...Of Mice and Children

So,I'm a dad. This was something I had planned on being at one point in my life, but, maybe not when it happened. I regret absolutely nothing, and my children, all one and a half of them, are great. I'd like to think I've done a fairly decent job so far of raising them, albeit with tons of help from my wonderful wifey.

I'm the Fight Club-style generation. A generation of men raised by women, as our fathers, if there was one of them in our lives, worked a full-time job, and mom was home raising us hellions. We played our games, and tried to delay our ascension to adulthood as much as Peter Pan and his Lost Boys. For the most part, we succeeded. But, like in all facets of life, success comes with that mystical double-edged sword. We held onto our youthful approach to things, and, of course, our amazing immaturity. This allows us to laugh more, to enjoy life more, and feel more oppressed at smaller things. We show our emotions more, and let more out on our sleeves than previous generations who prided themselves in being conservative and very private. We pride ourselves in knowing that every minute of our lives is Tweeted, Facebook'd, Dugg, Slashdot'd, or Buzz'd. If management used this method to track their employees, productivity would be amazing.

So, let me rein myself in here, and get back to the original topic. Dad. Daddy. Pop. Father. I'm 30, but I'm a big kid. I know how to behave, I just hate to do it. I joke, I kid, I'm sarcastic, I swear, and I'm most certainly not politically correct. Now, I have to raise a new generation. I have to be a role model. I have to be that shining example in a sea of waste and confusion. I have to be...well...responsible. I have to dig deep, and find those core values that mom and dad taught me, examine them thoroughly, and re-shape them for the current day and age. To say the least, it's been a challenge. Like a lot of families today, both my wife and I work. She works from home, but, it's when I'm not at work. So, my time for passing on these values and knowledge was just chopped down to maybe 5-6 hours a week, and 14 hours on the weekends. It's hard for them, and for me. I'm constantly trying to be the best parent I can, never knowing if I'm doing the right thing or not. Am I giving too much attention, or not enough? Should I pick them up all the time, or let their little tiny behinds walk using the feet they were born with? Do I really need to keep telling them the same thing over and over and over again, or do I draw the line at a certain number, and just punish after that? What is a good bedtime? What if...

Then, it hits me. I was ready. I am a good parent. Because I care about all of those things. Because I give a shit enough to think those things through, and be angry at myself when I forget a change of clothes on a day trip. I think people have a preconceived notion that there is a 'Ready' light that will go off when your life is at it's peak, and spawning may commence. That is not quite the case. During the pregnancy, up to the birth, you still feel that everything is crazy, and nothing will be as good as it should be. Then, you look down into those tiny, barely formed globes of hope, and you see pure innocence, and a slight tinge of naivety. This tiny little package of meat and goo will grow up to be, in essence, a reflection not of you, but of your values.

You're not ready until it happens. So, let it happen, and enjoy every second.