Ah, Crap, I’ve Become An Ass

Posted by Big Daddy Paul in Daddy Stories

I used to be pretty mellow. If we went to your house for dinner and you broke out a Manu Chao record and some bongo drums, I’d have played some mean backup tambourine. Our house was generally kept somewhere between “cluttered” and “what the inside of an irritable bowel looks like,” and I was fine with it (although I’m not sure our house guests were!)  People/friends/business acquaintances would often do things that I found annoying, but I would just smile (then blog about it later.) I rolled with the punches, generally enjoying whatever came around the bend.

Having a six year old has changed things, to say the least. In drug parlance, I have gone from pot smoking hippie (“That’s coooool dude”) to twitchy meth freak (“HOLYSHIT!HOLYSHIT!NOFUCKINGWAY!UNBELIEVABLE! HOLYFUCKINGSHIT!”) Somehow, we have fallen into a rut around here that Malcolm does whatever goofy activity he wants until I have to menace him into a) leaving b) getting ready to leave c) doing the thing that he needed to do before we could leave or d) do anything he doesn’t want to do. I swear, I have to ride that boy like a sad carnival pony to get him to do pretty much anything around here. He has very little interest in cleaning his body, brushing his teeth, picking up anything around the house, and being on time to anything. It’s like he is a little version of me, and damn it, there’s only room for one of me in this house!

Daddy, if I can't see you, will you stop yelling and go away?

Recently, I have come to the conclusion that I have become somewhat of a dick, resembling very little of the person that I want my son to think I am. This has to change! I want to be the cool dad. The dad that he brags is the most awesome person on the planet. I want to be his hero, not his drill commander. Now, he constantly asks if I am leaving town anytime soon (evidently, grandparents are a little more patient and lenient than I now am.)

The problem is, if I leave him to his own devices, everything will get fucked up. When I ask him if it is important to get to school on time he fires right back, “No. People are always late and never get in trouble.” He thinks it is perfectly acceptable to brush his teeth for five seconds and bathing is only necessary if you roll around in the muck. There are currently 200-300 stuffed animals lying around the house, I when I suggest that he pick them up, he says, “Why? I am just going to take them back out later.”

I could probably remain cool dad if this were to happen occasionally, but when it’s so many different things on almost every day, the bong is put away and the dime bag comes out. I start to twitch, my voice get shrill and I become the guy I don’t want to be. It’s like I become the Hulk, only more angry (and less fit!) One day, I will learn to get things done without beating the sad little carnival pony. That day can’t arrive fast enough because I’m starting to drive myself a little batty.

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