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I'll Never Be Your Beast of Burden
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a previous column, with a few edits. Mostly to make it funny.
As parents, we like to think our job is to teach our children to respect other people and to appreciate life. We think it's crucial that we impart our knowledge and wisdom, and to help them become the best adult possible.
Nothing is further from the truth.
In our children's eyes, we are just pack animals. They think it's our job to lug their stuff around, so they won't be burdened by it as they make their way through life.
My oldest daughter had figured this out by age three. Whenever we were out somewhere, and she didn't want to carry her doll, she would look up at me with her sweet brown eyes, bat her eyelashes a few times, and ask, "Daddy, can you carry Baby?"
"No, honey, I can't."
"But I don't want to carry her anymore." Her lower lip would quiver.
"But honey, I asked you to leave her in the car, because I knew you wouldn't want to carry her." Just ten minutes earlier, I nearly caused a torrent of tears by saying "Baby needs to rest. Let's leave her in the car."
"I know, but Baby wanted to come with us."
"Why can't you carry her?"
"Because Baby wants you to carry her." How do you argue with a plastic and beanbag doll suddenly imbued with the logic of a three-year old? You can't.
There is just no masculine way to carry your daughter's doll without looking like a complete dork. Just assume that same defeated look most husbands get when they hold their wife's purse.
Unfortunately, this all happens at the very same moment your favorite football team showed up to invite you to play in the big game on Sunday.
It only gets worse as your kids get older. After they quit carrying dolls, they've taken to wearing huge bulky, yet brightly colored coats. And they want you to carry them as soon as you get in the mall.
"I don't know why you wore the thing in the first place."
"But it's cold!" your daughter wails.
"It's only 50 degrees, and I found a parking spot 30 feet from the front door. You don't need to wear your Barbie extreme-winter parka in weather like this when you're only walking 10 yards." What's the point of arguing? You didn't win an argument against a plastic doll, and things haven't changed four years later.
But it doesn't end there. Not only do you have to carry your children's stuff while you walk with them through the mall, you'll be storing their stuff at your house for years to come. At least I am.
"I read somewhere that a man really isn't a man until he gets all of his stuff out of his parents' house," my father tells me every time we visit him.
"Really? That's nice." I already knowing where this is going.
"So when are you going to get all your stuff out of my attic?"
"I don't know. I suppose when my wife isn't at home, and I can sneak it all into ours."
"When will that be?"
"I'm not sure. She just installed a combination lock on the attic door. She says she doesn't want my junk in her attic."
"I don't want it in my attic either."
"Well, I'm leaving it there in case we ever have to move back in with you. Then I won't have to move it a second time." This is usually enough to make my dad stop, mostly because he runs crying to his room, but I know he'll win one of these days.
It's a never ending problem. Parents don't want to carry around their kids' stuff, but the kids don't either. However, don't even think about asking the kids to go without that stuff in the first place. It's important, it has great personal meaning, and it might even be worth something.
At least that's what I tell my dad. You never know: a middle school yearbook from 1980, a single bull's horn, an old pair of bicycle handlebars, one sock, and some old Star Trek books could be valuable someday.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 7th, 2003)
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How About "Big Daddy?"
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
I've always wanted a nickname, ever since I was a young boy. While I like my name, I've often wondered what it would be like to have a cool nickname. A name that would sum up my passions and interests in one simple word or phrase, like "Stein," "Wheels," or "Collectible Elvis Plates."
I'm named after Erik the Red, the famous Viking explorer. However, my dad says he received the inspiration for my name from Erik the Red cigars. But I usually skip that part of the story, since no one wants to be named after something that can kill you. At least that's what my friend, Ernie "Too Many Fatty Foods and Not Enough Exercise" Tutwiler tells me.
I was four years old when I decided I wanted a new name. One of my friends at preschool was named Sam, and he could run incredibly fast for a four-year-old. So I told my parents I wanted to change my name to Sam. I thought if I was named Sam, I could run fast too.
Unfortunately they said no, so I was doomed to a life of average running ability, thus insuring I would never win an Olympic medal.
Olympic announcer: And your three medalists in the 100 meter dash are Sam Johnson, Sam Lewis, and Sam Bannister. Meanwhile, Erik Deckers has tripped for a third time, and will probably not cross the finish line until Wednesday.
So I gave up my dreams of a new name altogether. Instead of some cool and unique name like John, Bob, or Jim, I'd have to suffer the rest of my life being named after some Viking explorer who discovered a whole new continent.
But when I started the 7th grade, I discovered the magic of nicknames. With a nickname, I could get a whole new name without having to go through the hassle of changing the one stitched in my underwear.
So when my history teacher told us we could be called by any name we wanted, I desperately wracked my brain for one: "Spike? No. Flash? No. Studly McStudmuffin? Definitely not." Finally, because I couldn't think of anything that didn't make me sound like a dork, I chose my uncle's name, and told my history teacher he could call me "Pete."
As I think back, I have no idea why I picked that name at that particular moment. That's why it never sunk in with me. And it was pretty obvious, when my teacher called on me during the first day: "Pete, do you know when the Declaration of Independence was signed?"
Since no one had ever called me that before, I didn't realize he was addressing me.
"Pete? Pete?" he repeated a couple of times. I just sat there, looking at the blackboard, wondering why the heck this Pete kid wouldn't answer. Finally the kid next to me nudged me and said "He's talking to you." Needless to say, the Pete experiment lasted about three weeks, before I got tired of remembering I had a different name in that class. So I asked my history teacher to call me by my real name again. I think he knew all along.
So I gave up on the idea of nicknames ever since. And except for a brief stint in college when one of the guys in my dorm called me Elmo, I've been nickname free for the past 23 years.
At least until now. For the last few months, I've finally earned my nickname. All sorts of nicknames, in fact, given to me by total strangers: Dude, Guy, and Buddy. Someone even called me Sport once. (But I've avoided Old Man Deckers so far; I've got a few more years before the neighborhood kids grow up and I have to start shouting at them to get off my lawn.)
I just have to walk into my favorite hardware store, and I'm greeted by a "How's it going, Buddy?" Or I stop by the grocery store, nod hello to one of the stock boys, and receive a half-mumbled, barely intelligible "Hey Guy." I can even step into a music store and be met with a hearty "Dude, you wanna check out the new Limp Bizkit CD?"
I'm 36 years old! When did I become Dude? I should have been Dude 20 years ago. I could have even been Dude 14 years ago. I'm quickly approaching my forties, and NOW I'm Dude?! Where were you people when I was in college?
But the rudest, most insulting nickname of all comes from that snotty 19-year-old cashier at the coffee shop, when she asks me, "Will there be anything else, Sir?"
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 14th, 2003)
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'Twas the Month Before Christmas
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
Erik's note: In keeping with my Laughing Stalk tradition of the past five years, I am rerunning my " 'Twas the Month Before Christmas" column. However, unlike previous years, I am actually running it during the correct week -- the week of Thanksgiving -- and not the week after (as I have since 1999).
'Twas six weeks before Christmas, and all through the town
Halloween decorations were just coming down.
I went to the mall, for a weekend reprieve
And saw such a sight that I could not believe.
The place had gone crazy, the mall was just packed.
With new clothes and new toys and cheap plastic sacks
The store owners were praying and pulling their hair,
Desperately hoping we'd spend money there.
When in one of the stores there arose such a clatter
I thought to myself "Now what's the matter?"
Away toward the noise the crowd flew like a flash
And knocked an old woman right onto her butt.
The cheesy green lights and the canned Christmas music
Made me realize no word rhymes with "music"
What I saw next made me scream and turn pale
A red and green sign said "We're having a sale!"
With a perky sales clerk, so cheerful and quick
I knew in a moment I was going to be sick!
She herded us in like sheep to the slaughter,
"Come in and buy things for your sons and your daughters!"
"We take Visa and Mastercard and Discover!" she chimed.
"American Express, credit cards of all kind!
From the back of the store, all the way to the front
Everything is on sale, there is no need to hunt!"
With the power and fury of an eight-point earthquake
The people were drawn in like a fat guy to cake
And into the store, the crowd they just flew
But what they were after, I hadn't a clue.
And then with a shudder, I heard behind me.
The ear-piercing scream of a child, age three
He gave a shrill shriek that would curl your hair
He yelled at his parents, "Hey let's go in there!"
"I see lots of games and toys," yelled the runt
"Why can't we go in there and get what I want?!"
I looked at his parents, all haggard and worn.
Their faces were bruised, their clothes, they were torn.
Their eyes, how they drooped. Their coats were all muddy.
She was missing her shoes, his nose, it was bloody.
He clung to his wallet, she clutched at her purse.
They tried not to explode as they held back a curse.
"You've got enough stuff already," the two parents said.
But the child just screamed and cried and turned red.
"What's the matter?" I asked, though I wished I had not.
They said "You can guess at the problem we've got."
"We're shopping for Christmas, for family and friends,
But it seems like this madness goes on without end."
"We've been here since morning, looking for sales.
But we've spent too much money. We feel like we've failed."
"Credit cards, debit cards, checkbooks and cash,
It's only November, and our budget has crashed."
Then the child came running and shouting with glee
"Hey, I found something else! You must come with me."
And I heard them exclaim, as they left with a grunt,
"Merry Christmas to you, though it's not 'til next month."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 21st, 2003)
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The Three Phases of Parenting
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
I recently became a proud father for the third time, and although I love and adore my new son, I've noticed my standards for obsessive care and compulsive hovering have lowered quite a bit.
I've heard that most new parents will agonize over every little detail about doing what's best for their child, but that they relax significantly after the second and even third child come along.
I've even noticed my own constant worrying and stress has decreased to the point where my blood pressure is nearly normal, and I think my hair is growing back.
And after analyzing the charts and graphs that every new parent keeps, I've discovered a pattern in every facet of child raising.
Names
First Child: Your name was inspired by a woman of royalty. She was loved by millions.
Second Child: Your name was inspired by a beloved member of the family. Everyone loved her.
Third Child: Your name was inspired by my favorite professional wrestler, Hulk Hogan. He could beat the crap out of anybody.
Holding the new baby
First Child: We're the only ones who can hold her.
Second Child: You can hold her, but you have to wash your hands first.
Third Child: Someone please hold this kid for me!
Food and Feeding
First Child: I will feed you only pesticide-free organic foods that I've prepared by hand in a carefully-sanitized kitchen.
Second Child: I will feed you baby foods from a jar that don't have preservatives or additives.
Third Child: Do you want corn dogs or chili dogs for breakfast?
Safety
First Child: Don't run in the house. You could fall and hurt yourself.
Second Child: Don't run with scissors.
Third Child: Don't play with Daddy's good chainsaw.
Toys
First Child: I will give you toys that are fun AND educational.
Second Child: I will give you toys that give you hours of entertainment.
Third Child: How many times do I have to tell you, wear safety goggles when you're using my table saw?!
Sleeping/Naps
First Child: You need to go to bed by 8:30.
Second Child: You need to go to bed by 9:00.
Third Child: It's 11:30, I'm going to bed. Turn the TV off when you're done.
Clothes
First Child: It's a little chilly. Put on your jacket, a hat, gloves, and a scarf.
Second Child: It's a little chilly. Put on a sweater.
Third Child: Did we forget your pants again?
Potty training
First Child: We'll start her potty training when she's two-and-a-half.
Second Child: She'll let us know when she's ready to start potty training.
Third Child: He'll figure it out by the time he gets to high school.
Television watching
First Child: You can watch one hour of educational TV per day.
Second Child: You can watch two hours of regular TV per day.
Third Child: My TV is broken, can I watch yours?
Bathing
First Child: Your baths will be a mixture of sparkling spring water and pasteurized milk with essential oils
Second Child: Your baths will be a mixture of warm water and baby oil
Third Child: We'll hose you off in the backyard twice a week.
Education
First Child: You're going to get the finest education we can provide.
Second Child: You're going to get the finest education we can provide.
Third Child:: Go ask your know-it-all sisters.
Music
First Child: Turn that crap down!
Second Child: Turn that crap down!
Third Child: Why can't you listen to something decent, like your sisters do.
Illness
First Child: A temperature of 100?! Rush her to the hospital!
Second Child: A temperature of 100?! Give her some Children's Motrin.
Third Child: A temperature of 100?! I'm not doing anything until he starts projectile vomiting.
Living at home
First Child: You can live here as long as you want.
Second Child: Wouldn't you like to get your own place after college?
Third Child: What are you still doing here?
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Erik Deckers
(published week of November 28th, 2003)
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