Flushed but Not Forgotten

Dear Dad,


               Too long have we men labored under the delusion that in our homes there lies in wait a throne. A cool porcelain seat, surrounded by four soundproof walls through which no nagging hails can pierce. A place of solitude and peace. A room where the magazines rule and time has no meaning. Well, it DOES NOT EXIST! This scrap of suburban lore has been smited like the dragons of old. The throne rooms of our forefathers are overrun by piles of dirty laundry and yellow bathtub ducks. Ducks that mock the precious few moments we have to ourselves. No matter how many times we gather the laundry and stomp on those ridiculous ducks, the next day will find more mildewing pairs of toddler whitey tighties and a smiling, squeaking, water squirting damn duck! A truer tale about man and his throne should be told.

In honor of the Halloween season I present you with 'A Trip to the Zoo'

Dear Dad,

               I decided to take advantage of my time in the great metropolis of St. Louis and invite my wife and children to join me at the zoo. Money is always an issue in my family and I felt that the zoo was the answer to my children’s complaints of never getting to do anything. The zoo is free after all. I called my wife from my hotel and made the arrangements. I would escort the five of them through the FREE wonderland that is the St. Louis Zoo!

               I stayed in St. Louis that Sunday. While my wife was getting the children ready and preparing to endure the two and a half hour car ride with four sleep deprived yet excited children, I slept in. At the last possible moment I drove the ten minutes to the zoo. There I paid eighteen dollars to park in the parking lot as opposed to seven miles away for the free pre zoo marathon so many others were partaking in. I called my wife and prepared her for the eighteen dollar lot entry she too would have to fork over.
My wife got there (late of course) and after she chewed a bit of my butt off for looking so chipper, we gathered the children and like Dorothy and her fellows we skipped into Oz hand in hand. Colton my three year old son informed me that he JUST WANTED TO SEE AN ELEPHANT!

Cinder Man 3, No More Leftovers!

Dear Dad,


               When you have children nothing lasts for long, let alone forever. Sometimes it seems as if every time I turn around something else is broken. In the summertime, when sound carries the best my neighborhood is full of dog barks, child’s yells and Fathers shouts of ‘Hey what the hell happened in here!”

                When I met my wife I already had one son from my first (practice) marriage. It was this prior experience that gave me the courage to mock my wife’s nervousness. I remember when she was about six months pregnant with her first child she brought me a bunch of white plastic trinkets and doo-dads. She said she wanted me to ‘Child Proof’ the house. I looked at that young sweet innocent face, and then I laughed. I laughed hard and long until her face didn’t look so sweet anymore. Sometimes when it is quiet outside in the dark of night and the wind picks up just a little you can still hear ‘The Man’ giggle a bit. I threw the plastic latches in the trash, drove down to the local national guard armory and purchased the things I knew we would need through a contact of mine. I reinforced all the studs in the walls with solid steel beams. I put auto firing turrets by all the breakables and reinforced deadbolts on the silverware drawers. This is what experience does for you.

Cinder Man and the Dishwasher

Dear Dad,

               My lovely wife still doesn’t believe I am always right! After years of marriage and countless offerings of proof she still insists that I am wrong from time to time. I don’t know how to resolve this issue with finality so I just continue to provide proof of my infallibility. One such opportunity presented itself with the replacing of the dishwasher. The boss suggested that I have professionals come out and take care of it for me. However since I had never before removed a dishwasher or installed one and since I wasn’t sure how the machine worked, I decided that the missus was wrong. I informed her that hiring someone to do the job would be absurd. Of course I can do it. Yes dear, I know what I am doing. No dear, you don’t have to leave the house. Of course I am not going to burn anything down. I know that is what I said about the deck last year.

               My argument went on for some minutes until she was thoroughly convinced I would screw up. I believe that fixing things that seem difficult to fix is one of the few arguments a man can win resolutely. All that is needed is some raw determination, a good hardware store and a thesaurus with an adult theme to help keep your swears original. (I find that the more original swears often make spouses believe a job is much harder than it actually is thereby increasing the reward factors exponentially!)

Cinder Man

Dear Dad,

               The ‘Honey do’ list is a document that I refer to regularly. Early in my marriage this infamous list of chores was often times full of things I wanted to do. There were Items on the list like, ‘Teach wife how to shoot pool‘, ‘Buy wife bigger television‘, or ‘Date night with wife’ and even ‘GET WIFE PREGNANT!’
              
               Somewhere along the way though the nature of the honey do’s dramatically changed. I didn’t notice it happening at the time. The slow graduation of tasks was artfully handled by a fiendish mastermind. Even my own masterful man skills couldn’t save me every weekend from the webs spun by the chore master. The fight wore on for some time but I am beginning to think I may have lost. My skin is pasty and white, my eyes are permanently adjusted to the grey air of the garage and tool shed. When did I become this thing you may ask. I suppose if I had to narrow it down it was probably around two children ago.

More Spaghettio's anyone?

Dear Dad,

                 Early spring nineteen eighty a beautiful woman gave birth to a relatively fat baby boy. Upon realizing the sex of the child as male, and associating that realization with the fact that the said child would never himself have to endure the pain of child birth, she did what all women in similar situations do. She cursed the child. She closed her eyes and prayed that some how, some way this infant male would be troubled by his own children in the future. Of course one silent wish alone isn’t a guarantee that a curse will stick. Mothers, in their infinite wisdom know this, so over the child’s next eighteen years the hex is reapplied with every minor indiscretion the boy commits.

                 As you know I have given you four grandchildren. What you don’t know is that I have succeeded where most men have failed. Apart from each child’s first few weeks home I have essentially avoided the dirtier parts of fatherdom. I am certain of this fact because my wife is very good at pointing it out to me.

                After so much time spent avoiding the effects of such a powerful curse, it only stands to reason that even I, ‘The Man’ would falter.

For the 29th Time...

Dear Dad,

                In 1982 you took my mother out on a date and you allowed a fat two year old to tag along.

                In 1983 you gave me a new last name, even though no one pronounces it correctly it is incredibly easy to spell, so kindergarten would be that much easier.  Thank you.

                In 1984 you gave me my first Spaghetti-O’s with meat balls.  I thought it was poop in the bowl. I still don’t like meatballs, much to my wife’s frustration.  You also gave me a little brother that year.  He would become my sparring partner, my best friend and my worst enemy.

                In 1985 you taught me how to ride a bike, and as if that wasn’t enough you also taught me to catch a Frisbee with my face.

                In 1986 I rode my bicycle directly into the side of your vehicle.  I remind you that you trained me.  You didn’t get too mad though.  After all this was only the first time I broke one of your cars.

               In 1987 you began making me pick up the monstrous large piles of dog poop in our yard.  I still do not like meatballs.

               In 1988 you taught me a few jokes that mothers might not approve of.  I would say you birthed my sense of humor.  Many people today hold you responsible.  You also made the mistake of sharing with me the rebel rock music of the 60’s and the 70’s.  I am sure the resulting attitude of my teen years was not your intention, but there you go, it’s your fault.

               In 1989 you gave me the responsibility of walking my little brother to school.  He does not become my best friend for some years yet.  We were at the time of course sworn enemies, so thanks for that.

               In 1990 you allowed me to have a paper route, and then you didn’t allow me to quit the first Sunday I had to get up at 6 am.  Thanks for the work ethic.

              In 1991 you let me take martial arts classes.  I used this of course to deter my brother from being a pain in the butt.  It did not work however.  I give you credit though for trying.

              In 1992 you evened the playing field by sending my brother for martial arts lessons.  Then you sent our mother so that she would be better equipped to separate the two of us.  As an adult and a studier of men, I now realize this was just a ploy to earn you more napping time.

             In 1993 you gave me a little sister.  Almost immediately she pooped all over me.  I will never eat a meatball.  Thank you.

             In 1994 I snapped the tree off the steering column of your car.  I understand it was quite expensive to fix.  You didn’t get too mad.  It was only the second car I broke.  You cut all my hair off that year too.  Thanks.

             In 1995 you never once embarrassed me in front of a girl, even though you promised to every day that year.

             In 1996 you bailed me out….sorry.  Oh yeah I also ruined the clutch in your car that year.  I believe it upset you a bit that time.  It’s not your fault, the third time is the charm after all.

             In 1997 you helped me buy my first car.  To my utter disappointment you also taught me the difference between a Pontiac Firebird and a Pontiac Sunbird.  It was still a wonderful car, and to this day remains my favorite.

             In 1998 you turned me loose on the world.  We said our goodbyes and you did a good job of not scowling at the hole I called my first apartment.

             In 1999 you moved away to Phoenix, Arizona. I stayed in Missouri and began my quest to spread your noble name.  I was having fun practicing for this task.

             In 2000 I succeeded in letting the world know how old you are by bestowing the title of Grandpa upon you.  I also married that year.

             In 2001 you met your grandson and shared in the joy with me.  You taught me the true value of a nap.  A value I have not been blessed with for some time now.  I am enrolling my family in martial arts this year.  Thanks.

             In 2002 my house was hit by a tornado.  You instilled me with calm and assured me that all was not lost.  Turns out you were right. (Rainbows are round though.)

             In 2003 I began what would inevitably become a divorce.  You assured me that there is nothing wrong with a practice marriage.  You pointed out in all your wisdom that greater men than I had trod that path.

             In 2004 I met the woman who would become my second wife.  Yes it was quick work, and while I would like to credit you with the genetic passing on of my good looks, I am afraid that has to all go to my mother.  You did give me the spirit that won the girl though. Sorry and Thanks.

             In 2005 I remarried and introduced you to my wife.  After our 3 day visit you declared her a mute, and I cannot blame you.  Although I assure you she talks as much as any woman we have ever met.  I believe that in your presence many young people find themselves speechless.  Take it how you will.

             In 2006 I gave you a granddaughter.  I know you were pleased.  Pleased to have a granddaughter and pleased that I would now suffer the burden of raising two children.

             In 2007 I bought my first home.  It still needs a lot of work.  I remember how good you are with tools, so I will take this opportunity to thank you for not helping.


              In 2008 I gave you your 3^rd grandchild. Another boy, to carry on the mispronounced name of Hise.  I had finally fully inherited the curse to be as burdened as you were with children.  Thank goodness I had such a great teacher.  Both my boys pick up the dog leavings.

               In 2009 I surpassed your burden and had a fourth child.  Another boy.  I am sure you are still laughing.


               In 2010 I turned 30.  It’s amazing how old you must be!

               Well Father it is 2011 and for the 29^th time I bid you a HAPPY FATHERS DAY!  You sir, are indeed ‘THE MAN!’

                                  Love,
                                           Your truly grateful and sarcastic son.