RaisingDad

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine desertexposure.com   Nobody, that is, except me.     I’ve always considered it a privilege to change my children’s diapers.     Other kids?     Not so much.     In fact, not at all.     Change is inevitable, and this is especially true when it comes to dirty diapers, but since nature has effectively kept men in general, and me in particular, out of the equation when it comes to baby-raising duties that bond the parent with the child--such as childbirth and breastfeeding--I had to take my bonding moments where I could find them, and I’m not talking about in the pages of an Ian Fleming novel.     Thinking about it, maybe that’s why children are closer to their mothers than their fathers. That reminds me of something I heard happens in prison. In prison, prisoners are invited every Mother’s Day to send ...

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine desertexposure.com   "Dad, I'm cooking shrimp for dinner," my wife says. "Would you like regular or coconut?"      Meanwhile, the guy who's actually helping make dinner--namely me --his opinion goes unrequested.      I really can't get upset. My wife's just trying to make my father feel at home. It wasn't that long ago my beloved mother passed away. After a brief time of him living on his own, we decided to ask him to move in with us. It's not a decision I regret. Given the opportunity, I would do it all over again, but it's been tough. You can't have two alpha males in the same wolf pack without one wolf becoming incredibly annoyed at the other.      "What?" my father says.      "I'm cooking shrimp for dinner."      "You're cooking dinner?"      "Yes."      "What are you cooking?"  ...

I was getting rid of some of our mother's things today.      I thought my buddy Maloney's mother-in-law could have the old rocking chair pop bought mom a long time ago, but it was in too poor a condition for even Maloney's mother to have.      I also went through a bag of a bunch of religious cards. Cards from funerals and St. Jude asking our mother for money and giving her cheap jewelry in return. Actually, it was my three-year-old granddaughter and I who went through it, and, like I thought, it was a bunch of trash.       My granddaughter kept some of it.      She’d go, “This was grandma’s and now it’s mine?” Which was her way of asking, “Can I have this?”      “Yes,” I’d tell her. “That was grandma’s and now it’s yours.”      Some colorful rosary beads. A bracelet made up of little wooden squares with picture...

The recent funerals of Aretha Franklin and John "Wet-Start" McCain (an old fighter pilot nickname of his) reminded me of how my father has become rather fond of attending them.      It gives him something to do, he gets to socialize with friends and family he hasn't seen in awhile, and the food is usually good.      At one recent funeral, the food was especially good. Instead of a pot luck where everybody brought something, they family of the deceased had it catered. I noticed that my father went back time after time for seconds, thirds, and even fourths.      "You're going back again? " I asked him, when he got up for a fifth time.      "Why not?" he asked me back.      "People will start to think you eat like a pig," I told him.      "They won't," he told me back.      "Why won't they?"      "Because I've been...

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine desertexposure.com   My wife's a great cook.     In fact, she's such a great cook she can even make English food taste good, and any food you have to put vinegar on to improve the flavor of, well, let's just say you'd have to admit that it would be a challenge. She makes everything from scratch, and doesn’t mind spending hours in the kitchen preparing a delectable feast for those she loves.     I include myself in that group.     One time, my beloved mother, when she was still alive and my wife wasn't around, asked me who the better cook was.     I was diplomatic, but honest.     “Mom,” I told her, “when it comes to cooking Mexican food, you're the best, but my wife's the better cook when it comes to cooking different kinds of food.”     Since Mexican food is all my mother ever made, she was happy ...

By the many stories I've told you, it may sound like my father got pulled over a lot for speeding, and maybe he did, but I take full responsibility for that.      You see, my brother and I were  very rambunctious as young boys, and he had to spend half of his driving time threatening us in the backseat to get us to stop fighting with one another.      It was a stormy night, as this memory takes place, and my father had pulled to the side of the road because a police officer had pulled us over. In his yellow rain slicker, it was obvious the police officer was not happy to be doing his job.      "Isn't it stupid of you to be speeding with your family in the car with you?" he tried to chastise my father.      My father isn't one to be chastised.      "Stupid? Me?" he told the police officer. "YOU'RE the one standing in the rain."   ...

as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine desertexposure.com     Lest you think I consider my father a burden, I don't.      It's just if all I wrote about were unicorns and rainbows, both you and I would be bored. Besides, I find everything my father does incredibly entertaining. Maybe not at the time, but, you know, when I look back. Now I understand the saying, "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you." I'm not laughing at my father, because I'm just like him. I'm laughing with him, because I can see what the future has in store for me.       Old age takes pity on no one.     One of the reasons we bought this particular house is because it had a small guest house in the front where we knew my father could live and have his privacy. It was a way for him to keep his independence, yet let us keep an eye on him at the same time. In his home away from home he has his own TV with its own...