Reading

I have many shortcomings that I am aware of, and many more that are pointed out to me daily. In spite of these, I have managed to attract a mate and procreate. My progeny are eight and five, girl and boy respectively. I have had many experiences in the last nine years that have humbled me as a member of humanity and as a man. None so much as my experience today.

When my daughter was six months old I took her to open a bank account in her name at the local bank. I'm at a credit union that has an office for such transactions. While I sit in the office with five other customers, my daughter across my lap, she needs to move and when I say move, I mean bowels. A pink flush runs up her face and I am aware of what is to come. Like clockwork, a grunt is followed by audible flatulence which makes me the center of attention. I affect a grim rictus and with aplomb and timing, ask the receptionist if there isn't a bathroom that we can avail ourselves of to affect a change of clothes for my daughter. All pretense of masculinity is stripped from my facade at that moment, and forever.

Four years later I am at the Tragic Kingdom with my year old son and my four year old daughter. We commence our trip with an E ticket ride in a cab to LaGuardia that culminates with my son demonstrating explicitly how projectile vomiting manifests. We experienc the joy of public opinion when we strip James on the curb in 30 degree weather while we try to minimize the collateral damage of projectile vomiting. We go through an entire pack of baby wipes in hopes of cleaning up the car seat and our son. Vomit clothes stowed in lawn and leaf bags, car seat cleaned, as well as possible, stuffed into a plastic bag, we dutifully make our way through TSA and flew to Orlando.

Have you ever gotten just a whiff of something rank? You move, right, to be a few more feet away from the offending object. Imagine yourself in an International airport, like Orlando, and getting that whiff. Then you realize that the whiff of stank is from the baggage claim thirty five feet away. Then imagine the horror when you realize that whiff is your car seat. What would you do?

If you are me, you get that garbage bag and throw that $70 car seat away, even if you know it is going to cost you $12 a day to rent one from Hertz. So, stash that bag on a garbage can, rent the car seat and eat that $80 charge and head to Didney. Then, find out that the projectile vomiting wasn't from the drunk cab driver's lurching driving but was actually a stomach flu.

Sitting in the Tragic Kingdom with your 2 year old son stretched across your lap, uncomfortable in the heat and apparently suffering from a stomach issue. The familiar flush of face, the ubiquitous grunt and flatulence as runny diarrhea warms your leg through his clothes, then yours. Make a quick break for the stroller...diapers and wipes not in that stroller, but the other one, one hundred yards away at "It's a Small World." Hold your kid out in front of you, a talisman, and watch the sea of people part.

In retrospect, all great experiences for me. I have enjoyed them. I'm sure there are several more in my future. But, I read two books to my son's Kindergarten class today. It was his week. he brought his favorite toys on Tuesday, a poster of his family on Wednesday, and a family member to read today. I was that family member.

His teacher directed them all to the carpet and gave me the seat of honor. I read two books. It really doesn't matter what I read. He didn't care. He was proud of me. He sat, eyes azure and bright, locked on mine while I read, but always checking his classmates. His looks aside spoke volumes. "That's my Dad. Don't you love him?" Every time I looked at him, the joy, admiration and pride were evident. "That's my Dad. Don't you love him?"

It went fast. I was nervous, but it was over before I knew it. I learned that I know, "That's my son. I love him?"