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Broke Wife, Big City
That Old Dad
Magic
By Aprill Brandon
My husband once told me that what I do is like magic. He had came home
from a long day of work, put his stuff down and suddenly noticed that
the formerly gigantic haphazard pile of mail that had littered his desk
was now in nice, neat, organized stacks. How did that happen? he
wondered. For that matter, what happened to all those dirty dishes? And
when did those formerly filthy street urchins living in our home become
the squeaky clean von Trapp children?
Oh, he told me, it must be magic. Mommy magic. The thousand little
things I do daily to keep this family ship from running aground.
It was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. He truly saw
what I did when no one was looking and sometimes, as a parent, that’s
all you want at the end of yet another long day (besides a glass of
wine the size of your face).
But dads have their own particular magic. And so, for this upcoming
Father’s Day, I wanted to let him, and all the other dads out there,
know that what you guys do each and every day is noticed and
appreciated and loved.
Like, for instance, how on any given family adventure, they are the
shoulder ride mules, the piggy back stallions and the sleeping toddler
plowhorse, wrapped all into one.
They are the bad joke tellers. The world needs bad jokes and dads
across this great nation of ours have heroically stepped up to the
plate, nevering wavering in their devotion to that post-joke groan.
“Hey, did you kids know I used to be addicted to the Hokey Pokey? But
then I turned myself around.”
You want grilled meat for dinner? Don’t worry. Neither snow nor rain
nor heat nor gloom of night stays these former cavemen from their
appointed duty of artfully charing animal flesh. And they will be
wearing some pretty snazzy cargo shorts while doing it. Yes, even in
the winter.
They are the pool throwers. If there is a pool with children in it,
nine times out of ten there is a dad in that pool who will spend the
next 90 minutes hurling children down into the water with a giant
splash. They do it to their own children, and your children, and all
the random children who show up and get in line to also be thrown. No
one knows who these kids are but it doesn’t matter. These dads never
deny a kid a good throw. And these dads never complain. Even when their
shoulders ache and their back is screaming.
They are always willing to do battle...with customer service. They will
spend hours on hold, sometimes even holding two phones to their ears (a
move my husband calls “insanity in stereo”) in order to finally talk
loudly at another human being because, at this point, it’s really just
the principle of the thing.
They are the mice hunters (and dead mice thrower-awayers). They are the
spider smooshers and the snake beheaders. The “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT
THING!?” investigators. And, in many cases, the “we are not getting a
dog” nay-sayers who end up loving that ridiculous ball of fluff more
than anyone.
They are the illicit snack giver, ruining tiny appetites before dinner
because, hey, ya gotta let them babies live a little.
They are the turkey carvers and the toy assemblers and the resigned
wearer of the Jabba the Hut suit in the family Star Wars Halloween
costume.
They are the big, over-the-top, baritone finish at the end of every
Happy Birthday song.
They are tall and short, thick and thin, tattooed and tie-wearing. They
are the men who are gentle enough to cuddle with a newborn and brave
enough to change a sick toddler’s diaper and strong enough to fix any
boo-boo and loving enough to let their toenails be painted and wrestle
on the floor no matter how tired they may be.
They are dads.
Thanks for all the magic, boys
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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