I went into parenting unsure about everything; I didn’t even know if I’d like having a kid! Especially since before I had my kid, I hated kids. Obviously, I mostly hated Other People’s Kids, and always assumed that when I had one of my own I’d be okay with him. But I couldn’t really know, not until I met the guy.
As luck would have it, whether by biology or nature or something L. Ron Hubbard wrote about, I do like my kid. I mean, obviously I love my kid, but I like him too. Which is huge. But that circumstance hasn’t changed my opinion on other kids. If anything, it’s made it worse, since now they are being compared to the Platonic Ideal of Offspring that is my son. And they don’t measure up.
Also, now that I’m a dad and I know a lot more parents than I used to, I hate them even more than I hate their kids.
For one thing, they let their kids rule their lives, which… is actually somewhat understandable. Because as much as being a parent can suck sometimes, there’s never any doubt that your kids are the best thing that’s ever happened to you, even when they’re acting like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. And your priorities shift to accommodate that fact.
Unfortunately, some parents take their slavish devotion to their kids too far. Mom and Buried and I were wary of that, so before she got pregnant, we made a deal that we wouldn’t become like those friends we’d seen fade from our lives once they had their kids. We decided we would do our best to continue to live our lives the same way we always had, even with a baby in tow. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been doable. Of course, for most of our run, we had only one kid, so I might be talking out of my ass. (I can now confirm, after a year and a half of two kids, I kind of was.)
Which is the other thing I hate about so many parents. I am talking out of my ass, and I know this. Because no one knows what they are doing. Except, if you were to believe them, those hateful parents I like to refer to as “Other Parents.” Other Parents are those parents that act like they’ve cracked the secret child-rearing code. Like they are experts.
Sorry, but with all due respect to Dr. Spock and Dr. Phil and etc.: there is no such thing as a parenting expert.
A.P.P. = Anti-parent Parenting
I believe everyone needs to know that. So I started Dad and Buried as a place where I could chronicle my journey into fatherhood while attempting to maintain my pre-fatherhood identity, and it has since evolved into the Anti-Parent – and Anti-Parenting – Parenting blog, for two reasons:
1) Parenting is a drag, even when you love your kid. Hell, that may be even worse than having a kid you don’t give a shit about. At least then, whatever happens, happens. No parenting required! But with a kid you love, you are responsible for his well-being and his education and his development into something-other-than-a-total-asshole. And that is hard, grueling work that requires a healthy amount of ridicule or it will drive you insane.
2) Other Parents are the worst. They never tire of judgment. They judge you, they judge your spouse, they judge your kids; only they know the secret to perfect parenting. Well, on Dad and Buried (and in Soviet Russia!), I judge them. WITH PREJUDICE. And a healthy amount of swearing.
Be warned: this blog is not a manual, or a guide, or a rule book. Hopefully, at its best, it’s a life raft.
It’s a place where I can bitch about my life as a dad, about my annoying sons, and about all those Other Parents who act like they know better than everyone else.
Because they don’t know shit. Neither do you. And neither do I!
But that’s what makes this blog different from other parenting blogs: I don’t pretend to.