Why I Vaccinated My Son

Why I Vaccinated My Son

Look, I don’t know if vaccines cause autism. Or Guillian-Barre Syndrome. Or seizures. I don’t think they do, but I could be wrong.

Believe me, I like a good conspiracy as much as the next person, and I hate Big Pharma as much as the next person, and I am probably more cynical than most people. And I believe there are plenty of smart, well-educated, equally cynical, equally sane people who have good reason to think vaccinations have harmed their children in a variety of ways. I don’t know if they’re right. I’m not a scientist, I haven’t done the experiments. Maybe they have (they haven’t).

But for me, right and wrong isn’t the point. For me, it comes down to risk.

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Ice Bucket Challenge

Ice Bucket Challenge

I am probably* late to the party but get off me! I was only challenged yesterday!

The party I’m referring to is the Ice Bucket Challenge that’s been consuming social media lately, in which someone pours a bucket of ice on their head in an effort to bring awareness to the ALS association. The idea is that the videos raise awareness, and also that the people who refuse to risk pneumonia have to donate $100 to the cause. Of course, those things aren’t mutually exclusive, and you can do both if you want to.

Even if only a fraction of the people taking part in the trend end up actually donating, the publicity has to be a positive, right?

So today, after a friend passed the challenge on to me, I hopped on the bandwagon too. And let me tell you, on a rainy night in Brooklyn, it was COLD.

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Help a Father Out

Help a Father Out

One of the lessons I am trying to impart to my young son is that it’s okay to ask for help.

It might seem obvious, but there’s a long-standing perception within some corners of male culture that asking for help betrays weakness. Why do you think we never ask for directions?

I’ve personally never been one for being macho. The concept is outdated, and even the word is silly. I’m teaching my son that there’s no shame in knowing your limitations and asking for help. Especially when you really need it.

Someone who really needs it right now is the founder of the Dad Bloggers group I’m a part of on Facebook, Oren Miller. If you haven’t heard his heartbreaking story, get your tissues ready. And then open your wallets. Because his family is in for a tough road, and is friends and fellow Dad Bloggers – a great, diverse, generous group I’m proud to be a part of – are not going to bother waiting for them to ask for help.

We’re going ahead and doing it anyway. I hope you will too.

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Fathers and Gums

Fathers and Gums

If you’ve read my blog before, you might not expect me to write a post about my favorite moments as a father. (Even though I already have.)

After all, most of my posts are about the stuff that sucks about being a dad. But that’s all strategy. Like the Cassius Clay of the dad bloggersphere, I lull readers to sleep with angry complaints about my son and parenting and toddlers, only to suddenly sting like a sentimental bee!

Admit it: the optimistic, sappy stuff carries a lot more weight when it comes from a pessimistic, cynical jerk like me. So I parcel it out at key moments, to ambush you and your tear ducts. Usually I reserve the sap for my son’s birthday, like this embarrassment from a few years back. But as Father’s Day approaches, my friends at Oral-B and Life of Dad asked me to write something about the #PowerofDad, so I thought I’d grit my teeth (get it? Teeth? ORAL-B!) and get ‘er done.

So here comes a bunch of crap I like about being a dad. None of which includes brushing my son’s teeth because holy Jesus that’s a nightmare.

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