Big Daddy Paul

We weren’t going to be "those parents."  We heard too many horror stories of parents letting televisions raise their kids.  We were going to be different.  No way, couldn’t happen to us.  We were sure that TV was an evil to be avoided, sort of like shellfish at a buffet.  Studies show that for young children, every hour that they watch TV is one fewer word that they learn.  TV teaches your kid to love fast food, fear the outdoors, and that violence is the best way to solve any problem.  We were sure that if Malcolm watched enough TV he would turn into an overweight, lethargic mess who would learn how to bash someone’s brain in before learning his multiplication tables.

And then, some cracks began to form in the dam.  Malcolm was waking up from his nap in a very cranky mood, and it was becoming difficult to cheer him up.  So, we let him watch a show when he woke up. He would have a little snack and enjoy a little TV while his brain was adjusting to consciousness.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?

Then I learned that I could get stuff done by letting Malcolm watch shows. This came in handy when we hade people coming over for dinner, or doing taxes, or, in rare circumstances, when I needed to research fantasy football.  I tried to avoid putting him in front of the screen for too long, but his shows were educational.  Aint nothing wrong with that.

Slowly, but surely, more cracks formed in the dam, eventually causing it to burst. Now we let Malcolm watch TV in the car on long journeys, when we have guests over and we want to enjoy them and not entertain the kids, or the end of the week white flag that signals our inability to do any more parenting: "Movie Night." What’s worse, we used to closely monitor everything that he watched to ensure that he was being exposed to anything untoward.  Now, he watches anything that people will show him, including, (gasp!), PG movies. I remember feeling bad that Malcolm once saw Shrek while we were waiting at the doctor’s office, now I don’t blink an eye when I see him watching Porky’s.  Ah well, it is one of the many shortcomings that we have as parents.  We try, but it is impossible for us to be the perfect parents that we thought Malcolm deserved.  I just hope the words he is missing out on while watching are all dirty words. Then again, Porky’s is probably teaching him how to swear.

We are coming up on our 11th wedding anniversary, and of course I have been thinking about our relationship.  At first I focused on the negatives.  I thought about how we have a mortgage, and with the decline of the real estate world, we’ll be living in this house until we are about 60. I thought that we have a child, and that he too will probably be living in the house until we are 60.  I thought about how we argue about whose sweatpants are more ridiculous whether the term, “frack” in Battlestar Galactica is cool or lame. Sadly, we still argue over whether I am simply good looking or whether I am good looking AND have a great personality. I thought about how we spend time thinking about what plants should go in the front yard, and whether to tell our neighbors that their compost heap is ruining our lives.  I dare say I thought things a bit stale.

Then I realized that I was becoming one of those people who lament all the “problems” they have, and how they aren’t the hipsters that they used to be.  I literally talked myself out of the pity party I was trying to have.  I have a wife who, despite the fact that I haven’t worked in over four years and weigh twice as much as I used to, actually likes to talk to me and wants to see me happy.  I have a child who keeps me on my toes, but enjoys living and makes me belly laugh a couple of times a day.  I have a group of friends who rib me mercilessly and make the week fly by.  Ya, the days of drinking kamikazis on a tuesday night are long gone.  But if you ask me, there is nothing better than a glass of wine, some bizarre sweatpants and a fracking good episode of Battlestar Galactica.  Of course, it only works when the love of my life is next to me.  Happy anniversary baby.

I once dreamed of being on TV. When I was young, I dreamed that I was on Charles in Charge, and played the boyfriend of Nicole Eggert. Needless to say, we kissed, all the time. . However, I was not selected to be on the show (I guess you need to be an actor and actually try out for roles for things like that to happen), and I spent the rest of my adolescence pouting about it.

Then, something happened. My stay at home dad’s group was approached by a cable network about a show they were developing about overweight, jobless men who hang out with children at parks drinking beer. “Holy Crap!”, we thought, “That’s exactly what we do!!!!” So, we sent in an audition tape and a few months later, the network told us that they were interested in us. They sent a film crew to our houses, our playgroup, and even took us to a bar for dad’s night out. We had a great time, and we thought the resulting video turned out great.

It turns out that the network thought that it was too much cute footage of dad’s with their kids. They wanted drama. They wanted chaos. They wanted stressed out parents. Yikes! I didn’t like the sound of any of that, so I told them that. I told them that I would let them film anything that I actually did, but we wouldn’t be doing anything really crazy so they could make a spectacle of us. I wanted them to make a documentary, they want to make entertaining TV. Minutes after I made my line in the sand, I got a phone call from the production company that they were booting us from the show, and thanks for our time. “What have I done?” I thought. “I don’t even have any integrity.” I thought about immediately calling them back and saying that I would walk naked down the Vegas strip, just for the shot at appearing on basic cable, but somehow, I never picked up the phone. Fame has its price, and it is a price I guess I am not willing to pay. So, I guess some other guy will become the voice of stay at home dads on TV, one that is willing be more “TV friendly.” I guess I am fine with our life, just the way it is. Besides, Amy is way hotter than Nicole Eggert.