I just returned from a week-long trip with my family. Boy do I need a vacation.
The truth is, family vacations are neither relaxing nor recuperative.
There is good reason most families prefer a permanent living arrangement incorporating some sort of multiple room domicile with a kitchen, more than one lavatory, and separate sleeping chambers. Humans need their space. Which is why moving two large and three small humans into a single chlorine redolent hotel room with none of the aforedescribed amenities is a recipe for disaster.
I love my family. I don’t want to smell them.
To my father, quality family time meant a day on the golf course with his pals. He’d occasionally call if he was going to be home late. It seems he believed fighting Germans had fulfilled his duty to humanity. The rest was up to my mom.
Nowadays, fathers are expected to not only be present and accounted for during a child’s formative years, but to actually participate in the child rearing process. This is a mistake.
No matter how “evolved” men have become in recent times, it is in the best interests of society and the overall health of the family unit to keep men at the office, on the golf course, or deployed overseas. No good can be had from us meddling in the domestic arts, especially when it comes to children.
In the first place, men don’t really like kids, especially other people’s kids. Speaking from experience, a guy will get accustomed to the noises, messes, and odors his own children produce. Given time, the commotion becomes part of the natural landscape of the household – easily digested, easily ignored.
Then my oldest daughter began having “play dates” where one or more of her miniature accomplices would be deposited on our doorstep sans parent and left to wreak fresh havoc upon the preexisting havoc in our home. It was all I could do to keep from herding them into the garage and locking the door.
“Why don’t you guys pretend you’re taking a long car trip? The keys are in the ignition.”
In fact, science has proven men are incapable of properly caring for any child under the age of twenty seven. I confess I have no skill for discerning leggings from tights, taking a temperature by touch, or whether something is “cute” or “gross.” Men can’t be expected to remember that Samantha only wears pink (except on Tuesdays), Brandon can’t sleep without his favorite pot holder, Suzie is allergic to white, or Tommy only eats “left handed food.”
My wife does her best to spare the children my ignorance. At times, especially in the morning, it’s unavoidable.
“Frosted-flake-and-jelly sandwiches are not a school-approved lunch!” my wife will shriek with disgust.
“They have school today?” I will dumbly respond.
Bottom line: the nuances or raising children are far too subtle for men to comprehend. Nor does it help to know the downside of our incompetence will likely end in tragedy.
My father had a punch-list of names he’d call me depending on his mood, not the least of which included “rotten,” “good-for-nothin,” and “Lester.” I was stunned when my wife informed me name calling can be damaging to a child’s self esteem.
Self esteem? When I was a kid, self esteem (along with the various other “esteems”) were irrelevant as long as my homework was done, my plate clean, and my room tidy.
Thanks to the scads of research conducted over the past sixty years, however, we are now keenly aware just how fragile a child’s psyche is. Clearly our parents’ practice of spanking, yelling, threatening, and guilting us into behaving in a responsible, respectful, mature manner has resulted in our becoming a generation of drooling sociopaths unfit to participate in the conventions of polite society.
We are now painfully aware how one cross word or errant frown from a parent can send a child down the slippery slope toward absolute ruin. Before you know it, they’re smoking Kool’s, wearing their razor-slashed jeans at mid-thigh, sneaking cell phones into school, and opting to attend community college.
From a guy’s perspective, crawling through a minefield and lobbing a grenade into an enemy machine gun nest is a day at the beach compared to the responsibility of raising healthy, well adjusted kids. The pressure is unbearable.
Let us remember that at their core, men are solitary creatures. It’s all most men can do to accommodate a spouse in their lives, let alone a gaggle of mewling, runny nosed moppets who are forever begging for attention, food, and college tuition. Children – why God invented Canada. And Walleye. And mothers.
As P.J. O’Rourke observed, “Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose, with the exception of guppies who like to eat theirs.”
He was speaking of male guppies, of course.
The truth is, family vacations are neither relaxing nor recuperative.
There is good reason most families prefer a permanent living arrangement incorporating some sort of multiple room domicile with a kitchen, more than one lavatory, and separate sleeping chambers. Humans need their space. Which is why moving two large and three small humans into a single chlorine redolent hotel room with none of the aforedescribed amenities is a recipe for disaster.
I love my family. I don’t want to smell them.
To my father, quality family time meant a day on the golf course with his pals. He’d occasionally call if he was going to be home late. It seems he believed fighting Germans had fulfilled his duty to humanity. The rest was up to my mom.
Nowadays, fathers are expected to not only be present and accounted for during a child’s formative years, but to actually participate in the child rearing process. This is a mistake.
No matter how “evolved” men have become in recent times, it is in the best interests of society and the overall health of the family unit to keep men at the office, on the golf course, or deployed overseas. No good can be had from us meddling in the domestic arts, especially when it comes to children.
In the first place, men don’t really like kids, especially other people’s kids. Speaking from experience, a guy will get accustomed to the noises, messes, and odors his own children produce. Given time, the commotion becomes part of the natural landscape of the household – easily digested, easily ignored.
Then my oldest daughter began having “play dates” where one or more of her miniature accomplices would be deposited on our doorstep sans parent and left to wreak fresh havoc upon the preexisting havoc in our home. It was all I could do to keep from herding them into the garage and locking the door.
“Why don’t you guys pretend you’re taking a long car trip? The keys are in the ignition.”
In fact, science has proven men are incapable of properly caring for any child under the age of twenty seven. I confess I have no skill for discerning leggings from tights, taking a temperature by touch, or whether something is “cute” or “gross.” Men can’t be expected to remember that Samantha only wears pink (except on Tuesdays), Brandon can’t sleep without his favorite pot holder, Suzie is allergic to white, or Tommy only eats “left handed food.”
My wife does her best to spare the children my ignorance. At times, especially in the morning, it’s unavoidable.
“Frosted-flake-and-jelly sandwiches are not a school-approved lunch!” my wife will shriek with disgust.
“They have school today?” I will dumbly respond.
Bottom line: the nuances or raising children are far too subtle for men to comprehend. Nor does it help to know the downside of our incompetence will likely end in tragedy.
My father had a punch-list of names he’d call me depending on his mood, not the least of which included “rotten,” “good-for-nothin,” and “Lester.” I was stunned when my wife informed me name calling can be damaging to a child’s self esteem.
Self esteem? When I was a kid, self esteem (along with the various other “esteems”) were irrelevant as long as my homework was done, my plate clean, and my room tidy.
Thanks to the scads of research conducted over the past sixty years, however, we are now keenly aware just how fragile a child’s psyche is. Clearly our parents’ practice of spanking, yelling, threatening, and guilting us into behaving in a responsible, respectful, mature manner has resulted in our becoming a generation of drooling sociopaths unfit to participate in the conventions of polite society.
We are now painfully aware how one cross word or errant frown from a parent can send a child down the slippery slope toward absolute ruin. Before you know it, they’re smoking Kool’s, wearing their razor-slashed jeans at mid-thigh, sneaking cell phones into school, and opting to attend community college.
From a guy’s perspective, crawling through a minefield and lobbing a grenade into an enemy machine gun nest is a day at the beach compared to the responsibility of raising healthy, well adjusted kids. The pressure is unbearable.
Let us remember that at their core, men are solitary creatures. It’s all most men can do to accommodate a spouse in their lives, let alone a gaggle of mewling, runny nosed moppets who are forever begging for attention, food, and college tuition. Children – why God invented Canada. And Walleye. And mothers.
As P.J. O’Rourke observed, “Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose, with the exception of guppies who like to eat theirs.”
He was speaking of male guppies, of course.
