A view from the back seat, passenger side

Aww, Dad. 

I saw you the other day... in me... through the eyes of my son. 

To a kid, it doesn't matter that his or her father has his own name, that he still feels like a kid from time to time--let alone that he even WAS a kid.  To a kid, Dad isn't a man on his own life's journey.  He's Dadda... then Daddy... then Dad (that transition is jarring... I remember the time each of the kids dropped the "dy" for the first time)... then it spirals into Pop, The Old Man, and who knows what else.  Kids define Dad by his title. 

I defined you by your title.  Probably for too long.  And too harshly. 

Now I'M the Dad.  And there's something you should know.  I've navigated every step by your vapor trail.  

NO ONE did "Dad" better than you.  No. One.  I've given your talks, done your goofy humor, I've even subjected the kids to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass while making their pancakes on a Saturday morning while Mommy is sleeping in. 

That's where I find you now.  In being my version of you.

Here's where I saw you on a recent Tuesday morning.

I always wanted you to take me to work.  And on weekends rambling around in your car, I used to wonder what it would be like to stow away in the back seat on your way to work.  I'd sit there--back seat, passenger side--and ask the car to give up your secrets:  "What does he look like on the way to work?"  "What does he do?"  "Does he listen to the radio?"  "Does he stop for coffee?" 

What does Dad look like when he's not being Dad??

On Tuesday, I took my son to work with me.  Changing lanes, I caught a glimpse of the 9-year old.    There he was--back seat, passenger side..  Watching me.  Asking the car to give up my secrets.  We did the grand tour:  the coffee shop, Imus in the Morning, traffic reports on News Radio 88, and then I played one of the CDs he brought along. 

He came with a backpack loaded with a Gameboy, CDs, the book he has to read for school... and they went home untouched.  I had lots of letters I'd saved up to work on, keeping a light workload, and asked if he wanted to proofread them for me.  So I dropped a punctuation mark or two... missed a capital letter... and watched him catch them with the same aplomb he uses fielding grounders or shagging flies.  It was glorious!  At nighttime, he recounted every minute to his Mom, who played it back to me.  I really don't know which one of us had more fun. 

Actually, I do.

I finally got to go to work with Dad--through the eyes of a 9-year old, from the back seat, passenger side. 

And it was fun.  

If I'm off to a good start, it's because of you.  And I hope that however long it takes, when the eyes that behold me are sharper... when the stakes are higher... when tests are harder, the kids will have a Daddy they remember... and a man they love regardless of what they call him (or how often). 

But maybe that's the price.  Maybe that's the risk a Dad has to take to do it right.  Like you did for us. 

Aww, Dad.   Happy Father's Day.

(The illustrations here were found at www.kevincannon.org when I Googled "dad driving" on a whim.  This man is very talented.)

They always say

We've all heard what "They always say..."

... but just who the F***  are "they," anyway??  Best I can guess is that "They" might be a group like the guys who write Man Law?? 

To wit:  They always say...

Look both ways before crossing the street.  What if you're on a One-Way street??  Isn't looking both ways a waste??  Can you substitute Up and Down for the unneeded Left or Right??  I almost broke an ankle on a curb because I wasted a sidelong look in the wrong direction and didn't save it up for the downward glance.

Don't go swimming until an hour after you eat.  I used to think this was from a bunch of lazy lifeguards, but now I know it probably did come from parents, but not for the kids' safety.  This dawned on me when I used it on the kids over Memorial Day so I could have a Corona after finishing dinner.

Two wrongs don't make a right.  Yeah, yeah, I know, "but three lefts do."

A watched pot never boils.  Actually, this one is true.

It's always darkest before the dawn.  Probably written by someone on a Walk of Shame.

You can't go home anymore.  Probably written by the same guy.

Anymore suggestions??

The Last Really Cool Jobs

Before baristas, energy futures traders, online auction consultants, and pet psychologists roamed the Earth, what were the great jobs to have??  Here are two that just don't exist anymore, that must have been cool:

Street Namers

Think about it.  They're all taken.  Main Streets, Oak Streets, Elm Streets.  Must've been either people with a tree fetish, or NO imagination (1st Street, 2nd Street).  I totally get Broadway, but just who exactly are all the King Streets named after, anyway??  King George?  King Kong?  King Vitaman??  [King Vitaman, incidentally, and Captain Crunch, will SHRED the roof of your mouth. You have been warned.] And what's the deal with Boulevard and Avenue??  A sign-maker who charged by the letter??  That would explain the names of two roads near where I live.  "Upper Grassy Hill Road" and "Hoop Hole Hill Road." 

Nowadays, only the purveyors of suburban sprawl get to name their new cul-de-sacs, and they've got NO imagination whatsoever!  They either name the roads after their daughters, or try to sound British, like "Wintonbury Court." 

State Line Makers

Now THIS is a lost art!  And very reflective of differing abilities, hostilities, and geometric approaches--yes, geometric, not geographic.  I'll explain.

Cubist:  Wyoming, Colorado.

Left-right brained:  Texas.  Linear on the western side, groovy on the north and east borders.

Dislexic:  They assigned the same person to do Missouri, and then its up/down mirror image to the South, Arkansas. 

Unable to swim (or lazy):  The folks who stopped at the water's edge.  See Ohio, Kentucky, Vermont, New Hampshire.  And how about the team assigned to map westward from Montana to Idaho.  "Well, we started out good and straight, but look at those mountains, Charlie!   Aw screw it, find a river, draw a line, and just fill in the rest."

Vengeful (or drunk):  No other way to describe the infamous Soutwick Jog/Granby Notch between Massachusetts and Connecticut, and Michgan's Upper Peninsula, perched atop Wisconsin.  Clearly someone wanted to keep their next-door neighbors in Massachusetts.  "Okay, Helen, your Mother can move in next-door, but there's no way she's living in this state!" 

Stoned (or late to the game):  The dudes who did West Virginia and Maryland.  Shape-wise, they're my two favorite states, but those guys either showed up to work really late, after all the surrounding land was claimed... or really stoned, and got really, really creative. 

Either way, those must've been cool jobs.

If I ran American Movie Classics

One of the following movies would be required to be on the air late on a Friday night:

• Cool Hand Luke
• The Odd Couple
• The Dirty Dozen
• The Seven Year Itch
• Papillon
• Patton
• Any Clint Eastwood "spaghetti Western"
• The African Queen
• Donovan's Reef
• North by Northwest
• In Harm's Way
• The Lion in Winter
• Stalag 17
• Mister Roberts
• Any Sean Connery James Bond movie
• ... or in a pinch, Live and Let Die or The Man with the Golden Gun with Roger Moore.

[Man Law:  The movie has to appeal to the lone guy on the couch, and be long enough that he can doze for 10 minutes once in awhile and not lose track.  For that matter, you can't go wrong with this one.]

That is all.