The author is a late thirty something father and husband who's just trying to be a little better tomorrow than he was yesterday. Yes, he knows he thinks too much.
A quote from one of my favorite movies mentions the smell of napalm and it's allegory in freedom...
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning... It smell's like freedom..."
(Yeah, no sh!t, that's really Robert Duvall...)
A true poet's soul would urge me to ascribe the same feral feeling to the pen or at least the pencil. If you know me I am truly torn between the pen and sword. Fact is, I think you should fight with one and write with the other... Obvious? Sure... just make sure you know what hand holds each... Scribbling on your enemy is not all that effective...
"You want the last word son? Napalm still smells good... now get me another cup 'o Joe..."
Okay... Bob Duvall 2, me, well... none. But I would like to tell you about a better quote... and why it is important to me...
Yeah, that's Bono... this means what I have to say is serious...
Am I bugging ya? I don't mean to bug ya...
I quote my Rosie...
"Mom.... ceilings must feel pretty lonely since no one watches them..."
My daughter had no idea that I had recently mentioned how 'I watched the ceiling' to describe my insomnia...
'Tis a simple thought... but she thought of my friend... the ceiling.
Surrounded by non-sequiters like that, I just have to keep writing...
[Please skip to the bottom and press play on the video, then read along]
To say that raising kids is a learning experience is to state the obvious. To further state that all kids are different, require different parenting styles and react differently to different stimuli, well... that is raising the duh factor to a new level. Kids are themselves learning how to react to the world. Something that scares a child one day might delight them the next. A favorite food which they must eat as often as possible might be deemed "Yucky" without warning and banished from their culinary lexicon. Children are as complicated as they are fascinating, but with time and the proper tools (Patience and Observation to start) they can be easily civilized or at least tamed enough to mix with the general population.
Right?
I mean, hey, that was wisdom! Granted obvious wisdom, but come on, easy as one two three right? End of article... chalk one in the win column. That was what? One paragraph? A couple hundred words? Let's start printing it on diaper packages and we will all sleep a little better at night (or at least have quieter airplane rides). No charge...
But it's not that easy is it? I mean, even if you get your child figured out, learn their triggers, devise appropriate coping strategies and most importantly learn the difference between discipline and punishment... what was that you say? They are the same thing? I beg to differ.
Soap Box Side Note:
Discipline is a tool that teaches accountability and can breed confidence as well as moral fiber. Punishment is well... a show of power manifested as anger; a vain attempt at pay-back for a slight committed... in this case by a child.
From Merriam Webster; Discipline:
"training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character"
From Merriam Webster; Punishment:
"suffering, pain, or loss that serves as retribution "
The same? No way, no how.
End Side Note.
So, let's say you've got all your chops down. You can handle crying, you understand that sometimes a child just needs to express the feelings they are still learning about. Unlike us silly adults they haven't learned how to bottle it up and deal with it at the gym, with a glass of wine, on the golf course or through our favorite past time... blame. You pick your battles, you're firm but fair, you keep your word. You teach them to keep theirs. Etc...
There is one variable that you may not have mastered (one that I have not mastered)... Yourself.
As I may may mentioned in passing before, my job requires that I maintain a level of professionalism beyond reproach. At times I must be a hard disciplinarian to wild young men under very stressful situations. At others, counselor, father, protector or dare I say friend is required. I have attained the rank and been given the training to do these things and I enjoy the privilege of having the trust of my superiors to do what is needed to get my job done. I am backed by tradition, history and the honor of those who have gone before me to carry out my duties outside the bounds of written instruction, law or code.
I have remarked before to friends or family, especially those who have seen me on the job that I am a much different person in uniform as "The Chief" than I am in my personal life. I have likened donning my uniform as putting on my "Super Suit". I make no excuses, I do what needs to be done, I make things happen. I wish I could say the same in my personal life. Then again, when I am wearing my uniform people do what they are told. I have of course pondered the partitioning of personality.
Introspection:
I'll be the first person to mention that I am not perfect. I talk a good game, have a pretty good intellectual grasp of right and wrong... it's the application of those lessons that is the hard part.Tonight it was Open House at school. It was just as uncomfortable as usual and I tormented myself over my own behavior until the kids were in bed and the wife and I could debriefeach other on the evening.I thought that I had been a jerk. I thought that I was impatient. I thought that I had failed...
I had spent the entire ride home after dinner (we took separate cars) examining and condensing my feelings into a meaningful mea culpa.
I had worked out a few things, some I already knew... some that I hadn't yet put into words... They were like a puzzle... I had all the pieces, I just hadn't put them together to form a picture yet.
And then the picture was clear...
I don't like crowds
I'm uncomfortable in new social situations
Noise, especially crying and multiple voices aimed at me drive me batty
When I get 'stressed' I get hyper critical
I'm a dramatic needy b!tch
I'm sure that list could go on, I have other sensory issues but they don't impede parenting (I hate dirty hands... for example eating ribs, yeah, yeah, shut up)... but you get the picture. I felt like I had been making good headway on not letting my own feelings and failings impact my children too much... the sins of the father should not in my opinion be status quo for the daughter... But I felt like I failed tonight.
Then I got home and apologized to my wife for my behavior and did a bit of a shrug... and was told.
"I think you did great, much better than in the past, you were fine Honey..."
And suddenly I felt invigorated. Effort pays off. Not instant gratification, not perfection... but "Better than last time..."
Please pardon this rant. I was recently reminded of a challenge to my personal definition of how certain family members should be titled via a popular social networking medium. Put in plain English, I stated in a public electronic forum that certain blood relations were of a closer specified relation than blood would allow.
Why did I do this? Why would I do this?
Answered simply;
1. I did it because it was right to do.
2. I did it because I meant it.
Shall I be even more specific? Ok... I said on Facebook that my nieces were my sisters and I stand by the fact that... they are.
Being a brother, sister etc is a privilege. Not a right. Blood means that someone shared parentage, but does not ensure, engender or guarantee loyalty. This is not a hypothesis. This is not a Theory. This is a fact.
How do I know? Empirical evidence my friend. It has been proven. By action on the part of some and lack of action of others time and time again.
Family, loyalty and love are not a game. Score is not kept, tallies are not settled. Family, loyalty and love are silent wars of attrition where only those who's mettle is true and love is real survive. It is not a popularity contest.
Therefore today I step off the high road. This is not to say that I will bow to ruder tactics or nasty double entendre to seek out revenge upon those who disagree... no, I merely disavow myself of the argument.
You see, I live a professional life where thousands of men and women are my brothers and sisters. We call each other such to each others faces on a daily basis. We have bonded so via common experience, shared code and moral value. It is a choice we have made.
What I share with the young ladies in question; My sisters, is something even greater. Not only did blood, relation and circumstance push us toward another, diversity, distance and strife could not and will not keep us apart...
This is the part in the conversation where I sigh, look down at the ground and give it just one last try...
I love my sisters, these three amazing young women. I am blessed to be their brother. I dont give a good god damn what someone who doesn't understand those words thinks.
I care about My Family, a family which includes many people, blood and not... and which when examined honestly is a strong and enviable clan.
You see, Family is a privilege... not a right.
It is something you fight for, not rail against.
In the end it is not something you are born to, it is something that must be earned... and if you treat it badly and with contempt... it can be lost.
Tonight as I sat down before the keyboard intent on writing, I hit that spot I sometimes do when my want of writing is greater than my need for writing. It's times like this that I often lose momentum on a project and end up relegating it the “Visit Later” folder on the hard drive. More often than not those stories and essays languish in the lonesome dregs of the virtual desktop never to be visited again regardless of the title of the folder, almost as if they were a freshly dumped girlfriend whom I just told “Let's be friends”.
Many times when I need to write it is because I have recognized a problem and want to logic out solutions by riffing on the page. I used to write a great deal of poetry. Horrible, overly emotional self indulgent fluff (okay, it wasn't all that bad) but that stopped for the most part when I met my beautiful wife. Oh, I have had resurgences of the poetic muse, but they were when I explored technique and nearly always involved... drinking.
Why? Why did I all but give up poetry as I gave up music and song writing? Easy; because I was no longer sad, no longer wallowing in self pity. Dumb as it may sound, sometimes I'm sad that I'm not sad anymore. I've never had the ego to say that I was good, but god damnit I was prolific! Sometimes I just miss the way the words flowed from my fingers.
So tonight, as I sat here wondering what to write, I thought, well, what's on my mind?
(In no order of importance, Ladies and gentlemen your top ten!)
I'm really digging on the debut album by “Them Crooked Vultures”. ( I mean how does one go about getting John Paul Jones of Led Zep to be your bass player?)
I really enjoyed the grilled Portabellas, squash and Polenta I made for dinner.
My kids are awesome. And a pain in the ass. Sometimes an awesome pain in the ass. And I love them for it.
What's that you say? Really? Number ten? You think so? Hmmmm.... Yeah. I guess besides number five (which doesn't surprise anyone who knows her) it's the only one relevant to this blog. The title of the blog after all is “A Husband and Father” and not “Bored Dude Drinking Wine and spelling Dog backwards”.
So I guess I'll write about their awesomeness and pain in the ass-ness.
The Oldest.... Hmmm... we need new nick-names... We'll call her 'Rosie'. Well, Rosie hit an even 10.0 on the PITA (Pain In The Ass) Scale yesterday. It was just an out and out lousy day behavior wise. Wednesdays are always hard and we may have figured out why. Rosie has (we are finally admitting) some attention issues to go along with her stunning memory, intellect, creativity and ability to just well... figure shit out. Put simply she is a loud wiggle worm. Wednesdays are rough (we figured out) because;
(A) Mom picks her up early from “after school care” to take her to the sitters so she can see her friend. This means that she misses out on that extra recess that let's her get her ya-ya's out.
(B) She goes to Ballet which, though she wants to be a dancer, she just doesn't have the patience for. Add to that that her Ballet Teacher thinks that she is at Julliard and the next recital will be at the Bolshoi, well... Rosie doesn't take well to that level of seriousness... she's six years old damnit.
So the fact is, by the time she gets into our loving-just worked eight hours and am dog tired-arms she has lot's of ya-ya's... Mucho Ya-Ya's... EPIC fricken ya-ya's to get out.
So yesterday she had the privilege to go get frozen yogurt with her friends (Mom Chaperoned) after dance. Let's just say that it did not go well. Ya-yas won over. She had her first ever “Go to your room until bedtime” night. Yes, she was paroled for dinner, but it was a bare bones “eat and don't you dare laugh dinner”. There was crying, there was discussing, there was more crying... and generally, there was crying.
Today, Mom figured out the Ya-Ya connection.
So today (as we often do anyway) we had a family bike ride after work. The route is about four miles round trip over residential, city and then waterfront bike path. It doesn't take too long, today just an hour. Rosie rides her own bike (and today was especially proficient, even experimented with Standing Up and Trying to Pedal) Mom and Dad ride theirs and The Youngest... Hmm... Nick Name... 'Itty Bitty' well... she usually sits in the child seat behing Mom. She's 4 and she is (as her nick name would indicate) little. We are just a about to upgrade Rosie to a larger bike and will re-attach the training wheels and re-gift her old bike to Itty Bitty. In the meantime we have considered getting a “tag along”(the 'half bike' things that connects to the back of a big bike that the kids can peddle but not really control). I digress.
Itty Bitty should be able to get her own ya-ya's out right? Well Dad said (jokingly) that she could chase him by running after him. So, we gave it a try. Now understand something... this kid is little. We can barely force MAYBE a thousand calories into her on a good day... Getting Itty Bitty to eat anything other than cheese, chocolate, yogurt or Pediasure is neither a science nor art... it's a crap shoot.
This little girl ran. She RAN man... She must have run the equivalent of a 5k for her size. Even when she was tired she still wanted to walk and pick flowers. I took a movie of part of it. She was amazing. Just Kept Running. She even had her own little 'kick' (shout out to present or former runners).
It wasn't a perfect night. Dinner and manners and then baths etc were not perfect. But that time on the bikes (and for Itty Bitty; the open road) was awesome. All of those awesome moments, validated by knowing glances between my wife and I, those moments where we acknowledge that “We made these independent miracles before us”, they are what life is... they are why I am happy that I cannot write poetry... The muse can go to hell.
(The author would like to thank his wife, Justin Vineyards, Them Crooked Vultures, The Smiths, Incubus and Outkast for proofreading and the patience to actually link all the things he meant to when he first put fingers to keys)
"You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
You may find yourself in another part of the world
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
You may ask yourself: well... how did I get here?"
Stop. Hold Still. Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask yourself... do I have what I want? If you began listing all of the things that you are thankful for, began noting how lucky you are to have what you do, well then this post will most likely only cause you to nod your head and agree. If, on the other hand you began listing things that you don't have, all of the things that you think you are missing, things that you want, perhaps even need thenplease, by all means, read on.
Many of us reach post adolescence (say, age 20 to 40?) with so much regret already firmly rooted that we find it nearly impossible to enjoy our day to day triumphs. We spend so much time worrying about others opinions of us, of our possessions, clothes, job, income etc. We bitch and complain. We commiserate, we blame, we seek solace in our friends and invite all to our pity party. "Woe is Me" is the mantra of your average American.
"Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground"
No matter how well we are doing, how healthy we are, how safe we are, there is always room for more. We just don't have enough.Whether it is a bigger house, more money, a lost love, a missed out on career, or just keeping up with the Jones' we find our selves wanting more. Why?
Delusions of Adequacy...
We live in the most prosperous country in the world. Though per capita we make less money than our parents and grandparents, we certainly have more. Even in these trying economic time's very few of us know someone without a home. But wait! I know someone who lost their house! I said home, that place where you hang your hat, you know; where your heart is? Not an investment nor the place you bought to flip and make a buck; a domicile; living quarters. Do you know anyone who does not have a roof over their head? Clothes on their back? Food in their mouth?
Do you know anyone without a cell phone? Broadband?
I've had the extreme pleasure to have traveled most of the world on the Government's dime. I've seen luxury and poverty, both extremes of the same broken scale. I've seen shanty towns and luxury islands created out of nothing for men to build houses on within sight of each other. I've seen women sold into the sex trade, I've seen children who know not where their next meal comes from. I've seen Sheik's who drive Lamborghini's ski down indoor snow covered slopes in the middle of the desert only to stop at the bar at the bottom to enjoy a rare single malt scotch. I dare say I have seen it all.
At the end of the day when I come home to my satellite television, my broadband internet, and my overflowing refrigerator I'm ashamed to admit that I too have felt the sharp pains of the missing "more".
"You may ask yourself
How do I work this?
You may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
You may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!"
I'm not perfect. Contrary to some of my high horse thinking, I know you aren't either.Don't assume that I don't have aspirations. I'll have my dream home someday. I'll have my sailboat. I'll write my novel (or better yet, I'll write my novel and have time to write it's sequel!). My perfect family will come along with me. What I will not do is carry the mantle of entitlement or greed and I will not impart that ideology to my children. I have a roof over my head, a good job, clean water, plenty of food and a healthy family full of love. Hell, I have too much to eat. I realize that I have every single thing that the majority of the world is killing themselves and each other to get (and then some).
I don't want to be greedy anymore...
"Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground"
Sometimes I want to pull a 'Mosquito Coast' and just give it all away and walk into the jungle.Those are the days that I realize how wealthy I really am. Those are the days that I realize that even our homeless and destitute are relatively healthy and well fed. Those are the days that I realize that I have too damn much as it is and complain about my lack of even more. And let's be honest... I'm not rich by American Standards.
"Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was..."
I have the luxury of wondering if I'm raising my children right. I have the luxury to think ahead to my retirement from the military and my second career. I have time to write a damn blog about what's on my mind. I have hobbies for Christ's sake...
"Water dissolving... and water removing
There is water... at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water
Carry the water
Remove the water from the bottom of the ocean"
I could turn this post into a diatribe on the American Whiner... but I won't. For the most part, we know who we are. I could talk about those that speak of 'My America' and how bad they want it back, but we all know those are scared people who are taking change poorly.I wont waste your time with that...
But I will say this;
I am a fortunate and blessed man. I have a beautiful, loving and patient wife. I have healthy, smart, innocent and loving children who receive and give numerous kisses and hugs each day. I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, a car and the gas to drive it. I have more electronic toys than I need. I have an extended network of family and friends standing by to render emotional, financial and even moral support if needed.
I am wealthy beyond belief. Even if it doesn't make sense.
"You may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
You may ask yourself
Where does that highway go to?
You may ask yourself
Am I right?... Am I wrong?
You may say to yourself
My God!... what have I done?"
"Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground
"Into the blue again/into the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground
Letting the days go by/into the silent water
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground"
"Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was... "
Years ago while on the way back to my wife's hometown in Michigan following a mini second honeymoon in Chicago we stopped for fast food. While eating my curly fries I assumed the persona of an overweight-financially and educationally challenged white rural female. I remarked how the fat the fries were cooked in was the nectar of the gods and how all that "health food mumbo-jumbo" had no bearing on my free-bird flag loving lifestyle. I continued the thick voiced soliloquy with a diatribe on the majority of America and it's pretentious ways. It is a memory of some very serious laughter. We were headed east on I-94; probably somewhere around Kalamazoo or Battle Creek, it was raining and I was smoking in the car with the window cracked. We laughed so hard; especially when someone resembling my assumed persona drove right by. Good times. [Late Entry: My Wife just reminded me of the portion of the act where I explained that salad was just a "Delivery Device for the manna that was Ranch Dressing..."]
That is the memory that stuck in my head when I thought of the title for this post. I thought of titling this post "Fat Entitled and American" but that would have put too much political emphasis on the article. This post is the initial response to a Doctor's Visit two weeks ago. [Background: I quite smoking cigarettes and tobacco products of any kind about three months ago. I put on twenty pounds quick as a bunny.]
It turned out that I was a little late on my scheduled physical. So I went in, showed that I was able to hear, see and that blood still pumped well enough in my veins to provide the requisite sample. I knew I put on a couple pounds but given my rank (I'm in the military) no one would really have the stones to look me in the eye and call me on it... Then the labs came back.
Them:"Chief, your cholesterol is very high and you have hypertension..."
Me: Excuse me?
Them: (My translation) "Chief, With respect, you're a lazy fat f@#k who doesn't exercise enough, you eat too much salt, red meat, fast food by god you drink too much. And if you ask me you are an angry pr!ck."
Breathe Dude...
Well. What do you say? You don't . You pack your gear and go home for the day. And you quietly freak the f@#k out. I did the right thing after about five minutes of some serious internal monologue. I called my wife. I told her exactly what was on the table. She was surprisingly calm and supportive (at least from the perspective of a man who assumed his first heart attack would come... well, now.) She pledged her uber-support of my professed immediate life change and all in all made me smile. I even made a smart decision. Instead of turning left and having one more Carl's Junior Five Dollar Jalapeno Burger I turned right and got a foot long turkey and ham at Subway (No chips and a Diet Coke).
See, before that day I was a red meat eating, cigarette smoking (in spirit) whiskey swilling American bad ass... or so I thought...
Fact is, I realized that I was an idiot. I was killing myself. For a guy whose parents passed before he could graduate high school (granted they had seven children before me and were 47 and 50 at the time of my birth) I realized I sure had been living a free wheeling f@#k all lifestyle. I realized that through position, rank and stature I had worked myself into an entitled self destructive bacchanal of a 40 something heart attack and early life insurance payoff culminating in fatherless children and a widowed wife.
For about ten days I have counted ever calorie. I have measure every single moment. I (and my wonderful supportive wife) have begun to run every morning. I have even started working out again. As I am the cook in the family we are all paying a little more attention to "serving size" and daily intake. My water intake now far exceeds my coffee or whiskey intake and little else save green tea enters my newly ribbon cut temple.
I will soon be a lean mean sexy mofo... Okay, no. Not really. And even if that were true, I don't give a damn about that. What I do care about is dancing with my daughters at their weddings (and having a heart strong enough to endure the bar bill). I want to meet my grandchildren. I want to meet my great-grandchildren. I want to be an old curmudgery pain in the ass to to my wife... Forever!
And I will. I am no longer Too lazy too live. After just a week I am proud to say that my blood pressure is low-normal. Cholesterol we'll check next month. But that doesn't matter. I feel good. I'm not headed back to sloth. I plan to live long enough to annoy the hell out of my old curmudgery children!
"I'm a dog, and I can smell your smell right through your clothes And I espouse some views that you yourself just might not hold Sometimes I am given pause to think when I consider what we could call the good life" *1
In my last post I talked about evolutionary imperatives and certain ingrained responses. After letting a few days pass I still find that my words feel right. I still feel most of us spend our lives trying to deny certain gut instincts. One might read that last post and these preceding words and assume that I was making excuses for inequities in the exhibited morals of the sexes. That would be to assume incorrectly.
"When it comes to the city versus the country life
Well, I must say that I far prefer a farmer's wife
Breakfast with the master in the morning
Feel the breeze and brush against a cow's leg - mmm!"
Instincts are useful for animals (and yes, I did say in the last post that we are animals. I will now say that we are not.) They can be useful for humans. The problem for humans is that we have graduated far enough past mere daily survival and species propagation (though it does always come back to that doesn't it?) that instincts often hinder just a bit more than they help. Today the ability to cope within a group and deny our basic instincts has become a cultural survival instinct rather than a primeval one. Most of the primeval survival instincts for humans have been relegated to family legend and urban myth; A mother who fought off an attacker to keep her children safe, a sixth sense that kept one from entering a dark alley or the reflexes to quickly grab a child before they ran headlong into harm. Each of these are things we'd not likely be able to replicate even if we wished to (at least under "laboratory conditions"). They are not practiced; they come from another place. We often forget that we are born fearful of snakes and spiders as our great to the Nth ancestors were. No one taught us to fear them. We rarely discuss that the sound of a siren grabs our attention so because it mimics the pitch and tone of a screaming child.
"But it seems the thinkers you call greatest are
The sort who often fall ill young, or pine away
How can they help but drag the species down?"
Those aforementioned instincts can have positive effects on today's culture. They serve to keep others alive. The other instincts though, specifically the one's that drive men to roam, to make war on the "other" and to create a submissive populace come from a time when our animal selves sat in the driver's seat and (rightfully so) held sway over the future of our species. Technology has granted us the boon of a gray area. We can take care of all whom we choose now. We humans no longer live under the sharp blade of 'Survival of the Fittest'. On the contrary, we go to great lengths to take care of our old and handicapped. We've turned the corner on evolution and now take care of our own based on created "rights". We celebrate the right of one to exist and speak of "Humanity". This quality of humanity tells us to take care of those who cannot take care of themselves. This IS a good thing...
"There's some debate about whether instincts should be held in check
Well, I suppose that I'm a liberal in this respect
I can't say I liked Robinson Crusoe
But at least he didn't tie his dogs up at night"
All of these things directly correlate to our presumed relationship structure today. Culturally it is unacceptable for a man to roam. Unacceptable for him to attempt to "rule" his household. No longer can a man cuff his children and shush his wife. These are good changes.
If we are to stand behind all of our scholar's rhetoric, we must all create a miracle. We must ignore instinct and embrace a new mutually exclusive paradigm; Emotional Logic.
"But it seems the thinkers you call greatest are
The sort who often fall ill young, or pine away
How can they help but drag the species down?"
The right thing is not always the easy thing. The right thing does not always feel right at the outset. The right thing does not always benefit the group or the species... the right thing can sometimes lead to the detriment of the individual.
"How come all your poets fall into despondencies?
And then write it down for us to read every indignity?
Not such worthy specimens, these creatures
Hardly fit for what you could call the good life"
Should I mow the lawn or vacuum? Can I do both? Can I be the chef and pick up the kids from school or must I return each night and demand "quiet time" and a scotch? My Wife (capital "w" mind you!) is as much a professional (if not more, since I am so by experience and not education) as I am. Why in the name of all that is good and holy (a short list these days) should I assume that my day was harder? Why should I assume as a "Mother" that her role is more important? Or more accurately, more labor intensive?
[Side note: The Fact that I believe that certain aspects of the ten months spent in vitro are something that a father can never surpass or understand are another story]
It's not. Is it different? Certainly. Men and women are different... nearly different species. But we DO love each other... we do NEED each other. We are however confused as hell. We need to wake up. We need to talk TO each other more and AT each other less.
We need to scale back our gender ego's and peel back the layers a bit to reveal that we are both just as scared as the other when it comes to the societal pressures placed open us. I am not my father. And you are not your mother, we must say to each other. We are us, and we must learn everything all over...
Just as our parents did. So take a deep breath. Look him or her in the eye. And say... How you feel without blame. What you are scared of without fault. What you are willing to do to help without shame.
