I am coming to the realization that my pride is largely unwarranted.
I am going to be a father to a little boy in four months. I do not yet possess the ability to count large spans of time in weeks. I like to use the largest quantity possible. Twenty-one and a half weeks will never sound right to me. It will sound uppity, as if counting in smaller units makes the age or quantity more impressive.
It doesn't. It sounds like something the socially awkward kid says in junior high. What was that? You have three thousand pennies? Someone tell that kid that they started using paper money--I'm not sure if he knows.
(Of course, not a word of that rant was directed at women. Women do weird stuff, and I find it simply easier to let them do whatever they want. I just don't want them to get mad at me.)
I don't count in weeks, and this is one of the many reasons that I am beginning a quest. A quest to learn all of the things that a dad aught to know.
I do not yet have a definitive list, but I've decided to start with the following:
1. Proper tree-houses.
I never had one growing up, and I may one day write a book on how all of the bad things in my life could be traced back to my lack of adolescent Fortress of Solitude.
Few things impress me like a person with mad knot skills. I love watching experienced knotters knot with gusto. I eat it up. Throwing knots. Synching knots. Those knots that connect two or three ropes together. I swear Richard Dean Anderson is alive today because he can tie 8 billion types of knots. I must master this. Then I will be able to smile, and sit back contentedly in a hammock of my own creation.
3. Go-kart building.
Pinewood derby cars are fun. So is running over someone's pinewood derby car with your homemade albeit perfectly functioning go-kart.
(Confession: I want a go-kart. If the little man wants one, he better build his own.)
4. Piano playing.
How else will I be able to have a sudden burst of inspiration a la 101 Dalmatians? No piano, no catchy and lucrative Cruela De'vil song, and no impromptu "Great Balls of Fire" in a crowded restaurant while I'm training to become a fighter pilot.
There we go.
I am sure that I will shortly learn more things in which I am terribly inept.
This is the joy of fatherhood.
And probably this…
--Believe in yourselves. Dream. Try. Do good.