“Move this damn car or else you’re gonna be sorry!”. An emotionally distraught old man got out of his car in the middle of traffic to yell this at me with my wife and 17-month-old daughter in the car. This happened yesterday and it made me think about what my threshold is for violence as a father and protector.
My wife and I had the day off when we decided to take our daughter for a car ride to run a few errands in the afternoon. For reasons unknown, it seemed that at every turn there was blocked lanes, road construction, and annoyed drivers. I don’t know if it was the rising price of gas ($4.30/gal where we are) or because Valentine’s Day just passed and now the love is gone so everyone has the power to act like a complete douchebag.
Our whole week was blocked lanes: it started with our taxes last weekend where we found out we made “too much money”, to our daughter’s second ear infection in three weeks – oh and the pharmacy we have been going to issued the wrong dosage per the doctor’s script. Thanks, Westlake Village Pharmacy. We won’t be going to you again since you can’t figure out the difference between teaspoons and milliliters. You could kill someone like that.
So we are driving at about 1:30pm on Friday, I exit an offramp and proceeded northbound on a busy road where traffic seemed to generate due to construction and a visible major accident in the upcoming intersection. About 30 seconds into our dead stop, I was ready to go into mushroom-cloud-laying motherf*cker mode.
Most fathers don’t read Parenting.com, and there’s a reason why. Go to their website and click the “dad” link.
That’ll tie up a couple people for awhile, but the point is: there’s no “dad” link. At least, not right up alongside “mom”. Maybe it’s in “community”, since that’s what they treat fathers as. This was especially true recently, in a one-two-punch from Glen Freyer and Shawn Bean.
Wall-of-Text Warning: If you don’t absolutely love the pants off reading, do not click that “continued” button.
A link that got lost in the storm lately was one from The Stir by Sasha Brown-Worsham about fathers insisting on paternity tests. While most people snub their nose up at the idea, Brown-Worsham raises some good points, like ta hear’em? Hereya go.
First off, the irrefutable evidence: when a child is born, everyone knows which vagina he or she just destroyed like Godzilla emerging through a Tokyo skyline. Obviously, the chick on the table with the squinty look on her face and the trail of blood out of her is the mother…