The day my oldest daughter was born I saw perfection. Please don’t get me wrong. I know all parents immediately fall in love with their children the moment they are delivered. But in my own experience with having 4 children, only my oldest daughter was born perfect. Of course I loved them all the same, but not all of them entered the world ready to win a beauty pageant. For example, my middle son was born resembling a shriveled up piece of leather rather than a little human. It was almost as if he had an extreme case of Benjamin Button-itis. My youngest daughter cried so loudly that I only viewed her as a shrieking chimpanzee, and even the Maternity ward preferred she stay in Mommy’s room. Yet, my oldest daughter had the complexion any female on earth would die for, and an angelic face which translated life through a spectrum I’ve never witnessed before. Eventually, after my other children either dried out or moistened up, they all became insanely beautiful.

3 years later I began threatening other kids my daughter’s age. That’s right, I was ready to kick some diaper ass. How did this come to be? Well I’ll tell you. After I started taking my daughter to daycare, I noticed a little boy that would come over and greet her every day. He openly conveyed his crush on my daughter on a daily basis and it fucking irked me. I thought to myself “Why the hell is this little shit messing with my daughter?”. Yes, I was upset about something arbitrary and petty, not to mention innocent. However, even after rationalizing the boy’s behavior it still fucking irked me. One day, after bringing my daughter into her daycare room, the boy approached my daughter with the intent of giving her a kiss. I immediately bent my knees, allowing our eyes to meet at an even keel, and firmly whispered “if you ever go near my daughter again I’ll take you out”. As he fought back the tears I felt no remorse.

Luckily the staff at the daycare was quite familiar with me and were aware that I was anything but orthodox. After all, they did have first row seats to some of my children’s antics which could have only derived from “Daddy”…..like the time my daughter arrived at daycare with a baseball tee that read “My Papa told me I could kick em in the nuts if they don’t like the METS”. Nevertheless, I was reprimanded by the staff, yet in a soft fashion as they found my vigorous posture towards the boy a tad on the humorous side. My wife later explained that I shouldn’t be taking things so seriously, but how could I not? I decided that this was only the beginning and that I had to prepare myself for a battle with boys for the rest of my daughter’s natural born life.

Later that day I started training my daughter with one-two punch combinations in a series of maneuvers that ended with a sizzling guillotine kick to the groin. I even contemplated polishing an old fashioned rum mug to collect the testicles I might have to cut from any teenage boy with sinful intentions towards my daughter. I had envisioned the garden shears as the perfect “Testie Snippers”. Even though my daughter was still only three years old I knew that “battle ready” was the only type of ready. You might think I’m overreacting, but that’s what happens when you mess with Daddy’s girl.

When daughters are brought into the world, it is the first time Fathers realize that perfection in humans actually exists. Men automatically accept the fact that they themselves had never bestowed such purity, and that our children deserve nothing less than a Father willing to become the ultimate protector of such a blossoming innocence. The mere thought of one crossing that very fine line with daughters evokes added commitment to play the role of human safeguard.

When it comes to our angels, Dads will not hesitate to make boys cry, whether they’re 3, 13 or 30 years old. Boys can rest assured that their soiled pants will be the direct result of dangerously infiltrating the personal space of daddy’s little girl.  So, to anyone that is willing to entertain the idea of treading on thin ice with a man’s little girl, you’ve been warned. Proceed at your own peril.

 

Hi everyone… a little different tone today.
I always felt fortunate for the gift of humor. Whether others found my humor entertaining or not that was completely irrelevant to me. Often times when I make a joke my wife will laugh, not because the joke was funny, but because she finds it extremely humorous when I’m dying of laughter from my own wit. As long as I could discover a laughable spec in any situation I was always able to cope with even the roughest of moments. From adolescence onwards, I noticed that it was not only I who found my comedic stabs to lighten the atmosphere, but quite a few others as well. Some did not. My humor ultimately developed into an advocate in many facets, even when facing the occasional bully. As a youth, if I found myself in close encounters with a bully, I could escape personal trauma merely by delivering a simple one liner with the potential to change the tone in the atmosphere, often even changing the mind of my very own perpetrator who in short moments prior attempted to destroy me in the schoolyard. Admittedly, my humor is what might have landed me in some unfavorable predicaments in the first place, nevertheless it just kept erupting and I was often unable to prevent the words from leaving my lips. I wasn’t always able to avoid getting into a scrap, but I then dealt with it the way every other person dealt with it since the beginning of time …… I faced it.

Unfortunately my young children have not yet found their portable bag of infinite humor, and they are also not yet geared with street smarts or defensive instincts. As long as my wife and I are capable, we plan to preserve every drop of our children’s innocence and pure wonder of the world, thus we’ve not yet equipped them with skills to enter into battle with. However, for every child there comes a day when things change.

Some time ago, when I returned home from work, my youngest son (age 6) was waiting for me at the door. He had depressed body language and seemed uncomfortable to approach me with his news of the day. He reluctantly explained how he had been, for the last several weeks, bullied by another boy on the bus. He was bullied psychologically and physically. Instead of following my initial instincts to advise my son to knock this kid’s block off, I asked him if he had reported the incidents to the bus driver or any other authority at school. My son revealed that although he had made the bus driver aware of the situation, the other boy would continue his antics whenever the bus driver wasn’t looking. I’ll get back to what happened in a moment.

Folks, in today’s society we’re supposed to “talk” it out. We’re supposed to “tell teachers” and “inform on our friends and classmates”. We’re supposed to “ignore” the bullies’ words and actions. We’re supposed to “take higher ground”. I agree that there are civil solutions which we can teach our children to pursue when faced with bullies. But we have to be careful that we’re not building “Benedict Arnolds”, that we’re not creating dependent kids who cannot take care of themselves, that we’re not showing our children they can only feel positive about themselves when they have the backing of an adult holding their hand. I refuse to raise a child that without the constant support of an adult cannot build self-confidence, or cannot rely on a built-in defense mechanism (created only by discovering their own ways through trials), or who lacks assertiveness and peace of mind from knowing exactly who they are as people.

So, after I felt confident that my son had taken the proper steps to cordially resolve the issue without positive results, I told my son the following;
“The next time you feel physically threatened by this kid, you throw your hammer fist right in his grill. Make sure you get him square in the nose. His eyes will most likely water up and he’ll be shocked that you didn’t take his shit. Maybe then he will leave you alone forever. However, there is always a chance that this boy may want to counter, so if you even sense that he might come back at you, throw him another deuce.” My son said “but I’ll get in trouble with the school”. I then proceeded to explain the following: “The teachers may have authority over you in school, but the ultimate authority over you are your parents- and what your parents say is the golden rule as far as you’re concerned. If the school calls me about you defending yourself, I’ll explain that I guided you accordingly”.

So what happened you ask? Two days later, after coming home from work, I was pulling into the driveway when I noticed my son waiting at the garage door for me. He looked anxious, excited and wore a smirk. I knew something was up but I couldn’t imagine what. This is the same kid that runs around naked with a batman cape and reads Victoria’s Secret catalogs when we’re not looking, so he could have been smirking about anything. I stepped out of the car and before I could say hello he said “Papa, guess what?! Remember that kid I told you about from the school bus? Well he tried messing with me again today. I told him to stop but he didn’t. So I popped him in the nose like you told me to and he backed away and sat somewhere else. He didn’t even look at me for the rest of the bus ride”. My son looked proud and confident, not because he hurt someone, but because he handled an intimidating situation on his own when no one else was there to help. And that’s how life works. Since that day my son has been more confident, and less afraid of the world. He still avoids confrontation when possible but he is not afraid to face it when it’s unavoidable. Self-empowerment. LIFE.

I really think we need to harden kids the fuck up. Mine included. At least let’s give them a chance to learn how to take a blow in life and get back up. Let’s make them use a rake and a wheelbarrow every so often and get off the devices. Let’s lead the children to excavate any internal integrity so that we may nurture it through lessons of family and hard work, and equally through lessons of rising above adversity. Let them get cut from the little league team if they’re not good enough- they’ll try harder to improve for next year. They will be stronger human beings and less apt to crumble under bullies. This sense of self will trickle into adulthood as well.

We’ve all seen those social media shares or email circulars where the heading states “click like or share if you remember this list of things from growing up”. The list will go to remind us of the times when kids drank out of hoses, rode in cars without seatbelts or played in the woods all day until it became dark. Most notably the list also states “We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!”

I agree…..

Have a great weekend everyone! I’ll deliver the funnies again on Monday to cure your “back to work blues”.

 

Let’s see now- mmmm…..Either take my 4 darling children to a fancy restaurant where manners and cordiality are required, or use that extra cash on a babysitter for a rare evening out with my wife…..and I’m dialing the sitter now.

Yes, I said it in the title. On occasion our children can find systematic ways to unearth the different facets of assholism. Yes assholism, it’s a new word – o.k? Our children are the most important beings to my wife and I, and we’d gladly forfeit our souls for each and every one of them. Having said that, allow me to share some of the glorious fashions in which my sweet children glow;

• We return home from the movie theater at 10pm when one of my children asks “can I watch a show?”  I say, “Nope, its late little buddy and we just came from the movies”. He says” that’s so unfair and you treat me like garbage”. That is defined as “Spoiled Assholism”. We just spent seventy freaking dollars for the family to see a movie and he gives me crap for not letting him watch Chucky. Fuck Chucky.
• My oldest child, oh boy. The teen years have begun and I may be forced to kick the stool out from underneath myself. A simple request that might require infinitesimal work at best, can trigger the absolute “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” syndrome. I know all kids eventually grow out of it, but for now I prefer his bedroom to be padded. The definition here is “teenoid assholism”.
• Next up; our 9 year old daughter knows she’s smarter than everyone else, sometimes even smarter than us. We often feel the need to hire a team of lawyers just to get a win.  Definition = “condescending assholism”. However I will treat this one with care as her status as a genius might play well into our retirement plan.
• A few years ago one of the kids was sitting on our new couch while I was in the middle of a good reprimand. The little monster just stared right through me, and commenced whizzing in his pants and ultimately all over the cushions. I say “Well played little one, well played”. I call this one “onepointforkids-nonefordad assholism”
• Check out this scenario; your child threatens to play with his “joystick” at the dinner table…..in a restaurant!  You have to guarantee him dessert in order for his operations to cease. We call this “blackmail assholism”. The kids know we won’t fully reprimand them in public, so in this case we’re left with no choice but to bargain with a 5 year old.  This is one of my favorites; “just-wait-till-we-get-to-the-car assholism”.
• Or that moment when you’re all out for a nice Family gathering during the holidays and the youngest blurts out that they need to “shit a brick”. Where do they get this stuff? Movies? Social media? I have deemed this as “embarrassing assholism”, which is probably the most common form of assholism among children. Whether they are running through the supermarket like freed chimps, or loudly trumpet “look at that lady!” referring to the 800lb behemoth of a woman standing directly in front of us in line at the cash register. Surely that poor woman contemplated devouring us all….

Listen, we think our kids are the coolest and we love them dearly. I’m merely taking some isolated cases as examples. In fact we now look at some of these instances with fond memories. They make up part of the adventures that we don’t want to forget. As another example, when I found my 6 year old hanging out of the 2nd story window wearing a batman mask and batman cape, otherwise fully naked, with the family cat in one hand…frightening then, funny now.  And it doesn’t mean we are unable to call them little shits or whatever your choice words are at home. From time to time a harsh word to your children will be surmised as a wakeup call. There are many us whom will carry guilt when going to sleep tonight because we may have used strong language or given a spank earlier that day. Don’t blame yourself. Kids can be little F’ers, it is the simple nature of things.

But a fine restaurant you say? Although our kids are generally well behaved we typically don’t visit Jacket and Tie restaurants. Not unless it’s a for special occasions. We prefer to save that money and cook at home or engage in other activities. When we go out to dinner with our children during the week we try to incorporate the following steps;

1. Pick a restaurant where you and your family are well known.
2. Call ahead and order the children’s dishes.
3. Arrive at the table with food waiting for them.
4. Take your time, relax with a beer and look over the menu while the kids are just getting started on their main course.
5. Order your main course and desserts for the kids so that they arrive simultaneously.
6. You eat and they’re busy with ice cream.
7. Pay check
8. Get the hell out unscathed and hope they fall asleep in the car

I’ll leave you with that.

It’s been a brutal day- a crappy morning trying to escape the dangers of hanging around the house for 5 minutes longer than anticipated. In those five minutes, not only could one of my children’s lives fall apart because they are wearing the wrong pants to school, but my wife might discover the awful perpetration in which I had the audacity to engage in……. leaving my used towel on the side of the bed- ohhhh no! Armafuckinggeddon!!! Ok, I know she works extremely hard to keep things orderly, but at this stage in the day, in my opinion, its only a damned towel that I used to dry my ‘clean’ body, not a rag that I just used to pick up the dog’s diarrhea. In her mind it might have been the icing on the cake after debating with a genius yet ferocious nine year old child to a point of almost having to hire a lawyer to win the argument. Over what you ask? Answer: Why the world won’t end by having to deal with a school lunch today instead home-packed lunch. Ahhh yes, the ecstasies of family mornings.

In any case the day must move forward and after retreating to the bedroom to hang up the very same towel that now has me classified in the same pool as evil demons, I finally get to leave for work- another wonderful haven that rewards me with crushing depression day after day. I will spare you readers the gentle euphemisms I might offer regarding my awesome day at work,  just know that I’m glad the day has shown the end is drawing near. I’m thinking a little dinner, play with the kids and then just chill out.

Of course the plan receives altercations once I’m home. My wife is battling the 13 year old over homework; in fact he’s stated that he’s ready to move out and make it on his own with the whole twelve dollars he has “hidden” away. My 7 year old is standing on the kitchen stool with his “ding-a-ling” in hand, pretending its a joystick and he’s about to get the high score in Galaga. How my wife keeps her sanity with these chimps is beyond me. Anyhow, the girls are calm and that’s half the battle. I grab a scoop of peanut butter instead of the planned 5 minute sit-down and put the “ladies” to bed. At this stage I’m under the assumption that my duties for the day are done, so I find the sanctuary of an empty living room, grab the remote and sit down. My ass barely hits the cushion and I hear my wife call my name like a North Korean Lieutenant yelling at a captive prisoner for stretching his legs in a cage. She’s asking me to come wherever she might be in the home at that moment. WTF? How is it that every single time, at any time, any place, when my ass requires more than ever to sit and relax, as though throughout the Galaxy, throughout the Universe, the echoes of eternity come down in the form of my wife’s voice? She hasn’t even seen me in the last 5-10 minutes!! She has no idea I just sat down does she? Is it women’s intuition? Or does my ass set off an alarm in my wife’s head every time it hits fabric?

Someone give me the strength.

In a recent effort to cut our living costs at home, my wife and I decided to genuinely endeavor to save money in multiple ways. Reducing our monthly burden involved canceling our Directv service. We were joining   “streaming” crusaders who had left cable and dish networks in their past. My stomach sank once the decision had been made- less live sports channels? No connection with live TV and perhaps lose contact with the outside world?!  Shit….this was not exactly what I had in mind but my wife was ADAMANT and of course If I wanted any lovin’ that evening I was forced to oblige.

So, later that afternoon I called DirecTV and before even mentioning any intention to cancel the service, they made me aware that any discounts and promotions on my plan had expired….just super. Apparently I had also been paying for the NFL league Ticket without evening knowing about it (If I had known I had it I could have watched two more Giants’ games this season) and that I am back to an “a la carte” style package. After a painful battle with the customer representative I managed to not only receive credit back for the NFL package, but was also able to reduce my upcoming bills substantially. All I had to do was step down to a lesser base package, cancel the sports package (tears included) and in doing so we lost some channeling options. So I figured this would be a big first step into the streaming world without giving up all live TV in one shot.

After arriving home that evening I immediately noticed that my wife was a bit flustered- two children fighting her in the usual homework wars, another child has flooded the bathroom from his bubble bath in an effort to give his navy seals action figures better cover in battle, and another is whistling so terribly out of tune that it actually created pressure on my cranium. I told my wife that I’d prepare dinner and ultimately made one of the better curry chicken soups if I might say so myself…

So, Now- the kids are in bed after explaining to them that calling each other asswipes and mangina is completely inappropriate, and they are finally silent. My wife and I plop ourselves in our respective places to lounge in the living room like dead bodies, and we turn on the TV. I knew the questions were coming. “Oh,Did you talk to Cable?” “What did they say?”. I explained the battle I had with Directv, and boasted about the returned credit and huge reduction in bills, although we had to give up a few channel options. My wife asked what we gave up and I told her a list of channels of which one was the Oprah channel. She looked straight out at the television, tried to get the Oprah channel and found it to be blacked out. She asked me if I was crazy- “do you know all the shows I tape on there?!!! And all the Dateline episodes are on there too!”.  She then went to bed a bit miffed with me, thus no sex for Daddy.  I thought to myself “we agreed to cancel everything just this morning, and now a lack of the Oprah channel killed my night”. “Thanks Mrs. Winfrey, you have all the fucking money in the world and now you “OWN” my bedroom too.”

10 minutes after my wife “retired” for the evening, I heard my 8 year old son wake up and vomit. I put him in the shower, threw his linens in the wash and stationed myself on bucket duty for the rest of the night. 5 wonderful sessions later, when we arrived at the “bile only” phase, I was thinking “Oprah…………..that bitch”.