June 18, 2007

Taking Inventory on Father’s Day

This past Sunday was Father’s Day. For me this was extra special, since my birthday always falls within a couple days of Father’s Day, putting me in a league with people born on December 24 and people who find themselves locked overnight in bakeries. We get a lot of a good thing, and we get it all at once.

So I’m thoroughly enjoying the “Guinness” and “Corona” boxer shorts that my wife gave me, and that cool “The Chef Is An Idiot” barbecue apron I got from my son. The cats chipped in and bought me a new can opener.

Life really doesn’t get any better than this.

Now television ads would imply that a guy might be disappointed with that kind of haul. They suggest that every dad should wake up on Father’s Day to find that little BMW Z4 convertible they’ve had their eye on sitting in the driveway with a bow on it – as if Mom and the kids cracked open the pocket change jar and found $42,000 worth of quarters in it.

Well, you can count me right out of that scenario. For one thing, if you have cool things like BMWs you are, in turn, expected to be cool. You can’t just drive around in a Z4 wearing a torn Barefoot Company t-shirt, sun-faded board shorts and flip-flops. And I’m not changing my wardrobe for any car!

But I think the bigger issue here is managing expectations. When you’re a kid, you approach all gift-receiving holidays with a sense of unbridled avarice. You set your sights on getting that Batman outfit (complete with cowl, gauntlets and tool belt with a real working compass built in) and nothing will deter you. You even believe with all your heart that the outfit will actually turn you into Batman, so you can suit up and take retribution on that bigger kid who pushed you down and swiped the pudding snack out of your lunch box.

It’s up to your parents to keep your greed focused in more or less realistic directions. This is so they can avoid the annoying expense of building pony stables and roller coasters in the back yard.

As you enter your teens and your material dreams escalate, you also begin to realize on your own that the chances are pretty good that you won’t be getting that army-surplus UH-1 helicopter or those skydiving lessons, and you begin to adjust your desires accordingly. Not completely though, because you keep dreaming of dirt bikes and dune buggies until well into your 20s.

Once you have kids of your own, all bets are off. You are so busy stepping into your parents’ role and managing your child’s expectations that you no longer have time to nurture any of your own. And the cool thing is that you really don’t need any. You find that whatever you are able to do to light up their eyes is way more fun than anything you could have wanted for yourself. I think this might be something that’s hard-wired into the parenting genes.

So I guess the bottom line is, I already possess pretty much all the material things I need. I have all the basic dad tools, like a great grill, a snazzy lawn mower and a cordless drill. I have some really extravagant luxuries like an iPod and a chrome-plated steel guitar. I even have a car with just a few payments left on it, a boat with no payments left on it and my torn Barefoot Company t-shirt.

And I have a family who loves me. Like I said, life really doesn’t get any better than this.

  © 2007, Michael Ball