Local Father Reflects on "Being Dad"

The day I became a dad wasn’t the the day my first child was born.

I know – technically – I did become a father that day, but just not a dad. That didn’t happen for a while. Months…possibly even years later. Sure, I had brushes with “daddium” along the way.

In the beginning, my wife and I had separate jobs: she was in importing, I was in exporting. She fed the baby. I was on diaper duty – but my expertise and some might even say extraordinary talent (some might say it) was in the gas department.

If there was a gas problem, I would get the signal, emerge from my lair and take on the dastardly fiend. I was the Gas Man.

There wasn’t a bubble that could avert me. My repertoire consisted of light bouncing while holding, back rubbing, gently patting, and even leg crunches. If a burp did not present itself in under two minutes, I would lay the baby on her back and do a bicycle motion with her legs, while gently rocking her hips from side to side.

Never failed. In under five minutes gas would emerge – one way or the other.

This is the moment I would have my glimpse of being a dad. Once the gas had passed, I would feel the entire baby’s body relax on my shoulder. What was, moments before, a panicking, struggling, fusspot had now completely relaxed and had melted into my shoulder. “Thank you Gas Man,” is what she would have said if she could speak.

But, alas, that moment was fleeting. As soon as she realized she was not with the Mommy – the fusspot would begin to push away until her desire was fulfilled and I was back in my lair.

(Note: My gas relief technique sharpened over the years and by the time my fifth child came along a simple but concentrated stare got the gas out. Achieving gas zen masterhood.)

There were lots of other bonding moments with my first – and with all of my children really, but I remember the moment I was a dad, a real dad. A dad that would wear black socks with sandals. A dad that would leave the house with spit-up on his shirt shoulder. A dad that is proud not to be called by his name but “So and so’s dad.”

A real dad.

My wife and I took the family to the American History museum in Washington DC. We had four kids at the time. (Okay, I know how that sounds, but I was a real loving, playful father…just hadn’t hit real dad status yet – so please just go with it).

As we traveled through time and walked past what seemed like more than 250 years of American artifacts. The family became wary. My youngest son was just one and a half, still in diapers and constantly in and out of the stroller. He had had enough and was tired and cranky. A ride on my shoulders was always a great mood changer for him, so I hoisted him up. He was momentarily delighted and then his crankiness continued.

We found ourselves in front of the humungous War of 1812 American flag that had inspired Francis Scott Key to write our national anthem. The tattered flag that once waved valiantly over Fort McHenry in Baltimore now hangs majestically in the quiet of the museum. Safe from the rockets red glare, no longer subjected to bombs bursting in mid-air. Or, so they thought.

Like Key, my son too, from his vantage point high upon my shoulders, was inspired by this great flag and gave his interpretation of bombs bursting in mid-air. From just behind my ears, I heard an explosion and instantly my neck, shoulders and what was quickly becoming my back was very warm. And very wet. And very stinky.

He had a major diaper blowout on my neck and shoulders. There was nothing I could do. Any move I made was going to pull everything he had just shot out over my head. My faithful and usually helpful wife stared, and held back what I knew was going to be a huge laugh. I was a mess.

I was stunned – not really knowing what to do. And that is when it happened. I became a real dad. This was nothing but funny. My wife and I just started to laugh and deal with it. She grabbed my son and I took stock of the damage and we both laughed and laughed.

People stopped and looked… butI didn’t care. My wife and I couldn’t even talk for about an hour or two because we just kept laughing. It was awful but joyful and very very funny. And I felt like I could do anything and it would be okay. I was a dad.