I hate to make being a father of 3 all about myself. Meanwhile, the only available book at Barnes and Noble under the Parenting section for dads include: The Expectant Father, The Ultimate Guide For Dads-To-Be. So good luck gleaming any words of wisdom on how fatherhood grants you the gift of reliving your age of innocence for the benefit of your 3 children through more mature, lived through, less shy slouched, shaky lens. In an edgeless, humorless book about a fake news dad who’s not even a dad yet I’m assuming.
The title Expectant Father is a dead giveaway on this dad knowing jack shit about being a dad yet. So from where I stand his 9 months, Hugh Grant inspired book, only proports to be about how the remainder of his wife’s pregnant life is dealing with his wife’s feelings regarding him drinking around her because he still can. Though it’s not encouraged, regardless of the husband being denied boom, boom time as a form of punishment for it. Which as a penalizing loss, loses less luster in your loins unless you’re eyeing other pregnant woman who aren’t your wife on the subway or maybe that was just me.
Allow me to indulge in a tad perverse, poignant old school obsessional point of mine for 1 more second here. Pregnant woman’ complexions are never better. Most pregnant woman are quite glow filled, celestial beauties in my book. I’m not saying I jerked it to Demi Moore on the cover of Vogue back in the day. But fully dressed pregnant woman on the Lex line. Still dressed to impress for work at Goldman Sachs. With their added brazier bustage. On top of their luscious, healthy locks of yankable hair only added to the allure of this sexy Italian gal. Who laughed at all my ad libs during our natural birthing class is all I’m trying to say.
Especially, when I learned in our class how our late sixty year old, varicose vein heavy, birth instructor revealed 5 classes in how she never gave birth before. My reply in class? Wait a second. So you’re teaching a birth on natural child birth but never had a baby before? That’s like me paying 600 bucks to Perez Hilton. If I ever wanted to learn how to unhook a bra. The class was 8 years ago for what’s it worth.
The Expectant Father book might as well be renamed Slut in a Straight Jacket about now. And I know I’m not only 1. Or else I wouldn’t be in the exalted position to bang out my comedic parenting book masterpiece the Stay At Home Comedian “Controlling My Kids Through Comedy”? With neither sets of grandparents to lend a helping around. Choosing Skyping their sister for 5 hours a time, and more tax reveal fake news money shot reveals on Maddow. But I digress, I confess.
Yeah, so back to original topics almost 500 words later. I’m no longer on Adderall. I promise. Fatherhood really is a childhood do over improver and in my case times 3. Because I have 3 children. This is the extent of mathematical structured language in my writing I assure you. In High School, my parents got a bumper sticker for my mom’s Acura which said “My son sucks at standardized tests.” Despite private tutors and help from Princeton Review. So much for the aura of Rhode Scholar ex-Knick Bill Bradley rubbing off on my son through a whiff of vibrational, reverberating Osmosis. My Dad fumes like a poor man’s Phil Jackson. Gnashing off the wet end of this Tareyton 100’s in his ashy chair in TV room at home with my brother and I present as the Knicks sucked the joint again.
Worst cigarette ever by the way Tareyton 100’s. For Chanukah 1 year I got my dad a raft from Marlboro for all the Marlboro miles I accumulated from him steering me away from such a rancid, cigarette creation known as Tareyton 100’s in the 1st place.
I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore in case you were wondering. Which is more than I can say for my Dad and younger brother. They also don’t wear seat belts either. Nor do they see themselves as narcissists despite my younger brother being the guy who poses selfies of himself driving on Instagram and Facebook. Sorry, dude, you’ve zoomed past the point of objective return dude. Plus, my father’s death wish isn’t to die in his tomato garden as his grandchildren zip around singing Here Comes the Sun. It’s dropping dead on the tennis court from playing tennis in the dead of August. Content blowing off his 3 grandchildren for another summer of scorched love in Scottsdale, Arizona, for 7 years running and counting. No wonder why my dad questions whether how we’re related in the 1st place.
So fatherhood is a childhood do over improver. Because your dad’s, boorish, arrogant, bullying assholish vibe is 3000 miles away in Scottsdale, Arizona for starters. 2nd, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because your young brother there isn’t there to make you feel like a perpetual loser around his chesty Israeli girlfriend in your parents house until you eventually hook up with a couple of Israeli girls during your Masada teen tour in summer of 93. When I’d whack it till my fingers bled. It was the summer of Fah, Foolin with my hand. When I wasn’t wearing out my Pyromania Def Leppard tape on my Sony Walkman at the time.
3rd, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you don’t have to receive a book for Hanukkah from your mother called the “12 Stages of Puberty” at 15. Knowing, your younger brother already hit puberty at 13 and banged the 3 hottest girls in his class. That you tried to jerk off to at the time but couldn’t. Which made you feel like a real big brother bust. Think Eddie Curry from the Knicks with an even shittier, hook shot.
After receiving the puberty book, I declare. Great gift mom, the “12 Stages Of Puberty.” Can’t to wait to reconfirm how behind schedule I already am. What’s the chapter called on losing my virginity? Let me guess. Deep Impact? Also, mom why would you give me this book in front of my younger brother? Knowing he can play with himself whenever he wants? Mom replies. But you do that all the time upstairs with your GI-Joe figures. Well past the recommended playing age listed on each new half naked GJ-Joe purchase for you to bang together late into the evening. But you don’t hear a peep out of me? Do you?
4th, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you’re able to coach your son in all forms of athletics and prove to label limiting grandpa. Your son will be more than a decent athlete. Whose Ninja conjuring quickness has already earned him the nickname Feather Foot for a reason.
5th fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you’re able to give your dad heart palpitations for a change whenever he graces you with his presence from Arizona once a year because he can’t handle the east coast chill anymore. Now, his favorite activities during the winter in Arizona are playing tennis of course and jerking off the weather channel. No bullshit. His tennis instructor to me. My dad’s forehand has never been stronger.
Yeah, so back to the heart palpitations. Meaning, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because I’m able to make my father feel like an inferior manly molder of men compared to me because I have my 6 year old daughter doing Kettle Bell Cow Girl swings with a 5 pound weight in his presence. Also, earning her nickname Deltoids Dawn due to her Kettle Bell dense strong meat free, hulking physique so far. My daughter can beat me up in a year easy, especially since I got her enrolled in Kung Fu so she can bring out the ruckus if necessary. Point being, my father watches my 1st born, 6 year old Deltoids Dawn swinging the Kettle Bell Around like it’s a freaking rag doll as my Dad cramps up inside thinking. If I pushed weight training on my 1st born at such an early age, he could’ve saved me a fortune and at least secured a half ride to Iona College and live at home to save on room and board.
5th reason, fatherhood is a childhood do over improver because you get to vicariously live through your daughter’s glowing in person teacher reviews in your honor. Which reflect quite well on this Do It All Dad’s handy work from the start. For example, my daughter’s 1st grade teacher emotes. I love your daughter Matilda. She’s the perfect student. I wish I can clone more of her. Later on in the evening. I say to my daughter. Mrs. Farney gave you nothing but the highest marks but I’m most proud of you Matilda for being commended most for your perseverance. Daughter asks. What’s perseverance Dada? Doing what you have to do, even if it’s only once a year on her birthday.