to the beach house we rented in Michigan. It’s located some ways off the main road, requiring a series of twisty turns through the greenery. Mike asks me to review the directions on the Post It notes she scribbled out the other night while speaking to the lady who owns the beach house.

Mike: What’s the next turn?

Me: Port Sheldon Road to… Who the hell is Ron Butternut?

Mike: What?

Me: It says right here: “Ron Butternut.” Who is this Ron Butternut? ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH HIM!?!

(I point at the directions, knowing full well it says “R on Butternut” [Right on Butternut Road] Mike laughs.)

Mike: That’s an awesome name. You should make him a character in a story.

Me: Except it would be funnier if it were “Ron Butternuts.” I’d have him address a audience like this: “Hello, everyone, I’m Ron Butternuts. SHUT THE HELL UP.”

(Mike and I laugh.)

Throughout the week we kept speculating on who Ron Butternuts was, and so forth. Finally, one night, on our way to get ice cream in Holland, MI, we bring up Ron one too many times for Nate’s taste.

Nate: (Shouting) No! No! It’s NOT Ron Butternuts!

Mike: Oh really, bud? What should his name be?

Nate: It should be RON SUGARNUTS!!!

Hilarity ensued. Also, he’s absolutely right.

Nate: Dad, I want to be a Protector of the City.

Me: What’s that, bud?

Nate: A protector. He wears a cowboy hat.

Me: Yeah?

Nate: And sometimes a bathing suit, but not always. And he wears purple sunglasses.

Me: Okay. What else?

Nate: Sometimes he wears green glasses, but not anymore. And then he’s got boots, but they’re really, really, really dusty.

Me: And they protect people?

Nate: Yeah!

Me: Well, that sounds like a great thing to be. Good night, buddy. You dream about being a Protector.

Nate: Okay! Good night!

My wife and I have yet to mind-fuck our four-year-old son and arrange to have a bizarre and embarrassing photo chase him down for the rest of his life.

What I want to know is NOT why people do things like this (simple answer, with 6 billion of us on the planet, a large percentage are bound to be goofballs), but who sat down, puffed on their pipe or nursed their tea, and thought, “You know what’s good for a kid’s development? Keeping him or her locked into an infant’s mindset.”

Actually, I take all that back and apologize, because breast-feeding is MAGIC!

Waitasecond! I fell into TIME magazine’s trap! CONTROVERSY!

Haunted by Gretchen Dow Simpson, by Chris Ware