How Not To Dad: Episode 24 - Ingenuity

The laws of physics can be cruel. 

I can't dunk a basketball. I can't fly, I can't camouflage myself to blend in with my environment, I can't burn holes through concrete with my laser eyesight. I don't have a single, solitary superpower that I'm aware of (unless you count the ability to smile and nod as if I understand a topic while in a conversation even though my mind is doing cartwheels in the land of make-believe). 

I have, however, developed a decent understanding of the basic laws of physics over the almost forty years I've roamed this earth. On occasion I use that knowledge to my advantage, and harness its power for the forces of good. 

Case in point: Abby and I were in the Dairy Queen drive thru after I'd picked her up from daycare a couple of weeks ago. There are a few toys I have in my car to keep the kids entertained when they ride with me. One is a stuffed Godzilla and the other is a tiny football that fits in the palm of your hand. Abby chose the football as the source of entertainment for the ride home, and that did not bode well for me. Godzilla, destructive as he is, can pass for what Logan would call a "snuggly toy." It's just something soft to hold against you. Abby holds him and plays with him within the confines of her car seat. 

The football is a different story. There is enough college football playing at our house (whenever it's on she points at the screen and yells "Foopah!") for our daughter to understand at least the most basic actions required by the sport.

She knows to throw the ball.

This inevitably leads to a high pitched shriek the minute it leaves her hand. Being strapped into a car seat like a Talladega racecar driver doesn't allow for much of a reach. She throws it, immediately realizes she wants it back but can't reach it, and at least eighty percent of the time I can't get to it myself to hand it back to her. I get to drive the rest of the way home to the song of a mad, whiny toddler.

That night I had made it all the way from town to the Dairy Queen near home without issue. After I'd placed the order with the young lady, I crept forward toward the window to get our food.

Abby let out a whine.

"What's wrong?" I asked in my playful, counter-whine voice.

"Foopah!" Abby responded.

I turn and see the little ball nestled above the middle seat beneath the rear window. It had landed in the perfect location to torment both myself and my daughter. It was within eyesight of her, but just out of reach. With my seatbelt on I couldn't reach it either, and as soon as I tried the car in front of me moved forward and I had to follow the train of vehicles.

"I wan' my foopah!" Abby called.

"I can't reach it, honey. You're gonna have to wait a minute."

Good thing my daughter is extremely patient, right? 

Wrong.

"I WAN' MY FOOPAH!"

I try to reach for it again. No dice. By that time I had gotten to the window and had handed the girl my debit card. An unreasonable yet determined wave of anxiety washed over me. I didn't have time to unbuckle. The minute I did and worked around to a kneeling position in the driver's seat (assuming I could even achieve this without causing a scene with my ass bumping into the horn on the steering wheel or something) she'd be back to hand me my card and my food. She'd have to watch me awkwardly shift and struggle while the car shook with my efforts and my daughter screamed for her foopah in the background. I wasn't having it.

"I can't reach it yet Abby." Used her actual name that time. Hopefully that would let her know I meant business.

"I.. WAN'... MY FOOPAH..." The tears began. 

Anxiety and frustration buzzed like the whine of a half dozen mosquitos hovering just outside my ear.

The worker handed me the food and the debit card. I took a quick glance at the rearview mirror and noted there was only one other car behind me, and they were still placing their order. My focus changed to the little red ball taunting me at the edge of the seat. Abby's hand reached out for it periodically.

And that's when I knew what I had to do.

It's funny how stress forces answers into your brain. Maybe they aren't the smartest answers, but when you're back's against the wall your brain starts pulling from any available experience or bit of half-baked intelligence you might possess. You start calculating, running risk analyses, taking complete stock of your surroundings and making decisions in rapid fire succession.

I was not going to listen to my daughter whining for the rest of the ride home. 

My idea was a simple one. I crept the car forward until I was out of the way of the drive thru window. I looked left, I looked right. Satisfied, I nodded to myself.

I stepped on the gas, the force of acceleration pushing me back against my seat for a second or two, and then I immediately hit the brakes.

The change in force pushed me forward. Abby, strapped firmly into her car seat, probably felt nothing. The football shot forward and hit the back of the console near my elbow with a satisfying thud. I reached back, grabbed the ball that was now easily within reach, and handed it to my fussing daughter.

I reveled in my victory for a moment, thinking of how ingenious the solution had been. I held a half smile on my face for roughly the next minute and a half...

Until she threw the damn ball again.

Moral of the Story: I don't know. Just don't give your kid something that they feel inspired to throw when on trips in the car. You won't always be able to harness the power of physics to help.

How Not to Dad: Episode 23 - Hey Jerk, Get Off Your Phone!

I don't usually consider myself a millennial even though I think I technically fall into that category, at least by some estimations. I was born in '81 and was privileged to be part of the generation that sort of got the best of both worlds, as far as kids' interests go. I'm old enough to have spent the majority of my childhood days outside playing with sticks and pine cones, exploring the woods, and riding my bike all over the place, but my later childhood also saw a boom in technology. Namely, video games and VCR's. As I got older and technology continued to grow, I was part of the generation that first began to carry cell phones (albeit it was the size of a small brick, with a six inch retractable antenna, and came with a stern warning from my mother of "Do not use unless it's an emergency, each minute costs money."). 

Cell phones advanced, and I was in my early twenties when text messaging exploded. You could text all you wanted, too! As long as the person you were texting was using the same phone service, that was. Otherwise you had to wait until after nine o'clock for free texting. Unlimited nights and weekends!

Basically I became a young adult right as the flashy cell phones with all the little bells and whistles were being marketed towards people in my demographic. Soon came smart phones and social media, Youtube, and all the rest. No longer would I have to sit bored in a waiting room. No longer would I be bored waiting for anything, really, as long as I had that phone. Untold thousands (or millions?) of apps were available, giving me endless ways to amuse myself in my down time. I could read books on my phone. I could play games, use a calculator, talk to friends, shop online, listen to music, look up which actor played in what movie, learn about the Cuban Missile Crisis if I wanted. The possibilities were endless.

How easy it is to get addicted to something like that.

Today a cell phone for most people is pretty much a part of their wardrobe. I'd no sooner forget mine than I would my car keys. What if I need to get in touch with someone? What if my car breaks down or I have a flat tire? What if the school needs to get in touch with me about one of the kids? What am I going to look at while sitting at lunch? If I'm sitting on my bed at night, it's beside me or in my hands. My hands reflexively reach for it whenever I sit still for too long, or if I feel the slightest bit bored. 

The glaring, obvious problem with all of this is that it draws you away from the present. You spend your time staring at that glowing rectangle instead of interacting with the people around you. My son, God love him, called me out on this in the most subtle yet effective way just the other day.

Earlier that night he'd made a plan. I was supposed to go with him to his room when it was time for Abby to go to bed. We were going to hang out in there for fifteen minutes before it was his bedtime.

We were all sitting on the bed in our master bedroom, and the time came. Logan stood up.

"Let's go," he said.

I stood and immediately reached for my phone.

Logan saw this and murmured under his breath, "Why do you always have to bring that?"

I think he said it mostly to himself, more of a frustrated statement than a question meant for me. I slid the phone in my pocket, and as it dropped heavily and bumped the side of my leg, a matching thud of guilt hit home inside. Why was I bringing my phone? What purpose would it serve if the fifteen minutes Logan was requesting was meant for bro time? The more I thought about it, the more I realized grabbing my phone was a dick move. 

To my credit the phone stayed in my pocket during our hangout time that night. That's not always the case, though, even now. The phone creeps back in. There's a horror movie idea in here somewhere, I just know it. Some half-sentient phone that longs to be human, and it's got some creepy fetish about always wanting to be cradled in a human palm. Keeps finding ways to subtly crawl back into your hand.

Okay so it's a B-movie.

Moral of the Story: If your kids are annoying you while you look on your phone, there's a good chance that you are the annoying one. Put the phone down, ya jerk! Cell phones are fun but at the end of the day they're a tool and nothing more. They aren't friends or family, and can never take the place of them. Even if they are soul-starved, half-alive beings intent on taking over humanity, or creepy little robot kinksters that just want to be held all day.