What It's Like to Be a Dad
We're at the M&M store in Times Square. The sales lady fills my kid's hands with tiny chocolate manna. She asks, "Is that enough?" My kid hands her back all but one M&M and says, "I only need one. I can't have too much candy." Then he says,
"Thank you very much."
I'm thinking, "How did I raise such a perfect angel?"
We get home, and it's time for bed. I tell him to go brush his teeth. He makes a beeline PAST the bathroom to his toys. I herd him toward the sink, put the paste on the brush and hand it to him... but he's already gone. Now I'm mad. I get him back into the bathroom and start giving him a stern talking to about listening to Daddy and brushing his WHAT THE HELL!
He's dropped his pajama bottoms and is standing in front of the full length mirror admiring himself as he hip thrusts his junk like Mick Jagger.
I. Lose. It.
I'm yelling. The kid is crying. My wife is shouting at both of us.
Five minutes later, he's tucked into bed, laughing, as I read him "Hug Time".
Fatherhood is a mental hospital without the benefit of drugs.
My wife says he gets that from me.
Well, he sure didn't the Mick Jagger parts from her.