Dad Behavior
By Joel Schwartzberg

A few years ago, my family and I were picnicking in our local dog park and overheard an argument between two men, clearly strangers. One was alone and the other had his family with him. There were some dogs nearby as well; I'm not sure if they belonged to either man or if they were eavesdropping like I was, just a little more conspicuously. I forget what ignited their fight, but what I clearly remember is the family man shouting, "Don't EVER talk to me that way IN FRONT OF MY KIDS!" I thought this was a curious thing to say. It's as if his reputation as King Dad, Ruler and Knower of All Things (except as overruled by Emperor Mommy) was somehow placed in jeopardy by a few angry words from a complete stranger. Is a Dad's reputation to his kids really that tenuous? Dads, of course, are genetically compelled to impress and look strong in front of their kids. We can't help it. Even the least skilled of fathers – and here I know what I'm talking about – find something to fix, build, improve, and otherwise amaze their kids with. My children are young, so when I magically restart the computer or reattach the door of a Barbie Duplex, it's like bringing fire to the natives. I know I'm only a few years from becoming "Pathetic Dad" who can't operate the latest fad in personal technology or even get dressed without embarrassing myself, so I'll take whatever adoration I can get now. Dads always pass down traditions and skills to their children, like car maintenance, power tool expertise, hitting curveballs, and leaving the toilet seat up. My father passed to me the fine art of returning store-bought merchandise. Laugh if you will, but making effective returns takes diplomacy, cunning, stamina, and long-line endurance. Recently I was showing my own son how, with the proper alignment of strategic returns, coupons, and mild tax evasion, I was able to technically have Toys R Us pay us to receive a Bionicle playset instead of the other way around. I was proud. He was unimpressed. But on the ride home, I watched Evan excitedly open the toy, and explain to me the various ways this Bionicle was fundamentally different from the hoards of Bionicles already guarding his bedroom from sibling invaders. Every comment began like this: "Dad, check this out…", "Dad, can you believe this…", "Dad, what do you think this is for…", "Dad can we stop for donuts?" Darn, that kid is a mind-reader. It occurred to me -- midway through devouring a jelly-filled -- that your child's esteem is yours by birthright. As such, it's also yours to lose. But it can't be lost when you stop to ask for directions, firmly send him to bed, or walk away from a fight. It's certainly true with my view of my own Dad. No Harrison Ford, he nonetheless earned his Get-Admiration-Free card the moment I was born, and to this day continues to offer me the shirt off his own back. (The shirt is about 16 seasons old and musty-smelling, so I passed.) The fighting men in the park eventually went their separate ways without coming to blows. The dogs even looked disappointed. But the Dad who felt his reputation was on the line in front of his kids really had nothing to worry about. Just steer your kids toward happiness, I'd tell him, and they will almost always look up to you in return. And if that fails, there's always Ringpops.

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