On becoming a Father - the joys of being a "dad:" Part I

Congratulate me! I became a firth-time father Saturday, January 23, 1993. considering my only child, Adam James Ganzer was born 11 November, 1984, this was quite a feat, AND a long time a'comin'.

I've been dad for the past eight years, more or less, off and on. Being a dad is the BEST job.  Dad gets to rough house and enjoy the company of his child when (and usually only when) the child is in good working order (feeling well and generally not too tired); truly, a splendid occupation. Perfect hours, better pay, just about no work and mostly play. Dad but rarely has to change diapers for a screaming, whining, crying, tired, and hungry child. Once in a while, maybe, but even then, dad gets to talk about his heroic accomplishments and wisdom with other dads, and sometimes other moms (or women to fooling around with dads). If you know what I mean. If not, I'll try to clarify:

Dads have mostly fun;

Moms' work is never done.

Dads' tribulations, almost none.

Being a father, well, that's something else again. Fathers have to deal with the down side of being a male parent - that you must acknowledge that your child(ren) are fully human (perhaps super-human) and will eventually begin to display ignoble, undelightful traits including: sloth, laziness, indolence, cruelty, disrespectfulness, thievery and lying. I could add others, but of these, I am guilty of having committed all and likely to commit them all again.  that's one of the down sides of being human: your humanity is simultaneously your greatest weakness and your greatest strength.

But, to the point.  My son lied to me! And so blatantly and unflinchingly that I knew this could not be the first time. Previously, I had suspected him of lying, but lacked the incontrovertible truth necessary to address it head on.  but with the irrefutable evidence of this past Saturday, I knew that a very quick response was in order (not quite instantaneous response, as you shall see), because it is best to pause to consider various courses of action, to make a plan when you've bumped head on into reality. To fail to act then and there would condemn be to be dad for the rest of my life; never father.

And children always know and immediately detect the difference. They smell it the way sharks smell blood, and they can rough up the waters just a surely. All my life I've been a "dad" with children. While "dads" are indestructible and fun, and with impunity can be called "butt head," "loser," or just plain "Markus (in my case)," "dads" are never called father, and assuredly will never be called "sir," out of respect or fear.

What lie could the eight-year old joy of my life have told? Perhaps I was overly wrought about much too little.