Amy, during my most recent quarterly review as your husband you expressed concern in the Fatherhood competency category. You asked, “Why did Brandon try to reach mom on a day dad was clearly designated as the Parent on Duty?” My report on those events is below. I have filed it as, “The events of August 16th, 2016” I suspect you will add it as another chapter in your ongoing story: “J. is an Idiot.” I have recreated the key scene below. I have omitted some minor facts which make me look bad/worse:
Brandon and Ryan are sitting with me in the living room. I am in dad mode: calm, thoughtful, almost beatific, and ruggedly handsome.
J: “Gentlemen, all morning long what did I say had to happen?”
Ryan: (age 8, responds like someone who has memorized a speech): “Boys, I have a conference call at 11:00. I am at work and cannot be disturbed during that time.”
J: (patiently, radiating fatherly mastery of the situation) “I got everyone set-up with device codes after making sure chores were done, I did my part. I really needed to have that hour come together. I was phoning-in to an important meeting.”
We sit in silence until Brandon (age 12) says: “Can I go now?”
J: “No. (pause for effect) So I’m downstairs and I hear lots of commotion, but I think, _the boys will handle themselves, they know that dad is Working from Home_. Then during my conference call I get a text from your mother who is asking why Brandon is trying to call mom. Brandon, why were you calling mom at work?”
Brandon: “Because you were on your important call.”
J: “And what was so urgent that you needed a parent at just that moment?”
Ryan: “You suck Brandon.”
J: “Quiet Ryan. Brandon, why did you call mom?”
Brandon: “Because you were on your…”
J: “I get that, what were you calling her about?”
Brandon: “Ryan was shaving his legs.”
Ryan: “I hate you Brandon.”
J: “Ryan was shaving his legs? Ryan, why were you shaving your legs?”
Brandon: “Well…”
Ryan: “Shut up Brandon! Because the hair was getting long! Geez! (he does not use the word, “moron,” but I sense it was there).
Brandon: “Guys don’t shave their legs, Ryan!”
Ryan: “Olympic swimmers do!”
Brandon: “You’re not an Olympic swimmer!”
Ryan: “Not if I can’t shave my legs!”
J: (holds up hands) “Quiet please Ryan. So, Brandon, did he have a razor, or a knife, was he in danger of hurting himself?”
Brandon: “No…”
J: “Did he have scissors?”
Brandon: “No…”
J: “So how was he shaving his legs?”
Brandon: “He had mom’s noise hair trimmer.”
J: (long pause): “He was shaving his legs with a nose hair trimmer?”
Brandon: “Yes.”
J: “So, you tried to call your mom.”
Brandon: “Yes.”
J: “Why?”
Brandon: “Uhm, well, I figured it was wrong to shave your legs with a noise hair trimmer. I have to do something.”
(I recognize the need to do something, because I’m feeling it now, but at this point I go into a kind of parental vapor lock. If I were a TV computer I’d be waving my arms and smoking and repeating, “Punish, laugh, be wise! Punish, laugh, be wise!”
J: (after a long silence I make a weak choice and go with “Punish.”) “Okay, until I figure out what to tell your mother everyone is grounded.”
So, that’s my report. On the plus side Ryan’s legs look fabulous.
Respectfully Submitted,
