Am I a bad dad?
Dear Dale:
I grew up on a farm. There were always animals around. Hawks overhead. Gophers in the field. Dogs running free and cats sleeping in the barn. And like all farm kids, I helped out. Fed pigs, milked cows and slaughtered chickens.
I’m also a hunter. Ducks, geese, deer, moose, elk. Whatever I can get a license for. Nothing makes me happier than sitting in a blind, watching the sun rise and listening to the honking of geese.
But my older brother got the farm so I joined the power company. Became a lineman. Bounced around a bit, lots of small towns, and ended up in Butte. Got married, bought a house and had a kid. Two, actually. A boy and a girl.
Thought I could share my love of the great outdoors with my boy Kevin but no such luck. He’s a city kid, obsessed with jokes. Likes to leave the lid loose so you spill salt all over your food. That and put plastic flies in your soup.
Made the mistake of giving him a fake turd for his birthday. Thought he’d like it. Boy does he ever. Whenever we have guests, he comes to the table with it in his mouth and says, “Hey dad, look what I found in the toilet.”
But he’s young. Only ten. So maybe it’s just a phase. Something he’ll grow out of. So I took him hunting. Thought he might get into the guns. There’s nothing like holding a bit of lethal steel in your hands to smarten you up. But he didn’t. Just stood there eating chips and complaining about the cold.
So much so I regretted bringing him. Should’ve left him at home with his mom. But then, there it was. The biggest buck I’ve ever seen. But just as I raised my rifle, Kevin scared it off by making fart noises with his armpit.
I was furious. Came so close to wiping that grin off his face with the butt end of my rifle. Didn’t of course. But sure wanted to. Had to go for a long walk to calm down. Later, as we sat at McDonald’s eating burgers, I looked at him and wondered, am I a bad dad?
Signed,
I can’t believe this is my kid
Dear ICBTIMK:
Hell no. There isn’t a parent out there who hasn’t wanted to smack their kid. I want to hit kids all the time. And they aren’t even mine.
Got to admit: I’ve been lucky. None of the chicks I banged got pregnant. Doc says it’s because of all the acid I did. Turned my sperm into corkscrews. Just spin around in circles, going nowhere. Who says drugs are bad for you?
But I know some guys who weren’t so lucky. Decent dudes who just wanted to get drunk, high and laid. But they made the mistake of knocking up some slut and next thing you know, they’re stuck at home changing diapers.
And according to them, kids are a total disappointment. You think your son’s going to fulfill your dream of playing in the pros but all he wants to do is look at his stamp collection, watch TV or have farting contests with his friends. It’s like they have minds of their own.
The truth is, kids are a lottery. You never know what you’re going to get. You might get lucky and have a cool kid who’s always getting laid, is the life of the party and can do several hits of acid and still win at pool but, odds are, you’ll get a nerd, a sad sack in spectacles, who’s always got his head in a book. The sort who grows up to be an accountant. Or worse, a politician.
Just be glad he isn’t gay. I got a buddy. He’s a hunter, just like us, and his son turned out to be light in the loafers. Kept stealing his mom’s undies. And not the granny panties either. The sexy stuff. Victoria’s Secret.
(Say what you will about the gays but they do know quality.)
And since the dude was a bit fat, he kept stretching them out of shape. Cost them quite a lot of money actually.
My buddy tried to toughen him up by sending him to military school but it didn’t work. Was horribly bullied. Kept dropping his gun and crying in class. Got expelled for sucking cock. The principal said he was a bad influence. His classmates lost their aggressiveness after having their balls drained.
So they sent him back to regular school but that didn’t work either. Tried to kill himself a couple times but wasn’t very good at it. Graduated from high school and went to Europe to learn how to make pastries. Met a French guy and they moved into together. Bought a pair of matching poodles.
A couple years later, they decided to get married so my buddy and his wife had to fly to France, watch their son walk down the aisle in a white dress and listen to his gay friends ooh and aah about how darling everything was: the flowers, the decorations, the specially permed poodles — all the while sitting there with a fake smile plastered on his face and pretending to enjoy himself when really, all he wanted to do was eat the barrel of his shotgun.
So next time your son provokes you with a prank and you want to choke him, don’t feel bad. Accept those murderous impulses as natural. You’ll be glad you did. Because that’s what real love is: putting up with friends and family, even when they exasperate you.
We are all, even the most determined loner, surrounded by people who make claims on us — our time, our energy, our patience — and sometimes, we have to accommodate them. But just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to like them. Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Dale
Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale
