Destructive Criticism
I’m terrible at accepting compliments of any kind, but none make me more uncomfortable than those that praise my parenting.
They make me feel like a fraud.
I’m terrible at accepting compliments of any kind, but none make me more uncomfortable than those that praise my parenting.
They make me feel like a fraud.
Did you know I have a podcast? I do, it’s called The Dad and Buried Podcast, and much like this blog, and my Instagram, and my Facebook page, and my Twitter, it’s a platform I use to complain about parenting and mock my kids. I started it with my friend Pete, and over the fast few months, Mom and Buried has been joining me as well.
Oh, and we just recorded our 100th episode. Read more about 100 Episodes! …
Sometimes you just need a change of scenery.
After the year from hell, with everyone stuck at home 24/7/365, with limited entertainment options aside from the TV and our phones, escaping the four walls within which we’ve all been spending almost all of our time was more crucial than ever. Especially in the middle of winter when fresh air is less appealing than usual.
So last month, when my kids’ winter break hit, we got out of dodge. In a Chevy.
Over the last few days, in the aftermath of Kobe Bryant’s tragic death, a touching clip has been making the rounds. It features an ESPN anchor losing her composure while recounting a conversation she had with the NBA legend about his role as a father to three daughters (he hadn’t yet had his fourth).
The popular, and polarizing, player gushed about how much he loved being a “girl dad,” and after her story went viral, dads and daughters everywhere gushed about their own relationships, using the #girldad hashtag. It’s been trending for days.
You know what you don’t see? The term #boydad trending. As if there’s nothing special, or challenging, about the father/son relationship.
But there is.
Last night, after we’d gotten the kids to bed, Mom and Buried and I sat down to talk.
It was the end of a long day and we had things to discuss. Adult things. We were in the middle of it when suddenly – it’s always suddenly – Detective Munch ran out of his bedroom to ask some innocuous question, for probably the 100th time that day.
And I lost my temper.