Some got'dang peace and quiet
One of the things that I do on the weekends is take the kiddos in the car to drive around. The ulterior motive here is to get them to nap, and they still haven't caught on to that.
Now, sure, you can make the argument that I'm killing the environment by putting a few miles on my car every weekend, but that's not what this is about.
The kids are usually out after about 10 minutes of driving, so what I do is I loop around and then come back home where we have a lake[1]. I park at the primary boat ramp, because it's a nice, shady, quiet area. I drop the windows, turn off the car, and I get out, sit by the water and either read a book or do some writing[2] while I wait for nap time to end.
This gives my wife a much needed break[3], and, frankly, it gives me a chance to sit by a body of water and just exist for a little while. I don't get to be on or in the water as much as I'd like, but at least being near it feels energizing.
There are a few folks who frequent the boat ramp, and most of them recognize me and smile and wave. Most of them have seen the kids in the car, or just struck up a conversation while loading or unloading. Not a single one of them knows my name, or where I live (other than in the neighborhood, of course). I don't know their names. But it is community. It feels like community.
There is one guy, though, who I've never. . .liked. He does not smile. he does not wave. He barely acknowledges my presence. He scowls in my direction if he does anything at all. Sometimes he's accompanied by a friend, or a brother, I'm unsure which. The brother isn't so bad, he at least gives me a nod.
Today, though, he had someone else with him: A little boy. Probably about 4 years old. Definitely no older than 5. This little boy is his son, so far as I can tell. And this man has nothing but contempt for this little boy. They were loading his boat[4] today as I pulled up. Every word out of the man's mouth toward the kid had a curse in it.
Apparently his hands were dirty, because the guy told the kid to “Wash his fucking hands off” in the lake water before getting in the car.” He told the kid he was bad and was going to time out when they got home. Maybe I'm biased because the guy's not warm like the rest of the folks I see there, but this really didn't sit well with me. But whatever, I don't generally judge other parents too hard. I know what it's like.
But then the brother piped up. “Come on man, he was just playing around. We can wash the boat off.”
Yep, you read that right. This man is sitting there cursing and spitting at his kid because he got the boat muddy. The boat that he takes into the water and loads and unloads in the muddy area next to the boat ramp. Well, okay, maybe dude's having a bad day and this was just the icing and—
He started spanking the kid when the kid wasn't appropriately sorry for having put a muddy handprint on the waxed hull of the boat.
This kid is maybe as old as my oldest kid. The one who is sitting in my car, sleeping peacefully, as this other little boy gets his ass whipped for the crime of being a kid.
No, no, I didn't say anything. I didn't confront the redneck, I didn't save the day. I did consider it, but it really and truly isn't my place to do that. There was no heroic act, and nobody cheered. The brother, at least, had the decency to looked embarrassed when he saw that I'd noticed what was going on. I get the feeling he's a good uncle.
I don't know what the point of this story was. I don't know why this, of all things, caused me to finally start writing “journal-style” blog entries. I guess the thing I learned from this is that. . .I'm doing a pretty good job.
I've never hit my kids. Oh, sure, I've lost my temper and yelled, definitely more often than I should. I've even cursed[5]. I'm a human being, after all. But I have never and will never hit them. Call it gentle parenting. Call it being a pussy.
I call it being a man, in all the noble and worthy ways that something can be “manly”, and none of the toxic ones. I call it being good.
I can only hope that that poor kid will be able to break the cycle of anger that his father couldn't. I hope my kids meet him, one day. I hope they share what a good dad can be. Not a perfect dad. But a good one.
Dads (and moms, too), I know you're struggling. I know that there's a loneliness epidemic amongst us. I know this because I feel it. I know that you probably feel like you're not a good dad sometimes. But, take it from me: You're doing great.
Footnotes
[1]: We do not have a lake house. Our house is downstream of the dam that makes the lake.
[2]: I tell myself it'll be a novel, or a blog post, but it usually ends up being code. 😕
[3]: She has to deal with nap time all week while I work.
[4]: This boat is very well taken care of. He recently got a new paint job on it, and it wasn't a cheap one. This is sort of important for the story, but I didn't feel like breaking the flow to include it.
[5]: I don't actually have that much of a bias against cursing around kids, to be honest. I generally try not to, even my own, but. . .meh.