"Don't worry, son. I'll be back soon." "Up yours, dad!"
Of all the emotions you feel when you have children, one that stands tall above nearly all others is guilt. At least for me. And as they get older, the number of ways in which they can make you feel guilty increases exponentially. Sure, when they’re infants, they gaze in the general vicinity of your face and when you drop them off at your parents to go get hammered and black out with the boys and listen to George Michael, the guilt is minimal since they don’t know who the hell you are anyway. But once they obtain the ability to speak actual words, the first thing they’ll say is something along the lines of, “Don’t leave me!” or better yet, “Fuck you for existing for reasons other than to wipe my ass!” At least that’s what it feels like they’re saying.
I remember the first time I had to drop my older son, Antonio off at day care. He was about four months old and, despite having met the caregivers at the center and getting a good vibe from the staff, it felt like I was returning a dog to the pound. And being a pessimist, I was sure he’d be neglected, left face-first on the cold tile floor while other kids frolicked around him and used his back as a chess board (assuming they’d already honed the skill). In fact, after the initial drop-off, I literally ran out of the building, fending off sobs until I got to my car, when the waterworks really turned on full-force. Failing to remember I didn’t have tinted windows, I made eye contact with a toddler outside my door, who I’m sure asked his flustered mother why the man in the pink Polo shirt was openly weeping while AC/DC’s “Back in Black” roared through his substandard speaker system. It was sad on several levels. Especially for the kid outside my car who had me to look up to as a male figure.
Although incredibly disheartening and insanely embarrassing, this was nothing compared to what I’d encounter when Antonio was about a year old. Seemingly overnight, he went from not giving a shit that I was leaving to acting as if I was dropping him off with Casey Anthony. He would clutch my leg and shout indecipherable words through tears, as I tried to calmly explain that the ladies I was leaving him with (probably) wouldn’t kill him. Then, out of nowhere, one of the caregivers would say something like, “Hey, Antonio, want to see the school bus outside? It’s a magic bus!” And he’d just stop and be fine. It’s amazing how an exuberant vocal tone and just the right amount of bullshit will settle a child. What the fuck is a magic bus, anyway? Whatever it is, brilliant.
With the birth of my second son, Nate, I’m back to square one. Having the two of them together is always interesting (if not pants-shittingly frightening). Making sure Antonio doesn’t start coloring on the wall while simultaneously ensuring Nate doesn’t suffocate himself on his own blanket have created a new series of challenges I don’t recommend for anyone who likes being sane and keeping their hair. But at the same time, it’s nice to know both of them will go through this phase where they can’t bear the thought of me leaving them. If only any of my ex-girlfriends had reacted similarly to me exiting a room. *Sigh*
And if you’re wondering whether my children are Catholic or not, you need look no further than their pension for guilt. I was staying overnight in NYC for work one night a couple months back, and my wife called me frantically at 10 PM because Antonio refused to sleep without me there. Flat out refused. He staged such a hostile protest that he ultimately puked all over himself. I have to admit that I was flattered. My absence had never before elicited vomit. My presence, however…
So what I’ve come up with is a contingency plan. If and when my children start acting like they’ll throw a bitch fit when I leave them somewhere, I simply start to annoy them. Sing a song they don’t like, poke them in the ribs, dangle their pacifiers just centimeters away from their outstretched fingers. Anything to create a sense of relief when they no longer have to deal with my bat-shit crazy antics. You may call me crazy, but I don’t have to run out of daycare sobbing anymore.
Till next time, be strong and stay sane. And share this with others you think will relate!
-jdp
My Podcast: www.courtesyflush.podomatic.com
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