A Dad by Any Other Name Would Still be Clueless

I am not the first person to be a dad. That may have been the most patently obvious statement ever. Right up there with phrases like “It can get a little windy in Kansas” and “Dean Martin was cool”.
Even though there have been so many fathers before me there is no master class or even a fully reliable brochure which delineates how to do it well. This is probably due to the fact no two children, fathers, or situations (even similar situations hours apart) are ever truly the same. That fact is really starting to tick me off. So, I, like every father before me, just muddle through as best I can.
The family joke is we are not socking money into education funds. We are saving to pay the therapy bills my kids will accrue when they get old enough to realize the sheer volume of stuff I did not understand. There are also the occasional times I do things completely on purpose to cause them grief. One of those things is writing about them in the newspaper (insert diabolical laughter here).
I have to adjust to the fact that my children are starting to leave the truly childish existence I am used to, not good at, just used to behind. Emilyjane, the oldest one, is fifteen. This means she is in high school. This means she is driving. This means she is going to date (ack) boys. This means dad has some adjusting to do.
My wife, Claudia, is adjusting better than I am, but that is to be expected. Just the other night I had between 7 and 249 teenagers in my basement. Okay, it was twelve, but that’s within the range I mentioned. (I’m not lying. It’s hyperbole, a tool writer’s have used for generations.) Anyway, my wife came into the room I was hiding, uh, working in. She was very excited that our house was the “go to” house for my daughter and her friends.
She was focused on the facts that our daughter was in our house, she had friends who were good kids, her friends saw our house as an acceptable place to be, and we knew they were all safe. I was focused on the facts that there were several hairy legged boys near my daughter, I was paying for the snacks and soda pop they were drinking, and since I am an old man with a job I would be going to bed as they were raucously laughing below me. (Actually, they wouldn’t keep me awake. I can go to sleep lying in the middle of a forest being cut down by thirty or so chainsaws, more hyperbole.)
Alice is child number 2, in birth order, not in my heart. (Each child thinks one of the other kids is my favorite, which plays to my advantage from time to time. Insert more diabolical laughter.) Luckily for me Alice is not to the high school, driving and boys stage…yet. I can still pretend she is a little girl, even though she has grown nine inches in the past year (not much hyperbole), developed a sharp wit (sometimes at the expense of other family members) and started spending inordinate amounts of time fixing her hair and using her cell phone. It happens to all of them sooner or later, like that old movie, Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
Both girls were lucky enough to land featured roles in the Depot Theater Company’s production of Seussical. Emilyjane does a great job playing a larger than life character. Her character is a self-absorbed vamp. This role is nothing like her in real life…thank goodness. It shows off her acting chops, her singing talent, her dancing skills and entirely too much leg for the comfort of her old man. Alice plays the kid who “thinks big thinks”. I have to admit I was taken aback by her performance. She showed a professionalism beyond her years which again forces me to face the fact she too is growing up before I have a chance to get used to the idea.
Now for the kid riding drag on this herd, George. He will be going into fourth grade in August. Alice may have played the kid who thinks big thinks, but George lives the role. He can devise elaborate scenarios and characters which would make any Hollywood screenwriter jealous. He does it daily. He loves to describe in minute detail his latest creations. The little dude could talk the bark off a tree, the fur off a sasquatch, and any politician under the table.
I enjoy being a father. I just thought my in charge-ness would last longer. Wrong again, Dad.