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Family Events...
This dad has always
been “more funnier”
By Marybeth Hicks
Years ago when she was only six years old, my daughter Amy said the
biggest difference between mom and dad is, “Dad is more funnier.”
So true.
Dad was the parent who composed rap songs about doing dishes, taught
the “I’ve Got Too Much Homework” blues, and cheerfully chatted it up
before school in the morning while all around him, mayhem erupted.
Some would call this oblivious. In fact, I used to call this oblivious.
But others — our children, for example — called this “more funnier.”
I used to rant about the injustice of his place as the “more funnier”
parent. Why did he get to be “more funnier?” Or why couldn’t we take
turns being “more funnier?” It seemed unfair that his role in our
children’s lives would forever conjure memories of midnight basketball
and Monty Python, while thoughts of me will recall complex schedules
executed with military precision — not to mention an unkind depiction
of my need to put clean laundry in its place.
But to be fair, I never invested myself in a “more funnier” capacity.
As they grew older, he was the one who sat in the basement on Friday
nights watching silly movies like “Dumb and Dumber” while I was the one
shouting down the stairwell to remind them they had to be up early the
next day for a soccer game or a track meet.
Who wouldn’t find him “more funnier” than the parent who breaks up the
party and sends everyone upstairs to brush their teeth and go to bed?
The “more funnier” dad in our house also fostered an appreciation of
“The Godfather.” When they were little, they could recite all the key
lines even though they’d never seen the film. Trouble with a friend at
school? “Ya gotta ask yourself, ‘what would Don Corleone do?’” he
counseled. Thanks to their dad, our children grew up shrugging their
shoulders and asking, “wadayagonnado?”
Sometimes he’s “more funnier” without meaning to be. Once during a
family dinner, someone innocently asked, “what’s a mortgage?” What
followed was an eye-glazing description of the Federal Reserve,
mortgage interest rates, credit ratings, locking in at the bottom and
what happens when the bank sells your loan to a mortgage company and
how the service from those places usually stinks. This went on for
quite a while — the kids actually ate vegetables just to pass the time
— and then someone said, “So a mortgage is a piece of paper?”
Playing the “more funnier” part in our parenting act is just one role
my husband performs with great conviction. In his view, the job of
fatherhood is no laughing matter; it’s one that requires serious and
constant effort. His humor is just one way he builds loving
relationships that connect him to every facet of our children’s lives,
allowing him to listen and lead through conflicts and struggles,
opportunities and decisions. His unwavering commitment, support and
example serve as their model of what it means to be a man.
Our inherent differences as mom and dad ensure balanced parenting.
Neither my role nor his is more or less important, but simply the
completion of a circle that encompasses form and function, content and
character.
And besides, if I ever tried to be the “more funnier” one, I know what
the kids would say: “Mom... Fugeddaboudit.”
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there, and thanks for reading
and sharing Family Events!
Take good care until next week,
Marybeth
This week’s question: Let’s weigh in on dads! What’s the best example
of great fathering? Does being a great dad come naturally or can skills
of fatherhood be learned? What’s the best advice you ever got from your
dad? If you’re a dad yourself, tell us how you know you’re doing a
great job of parenting. Share the fatherhood wealth on our Family
Events Facebook page.
Read it along with last week’s responses to the Question of the Week at
Family Events
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