Chris Loprete, daddysden
As I write this, I am sitting poolside in Vegas with a Tequila and Tonic in my hand talking to five of my closest buddies about what to do with the money I just won from a bet on an NBA game. Okay that last sentence is not entirely true. I’m writing this 2 weeks after that scenario.
To be honest sometimes writing these blogs is work and the last thing I want to do when I’m on vacation is anything that resembles work. And two weeks ago I took a much needed vacation. I won’t go into the details of the trip (what happens in Vegas blah blah blah), and if I did it would probably bore you anyway. Let’s just say I’m getting very old.
The point and this month’s Daddy’s Den lesson is how important it is to take a break. Whether it’s an evening with the guys, a movie by yourself, or a longer vacation even just overnight, recharging your battery is essential to a healthy family life. Believe me, your wife and kids will thank you for it. Not only do you come home happy, rested, and ready to take over the domestic chores and parental duties for awhile, but you’re also so grateful to your wife for letting you go that you’re taking care of the kids and “honey do” list two weeks before you even leave.
And ladies, don’t think I’m forgetting about you. You need a break as much as the Dads. More so if you’re a stay at home mom. But I’ve found that men and women are wired differently in that regard. Whenever my wife has girl’s night out or a weekend without the kids, she always ends up coming home early because she misses us. On Mother’s Day y’know what she likes to do? Spend it with her family! What’s up with that? I don’t know whether to hug her or get mad at her for making me feel guilty for wanting to get away once in a while. I mean am I a bad father for wanting to do everything on Father’s Day BUT be a father? I’m outta there! I have learned one thing though. Getting away is important. But since becoming a husband and father, I’m no longer sad when it’s time to come home.
Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads
I’ve noticed one new thing about myself that I’m attributing to being a father. I make a lot more noise when I stand up. Okay, wait. Two things. I cry at the drop of a freakin’ hat now! Growing up I was always a sentimental guy (to a fault), but short of excruciating pain or a death in the family it would take a lot to actually start the water works. Three big exceptions: the movies Terms of Endearment and Glory and for some reason the Happy Days episode when Fonzie goes blind. Buckets.
Now it takes very little to get me verklempt. I’m not talking about sobbing or rending of garments or anything. But the least little tug at the heartstrings will get me welling up. Movies, TV shows, even commercials. The wireless provider ad (I’m not protecting anybody’s name. I seriously forget who the ad was for) where the guy is on a business trip and miserable and is sitting at the airport and then his daughter appears next to him smiles and says “Hi Daddy” and he starts asking her how her day was and you find out he’s on his cell phone talking to her with a big smile on his face? I was a mess.
THERE! See? Even now I just felt my tear ducts start to work. Or there’s a scene in the brilliant mini-series Band of Brothers when the American Army liberates a Belgian town from the Nazis. A GI approaches a young Belgian boy and gives him a chocolate bar. The boy’s father says “He’s never had chocolate before.” The boy takes a bite, looks at the soldier and smiles. Forget it. I was done. Even family sitcoms like The Middle or Modern Family will have a sweet moment each week that will get me going.
So add one more thing to the long lists of Things They Don’t Tell You about being a Dad. You are destined to turn into one big wuss. I guess it’s a good thing though. Looking at the examples above, one common denominator is that any situation eliciting an emotional response from me always involves children. So it’s no wonder these reactions have started since I became a father. It just tells me that I’m so in love with my kids and being a Dad that any sentimental situation on TV, film or even books involving children succeeds in triggering such a stirring of emotion in me for my kids that I…excuse me I have something in my eye.
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Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads
I’m a sucker for the holidays. I LOVE this time of year even though I live in Southern California and I ache for that winter crispness of the East Coast and the country Christmases I enjoyed so much as a kid…and despite the fact that I start to panic every time I look at an anemic bank account that has to endure another gutting for gifts… and except for the crowded stores and credit card debt and shopping for that PERFECT gift for my wife when I have NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS! Oh man, am I stressed. Anyway I really do love the holidays. And since I became a father, another element has been introduced which truly makes this the most wonderful time of the year. What’s that you say? Seeing my kids’ faces light up with the magic and joy of the season? Uh…okay, sure. Whatever. Two things then.
My wife is very big on behavioral therapy when it comes to our kids. In fact she devoted one of her This Little Parent Stayed Home radio shows to it (insert link here). I am teaching her a very special behavioral therapy that only comes around this time of year. It’s a method that’s been passed down from generation to generation. That of “Santa Behavioral Therapy” Allow me to demonstrate…”Clean up your toys! Santa’s watching!”, “Don’t talk back to me! Santa probably heard that, you know!”, “Go to bed now! You hear that sound? That’s the sound of Santa erasing your name off one list and writing it on the other!” Works like a charm. Yes, Virginia there IS a Santa Claus. And he’s a parent’s best friend. In fact I’ve begun using this form of discipline year round. Like in March. “Hey! Santa’s back from vacation and cranking up the workshop so you better check that attitude!” I go even farther. I turn on the Lord Of The Rings trilogy and point to the evil eye of Sauron and say,”Hey that’s kind of like Santa. He has a giant eye that can see EVERYTHING YOU DO.” And then I chuckle quietly. Oh, man. Sit back and watch them eat their vegetables. You’re welcome…and happy holidays!
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Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads
by Chris Loprete
In one of his brilliant albums that I endlessly listened to growing up, Mel Brooks said “We mock the things we are to be.” My father and I always loved that line, but he obviously understood it more than I did at the time. Now I get it. Mel was talking about kids. And parents who used to be kids. And their kids… and their kids. It’s an endless cycle. “We mock the things we are to be”. It’s inevitable no matter how we try to stave it off or deny it. There should be a drinking game. Every time a kid says” I’ll never be like my parents” everyone has to drink. And then everyone has to take another drink when the parents says, ”Uh…yeah you will so just accept it.” At first, young parents look at it as a bad thing. Hell, even older parents cringe at the thought of it. Don’t believe me? Try telling your wife ‘You’re beginning to sound just like your mother.’ Just make sure you have a pillow and blankets when she makes you sleep in the car.
Here’s just one example. My father and I are very close, but he tended to be a little tough on me when it came to little league sports whether it was baseball or soccer. I have many rough memories of him sitting in the bleachers screaming instructions to me or chastising me for swinging at a ball in the dirt or kicking at a soccer ball that’s still about 10 feet away (to be fair, the poor man got saddled with a son with the hand/eye coordination of a T-Rex) . It’s the main reason why I now sit on the safe confines of my couch watching sports as opposed to playing them. I’m not talking out of school here. My father admits that he got a little intense. Actually he doesn’t remember being THAT bad, but it’s always tougher on the small ears hearing it rather than the big mouth yelling it (love you, Dad). He also lets me know that he has the same memories of his father growing up. I promised myself “I will never subject my boy to that torture. Some people are born athletes. I am not one of them and I will go easy on my boy in case he is not one either.” So maybe you can explain to me why it is that every Saturday
morning for the last two months I have been running up and down the sidelines of a soccer field at my neighborhood park yelling, “BRADEN,CHARGE THE BALL! GET IN THERE! DON’T BE AFRAID OF IT! FOCUS! BE SOCCER READY!” It’s almost like I black out or have an out of body experience. One part of me knows it’s wrong. The other part of me doesn’t care because DARN IT! THE BOY’S GOT TO EXCEL AS AN ATHLETE! I mean GEEZ! He’s ALREADY 4 ½ YEARS OLD! Down in Naples, Florida my father is laughing his ass off. And so is Mel Brooks.
Chris is an actor/writer living in Los Angeles. He’s performed in movies, TV and on stage with the Groundlings Improvisation troupe, and the award winning Circle X Theatre Company. He recently performed his self penned critically acclaimed one man show “You’re From Philly, Charlie Brown” in several cities across the US. Chris currently works as an Associate Writer/Producer for ABC On-Air Promos for Reality and Comedy. He lives north of Los Angeles, in Santa Clarita, with his wife and two children.
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Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads
My wife and I are either crazy or stupid or so self loathing that we feel we deserve to be punished. It must be that, right? How else would you explain it? Why on Earth but for any of the above reasons would anybody want to go through this again and so soon after the first time? Oh by the way, my wife and I are expecting our 2nd child. Thank you. Yes, it is very exciting. We’re thrilled.
Sure. Whatever.
It is said that the body and mind are able to block out memories of pain and misery. That must be true. If it weren’t, all families would only have one child. We would be a “single child” society. Maybe the Chinese are on to something after all. My wife is in the last weeks of her 1st trimester. She’s miserable, fatigued, nauseous, hormonal, oh and trying to raise a toddler on top of all that. It only gets better from here on out. Soon will come the heartburn, the restless nights, and the various physical ailments that accompany a pregnancy.
My wife will go through some of these symptoms too.
Then it will all culminate in that “wonderful day” that I described in a blog a few months ago. Oh, but wait. There’s more. Just when we trained our first child to sleep through the night, here comes baby # 2 to carry the sleep deprivation torch. It’s time to get spit up on again and time to look forward to another 2 years of changing diapers. Now once the baby comes, our little boy will be 3 years old so I’m sure he’ll be able to take care of himself by then, yes? No, you say? In fact he’ll require even MORE attention so as not to incite any sibling jealousies? Oh great. So I have THAT to look forward to as well.
We’ll be finding out the sex. I’m not sure I understand the “we want to be surprised” philosophy. There are enough surprises on the day your baby is born anyway so why not knock as many of them out as you can before hand? My wife and I want a girl. We would be happy with a healthy baby no matter what the sex … but come on. Neither of us can handle another boy running around this house. We’re just barely able to keep this one from burning down the neighborhood, why would we want to unleash another Y chromosome onto the world?
Our little boy sees the potential though. The toddler Sith Lord needs his apprentice and knows that together they can rule the galaxy. He has stated very plainly that he wants a little brother. He has also made it clear that he wants us to name the baby “Braden”. We have assured him that while it is a beautiful name, it is also
his name and things could get confusing around the house if we duplicated it. So, while we would love a little boy just as much, my wife and I are hoping for a girl. And then we’re hoping she’ll magically turn into a boy when she reaches high school. At least I am.
So why do it? It’s not like it was forced on me. My wife didn’t suddenly leap across the bed and ambush me as I innocently read a book. (Believe me I would have loved it…) No, we actually tried to conceive another child on purpose and succeeded. In fact I am very proud to say that THIS time, we didn’t need any help from the medical industry.
Nope.
All me, baby.
A solo slam dunk with no time left on the clock.
Thank you.
So why go through all of this again? The answer is simple. Why the hell not? I can’t go out anymore anyway, so I might as well raise another kid and get them all out of the house at the same time so I can go back to enjoying my life.
Okay that’s only part of it.
The truth is our little boy needs a sibling. He has friends, but he needs to be a big brother. He’s only two, but we can almost feel his loneliness. On a recent trip to the park he slid down the slide, looked around and shouted “Hello?!” to an otherwise empty playground. It was if he was saying, “this is only fun if I can share it with someone.” It’s heartbreaking to me when he wants to play with his toys and doesn’t have a playmate. Oh, shut up, I play with him plenty, okay? I just don’t have the energy of a 2 year old. I have the energy of a 37 year old that’s raising a 2 year old which amounts to… not a lot of energy. There are selfish reasons for having another child too. I got a little teary-eyed when I took his crib down and put him in his “big boy” bed for the first time this past month. It’s only been two years but I get very nostalgic when I look at pictures of my boy as an infant and how small he looked in my arms. I had been warned about how fast they grow up and while my son isn’t exactly borrowing the car or moving out of the house, I do feel like those early stages of life are past him. I’d like to experience them just once more. I’ll savor them a little longer this time.
I promise.
Then we’re done. Seriously. I don’t care how fast this one grows up. I’m not doing this any more.
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