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Discussion Topic:
On Becoming My Dad
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02-Mar-2006 @ 11:36 AM
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Joined: May 1999
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Half-Truths By Nils Ling
Another little aside - don't forget to laugh your troubles away on the 8th March at Langley Village Hall, Northumberland - call 01434 684084 for tickets - only £5 each.
On Becoming My Dad
The other night, my teenage daughter had her boyfriend over. They were sitting in the kitchen, talking. Well, she was talking. He was grunting the way teenage boys do when the testosterone clogs everything but basic motor functions. That’s when I walked in, dressed in my best - well, my only - bathrobe.
My daughter looked up in utter horror and disgust, and I realized, then and there, that I was turning into my father.
That was exactly the kind of thing my dad would do - wandering out in his ratty old bathrobe when I had a friend of the other major gender over. I remember once saying that if I ever did that to my kids, I hoped somebody would shoot me on the spot. Over the years, my views have mellowed on this issue - but I still felt a flush of sympathy for my daughter.
I always hoped I'd be one of those "cool" dads. I listen to rock and roll. I wear blue jeans. I know the names of all five Backstreet Boys: A.J. ... Brian ... Kevin ... uhh ... Grumpy and Dopey. Okay, so I'm not quite that cool. But hey, the rock and roll and jeans have to count for something.
Alas, no. Everybody wears blue jeans now. They just cut them different for old farts - extra room for the overly generous butt. As for rock and roll - well, Mick Jagger and the boys are closing fast on statutory retirement age. Remember the warnings about bad drugs that came from the stage in Woodstock? At rock concerts now they warn people that "there's some bad Metamucil out there ... watch out for some funky Kaopectate".
My dad was very uncool, and proud of it. He wore cardigan sweaters. He actually owned several pairs of plaid romeo slippers. And when he was duded up for golf - well, you wanted to wear welder's glasses. I think one of the Apollo missions actually spotted him out on the course once. It was then that those famous words were first uttered: “Uh, Houston, we have a problem ...”
He'd go out of his way to do things that would embarrass me in front of my friends. I used to hate running into him when my buddies and I were hanging around the mall. If I didn't spot him first, he'd sneak up on me and get me in a headlock, give me a noogie. Then he’d stop and carry on an animated conversation with a mannequin. My friends would howl. I would be completely and utterly mortified. It was great sport for everyone but me.
But the bathrobe was the worst. He'd wander out into the living room when I had a girlfriend over, scratching his butt. Then he'd just plop himself down and start reading the newspaper. The robe was old and ratty, and occasionally it would fall open and you couldn’t help but see the corner of his boxers. You tried not to notice, but there they were. He didn't care - this was his by God house, and if he wanted to go into the living room and read the newspaper buck naked, well, that was his right. Believe me, I never called his bluff on the buck naked thing.
So here I was, waltzing through my own by God house in my own bathrobe, and my daughter was squirming like a dew worm on a hotplate. I knew right away what the problem was. My first thought was "How could I do this to my daughter?" Then I thought: "Hey ... wait a minute ... whose by God house is this?"
... and the transformation was complete. I had officially become my father. I figure in no time at all I’ll be sitting by a pool in Fort Lauderdale or someplace, wearing bermuda shorts and black knee socks and grousing about the government or the “kids today”. And I’ll go for dinner at 4:30 and only leave a tip “if she smiles and freshens the water”.
I’ll start growing great tufts of hair out of my ears. My eyebrows will start to sprout wildly in all directions. I’ll make a big “hooo-ahhh” sound every time I get into or out of a chair. And when any of my kids call, I’ll just say hello and then let them speak to their mother.
Tonight I’m going shopping at Wal-Mart. They’ve got a special on plaid romeo slippers. I could fight it - but this is going to be fun. For me, anyway.
As for my daughter … well, I think she’s in the market for a new Dad.
(Nils Ling is a playwright and broadcaster living in Prince Edward Island. His one-man show “The Truth About Daughters” is being presented Langley Village Hall at 7:30pm on the 8 March 2006. Further information and tickets from Jane Brown on 01434 684084.)
_________________
Ed Brown
www.solid-us.com
www.go-britain.com
Ed Brown
www.go-britain.com
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