“The only true currency in this bankrupt world… is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.”
WARNING: At-home Dad approaching
I’ve seen you.
I know you’ve seen me.
You’ve just never formally acknowledged my presence.
At holiday time, I’m the only penis-carrying parent helping the elementary schoolers make gingerbread houses. Frosting in a can, baby. Deee-lish.
On pleasant mornings, I’m the guy walking the Lab and singing off-key along with his iPod who you whizzed by en route to Pilates class. BTW, Lycra becomes you.
Or perhaps you spotted me, three days of stubble on my cheeks, checking the nutritional labels on Campbell’s Select Harvest soups at the Safeway on a Wednesday afternoon. Remember? I was the store’s sole male customer under age 73.
That’s right. Out of the corner of your eye that day. You DID see me.
And you thought, “Poor fella … unemployed and all.”
No worries. Happens all the time.
Which reminds me of how Lara and I met.
She rammed my shopping cart one day, right there in the pork and beans area, leaned in real low and close, and said those words I’ll never forget:
“Wanna come back to my place and hunt squirrels?”
Especially not at $9.50 an hour.
Unfortunately, I’m awful at understanding metaphors. That’s how I ended up here. It’s a condition of the “hold harmless” agreement the arbitrator made Lara and I sign.
Yep, that’s the life of an at-home dad. If you’re not being mistaken for a shiftless bum, you’re having to fight off the housefraus, soccer moms and mommybloggers with a sharpened spatula. Back — back, you recipe vultures!
And if you believe that, I have tickets to an exclusive Joe Jonas solo concert on April 31 to sell ya.
I do it with even less support from my peers than you and absolutely no recognition from Oprah.
O-praaaaAAAAAAAAAH! Skype me, girlfriend.
Also, unlike you, I never perform these tasks in silky lingerie and fuzzy kitten heels while balancing a glass of wine in one hand. I’m strictly a cottony boxer briefs and beer guy.
(Speaking of beer, go back and read Brad’s awesome guest post then repeat after me, “Yuengling.” Makes you feel a little naughty saying that in public. Imagine what drinking it is like.)
So next time you see me out there, alone or with spawn in tow, smile and give us a solid “I understand you” nod.
That’s how we guys do it.
Kevin McKeever blames it on a sheltered suburban childhood consisting of Mad magazine, 8-track tapes of The Knack and the pathetic teams fielded by the New York Mets in the late ’70s and early ’80s. After a momentary flirtation with a pretentious Ivy League college, he took the road more frequently traveled because it led him to the one of the last places in America where the drinking age was still 18. Having been saved from corporate drudgery by a Midwestern girl on her own, he is now an at-home dad of three: a daughter battling both the rare autoimmune disease juvenile myositis and the more common “Daddytakemeshopping” Syndrome; a son battling evil Pokémon and Bakugan; and a dog in search of a better bully stick. When not contributing to DadCentric he writes his own blog Always Home and Uncool, makes stuff up for Polite Fictions and also poses as a non-syndicated columnist for his local newspaper.
(PS the first Nuggetier to comment telling me what the common thread in the title of this post, the opening quote and the title of Kevin’s blog is wins some sort of fabulous as yet to be identified prize)