We were in the kitchen getting the lunches ready. She had been bending over getting stuff out of the cupboard when she stood up quickly.
Isobel: "Ugh, what is that?"
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "Ugh, that smell. That awful smell. That horrible smell. Was that you Daddy?"
Daddy: "No." (No really, it wasn't.)
Isobel: "Oh god it stinks. Maybe it was one of the cats. It had to be, they stink like that bad all the time."
Daddy: "It could have been but I haven't seen the cats in a while. I think they are upstairs."
Isobel: "God it STINKS!"
Daddy: "It is pretty bad. Maybe something went down the drain and got stuck. Like food or something, it's happened before."
Isobel: "No, I think it must have been the cats to stink that bad."
Daddy: "Honey I told you, the cats are upstairs. They can stink but I don't think it's two floors worth. It's not the cats."
Isobel: "I guess it must have been me then."
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "Ahahahaha!"
A few days ago a classmate told me she was pregnant. It was not a planned pregnancy but she is happy nonetheless. She had mentioned to several others in our lab group that she wanted another kid before she got too old. She's twenty-two. Isobel was born when Mrs. Narrator and I were both 38. Before she got too old...jesus. Anyhow, she asked me what it was like when Isobel was born...or rather when I found out I was going to be a father.
I thought about it for a few minutes and said exactly what I thought on that Mother's day weekend almost seven years ago. I was terrified and wanted to run away screaming. I wanted to shout at Mrs. Narrator, "You rotten swine, you have ruined my life." No wait, that one was much later. I was unbelievably freaked out by the entire situation. Somebody reasonably wise in these matters said to me at the time that, 'The world had not stopped turning.' It hadn't. People all around the world and all through history had babies and nobody ever dies as a result. OK, that last bit is not entirely true, many women have died having children but to my knowledge, no man has ever died as a result of having a child. Not even that odd trans-sexual fellow/lady.
So getting back to my classmate, she had mentioned that the father her unborn child was less than impressed at the thought of being a parent. That he felt as though his life was over, that he would live in small cramped apartments for the rest of his days and that his days of being the life of the party, were effectively over. She was honestly concerned that he was going to leave her.
I think it is every guy's inclination to put your head down and run in this scenario. The guy's brain is simple...sometimes very simple. 'Can I eat it? Can I screw it? Can I fix it? Do I need to fight it?' There are finer points and subheadings like; art and music and finite math and breakfasts I have smelled but they all originate from THE BIG FOUR. Baser instincts that haven't evolved much from our primitive ancestors. The delivery systems may have changed but not the message.
So, when faced with the one thing that doesn't fit into any of the aforementioned categories of the male brain, something as radical as offspring, the need to run away from it becomes overwhelming. And now that the science lesson is over, here's the rub. I wanted to run away but I didn't. Why? Am I so old fashioned? Not especially but I felt then that despite the desire to do so, running away would only compound my situation. It was the easy way out and I have never taken the easy way out. I am far too stupid for that.
Maybe it was because I grew up in a house with a mostly absent father. Not so much physically but certainly emotionally. I had clothes and food sure but I don't think I ever once thought that my father loved me. I know it was a different time and fathers didn't say that kind of thing to sons...at least not in public. But I guess, somewhere inside my tiny little man-brain, that I would not let my child grow up with that doubt. The best way of doing that was to stick around and help turn the child into a well adjusted person. (OK, maybe not so well adjusted. It is Me and Mrs. Narrator we're talking about)
But here's the thing, the crux of this whole deal. I like being a Dad. Yeah, I bitch a lot and I holler at my kids probably more than I should but I am a better person because they are there. I have always tried to get jobs that paid well so they wouldn't have to feel the pressure of less money coming in. It hasn't always worked out that way and I had an awfully lot of shitty jobs but I had a responsibility to them. That's what Dads do. You suck it up and you keep going because there are little people counting on you to do just that. Recently I have gone back to school to actually do something resembling a career, rather than just another factory job. Why? Because I owe it to them to try and make a decent living so they can go to school and try to do things resembling a career. Not to mention that it will be nice to hear my kids saying that their old man went back to school in his forties and now he is doing something he loves.
My classmate said that her boyfriend has dreams of being a chef, that he is convinced are now over. If anything, I would think that this should be his inspiration TO be a chef. You have a life that you are now responsible for and you'll want to give that new life every opportunity you can afford it. Factory work is likely not going to cut it. Running is the easy way out but nothing worth doing is ever easy, it's hard as hell...but that's what makes it great. Any fool can make a baby but it takes a man to be a Dad.
There is that weird connection between mother and child, that sends a signal to the mother the second her child is in distress. I think fathers have it to a lesser degree.I was walking through the house the other day and I swear I heard Izzy scream. I walked quickly out the back door and at the bottom of the stairs, were her boots and skipping rope. Without her in them. I called out to her and was met with silence. I wasn't panicky by this point but concerned. I came back inside and headed to the front door. I still couldn't see her and so out the back again. I was a little worried. I walked around the side of the house and saw her playing in the front seat of Mrs. Narrator's car. Bobbing up and down below the dashboard. I flung the car door open.
"Make sure you pick up your boots and stuff." I said angrily.
"What's the matter, Daddy?" she asked.
"I didn't know where you were," I said. "I was worried you might have wandered away or something.
"Were you scared?" she asked.
"I was a little scared, yes." I replied.
"I told you." she said.
"Wait, what?" I asked.
"I told you I would scare you back."
"You didn't do that on purpose, " I said. "you aren't that evil."
She just shrugged her shoulders...she is that evil...
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