WWPD?

I have been trying to be a better man lately.  This is not easy, especially considering what a poor job I have made of it for so long.

It starts with the deceptively difficult question of just what exactly a man is supposed to be.  Trying to figure out what I am even trying for is half the battle.

Inevitably, every man looks first to his father as the example of and standard to which a man is held, for better or worse.  It has been shocking to me in the last several months to realize just how much I have emulated my own father’s example, without even realizing it.  He has many admirable qualities, of course, but these are not the ones I am talking about.  I am like him in ways I never thought possible, and knowing this is profoundly humbling.  I have also, of course, managed to make more than my fair share of original mistakes.

I think that this is a common problem for the men of my generation, many of whom were raised by their moms and then drifted into a sort of extended adolescence in their twenties.  We were so hellbent on avoiding our father’s example of getting married, banging out a few kids, getting a job you hate in order to support them, and then going through a bitter divorce (all before the age of thirty) that we instead chose to do nothing at all.  Oh sure, we might have got a degree or two, or even gotten married, but we have had a really hard time committing to the idea of adulthood.  Rather than attempt to be better men than our fathers, and to learn from their mistakes, we have decided to skip the concept of manhood altogether and to remain boys, eschewing both responsibility and the dignity that comes with it.

I’ve had enough of that crap, and I know that my wife has.

This has led me to cast about in search of better role models.  I mean, I do what I can to figure this stuff out on my own, but it would be nice to have a guide to fall back on.  I don’t know any men that aren’t at least as screwed up as I am, so my friends and family are out.  Politicians, sports figures, rock stars?  Not so much.  Our favorite cultural archetypes are either emotionally retarded lunks like the dad from The Wonder Years or whining, codependent weasels, like the protagonist from Everybody Loves Raymond.  I don’t want to be either of those guys.  Can’t we come up with something better than that?

I am a Christian, and so the example of Jesus seems the obvious place to start.  This has been very helpful, but there are a couple of problems here.  For one thing, Jesus was not, at least in the literal, human sense, a husband or a father.  So, no direct example there.  Also, being as He was perfect, He didn’t have to spend a lot of time trying to make up for His mistakes.  There’s lots of good theoretical stuff from Him and the apostles (the book of James is an especial favorite), but somehow I feel like I sometimes need something even more obvious, less abstract, to wrap my head around.  There is a tremendous amount of guidance with the overall themes, but not nearly as much in the way of case-specific examples.  I believe that the truths are universal, but something not set in the middle east 2000 years ago might be easier to digest.

So I figured I should look to heroes of fiction, who will represent ideals better than regular mortals ever could anyway.  That’s their whole point, isn’t it?  I tried to think of men from books or the movies who embody what it is that I am after.  Liam Neeson’s portrayal of the title character in Rob Roy has always been right up there for me, but again, this is a bit on the impractical side.  I don’t often find myself in situations that call for sword fighting, and have never had occasion to hide in a rotted cow carcass.

Thinking hard on this, I eventually came up with Charles “Pa” Ingalls, as depicted by Michael Landon on Little House on the Prairie (you know you watched it during summer vacation when you were a kid – admit it already).  Not the real guy, or the actor portraying him, but the character.  Pa is, to my way of thinking, pretty much the perfect example of what a man is supposed to be.  The ideal husband and father, in just about every way.  Nothing is more important to him than his family, and he demonstrates his love for them in everything he does.  Hard working, faithful, loving.  Gentle, but willing to fight to protect his family.  Filled with dignity, but totally lacking in pride.  A man of faith, and a source of strength to those around him.  He is not controlled or crippled by his fears or doubts.  Fair in business, but not to be taken advantage of.  A man of honor, whose word is his bond.  Pa would never break a promise.  Slow to anger, but unafraid to stand up for what is right.  Speaks his mind when needed, but never hurts unnecessarily.  Never shies away from doing what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant.  He never complains, not because he doesn’t suffer, but because he is deeply satisfied with his lot in life.

Maybe other people have a different ideal or concept of what a man is supposed to be, but I am happy with Pa.  This is a character whose example I can strive to be man enough to follow.  It has actually been very helpful to me to think about how he might handle any moral or masculine quandry that I find myself in.  Guidance from channel 5…?  Whatever.  Call it sad or ridiculous, but I’ll take it.  I need any help I can get.  What Would Pa Do?

Halloween Cupcakes

Click on the cool cupcake picture below to see lots of rad Halloween cupcakes that me, The Wife, and my mom made.

Actually, we made them for my niece’s birthday party, but it is Halloween themed.

I made this one.

Things your kids teach you…

…or at least remind you.  I got to feel Papers (now his official blog nickname) kick for the first time tonight.  Some things are way, way more important than buying a house.  Thanks, buddy.  You’re cool.

Further Adventures in Homebuying

At least according to the Status Updates I am reading from my friends on Facebook, it seems that The Wife and I are not the only ones trying to buy a house right now.  Seems like a good idea, right?  Prices are lower than they’ve been in years, all that good stuff.  Okay, I’m convinced.  If you ask me, though, the prices aren’t going anywhere for a while.  Things are going to get worse in this economy before they get better, y’all.

Anyhow, I would just like to reiterate that the actual process of buying a home is somewhat less fun than advertised.  And I was told it was about as much fun as a root canal.  It has been going on for us for upwards of six months now, although at least now there is a supposed end in sight.

I shall now whine about it.

Our latest closing date is scheduled for October 27th.  Once again, everything officially looks fine. Except…

Our loan is in place, except that one of my W-2s from last year had a typo on my social security number.  The loan cannot be processed until it is corrected, which requires the approval of the Federal Government.  So we are waiting on them.  They said we would have a response by Friday.  Next they said by today.  No word yet.  I am being held hostage by the IRS.  Of course, this is only a problem because my lender can’t deal with a stupid typo, even though I submitted a letter from my boss, and the W-2 clearly refers to me.  Argh.

The county program that we are using for down payment assistance assures us that everything is moving forward.  The pace at which it is moving forward, however, is another story entirely.  We submitted our application to them at the end of JULY(!), and they still aren’t done with it.  If it isn’t done by tomorrow, we will probably have to get an extension on our closing date, which may well cost me money that I don’t have.  It also complicates things with my current landlord, to whom we already gave our 30-day notice.

Buying a house, at least in my experience, has been an endless stream of these sorts of things, usually several at a time.  All of this with no guarantee of success at the end.  It’s enough to make you want to drink Wild Turkey straight from the bottle.

Anyway, I am sure that this will all work out eventually, but for now it has me stressed out to no end, which makes me tired, forgetful, and cranky.  This, let me tell you, does wonders for my home life.  The Wife has found me to be especially charming lately.

*****

Hopefully in a couple of weeks I will post something about how cool the new house is, and I can start griping about The Home Depot like the rest of the homeowners I know.  For now, I think I need an ice cream sandwich – one of the Nestle Tollhouse cookie ones they have in the freezer at the gas station.  Yummy.

Handy Manny, lothario

The current favorite show around here is Handy Manny, which I am pretty sure is on Playhouse Disney. Honestly, I can never remember which kid’s channel is which.

Anyway, it is pretty cute.  It is a computer animated kids’ show (they all seem to be that way now) that features a super-friendly handyman and his box of talking tools.  It has a Hispanic flair, with a theme song by Los Lobos and a largely accented cast of characters, who mix in bits of Spanish with their speech to help teach the kiddies.  There are folks out there who claim the show is racist, because it features a Hispanic guy who is a repairman.  That’s a bunch of crap.  It’s a good show, with lots of stuff about helping, being useful, friendly- all that good stuff.  Plus, the neighbor guy, Mr. Lopart, has a matching combover with his cat.  Sweet.

The show does have another element, though, that I am pretty sure the kids aren’t picking up on.  You see, Manny is voiced by none other than Wilmer Valderrama.  The same Wilmer Valderrama who ruined the reputations of former good girls Mandy Moore and Lindsey Lohan.  It’s weird to think of LiLo as having a reputation to besmirch, but she did, until ole Fez came along…

Anyway, for whatever reason, Mr. Valderrama clearly has a way with the ladies.  What’s interesting, though, is that this trait seems to have passed on to his animated counterpart.  The plot of an episode of Handy Manny basically goes like this:  Manny and the tools hang around the shop until a call comes in for a fix-it job.  They go to the site, look at the job, and determine what parts they will need to take care of it.  Then they go to Kelly’s Hardware Shop, pick up the required materials, and fix the problem.  The end.

Pretty much every episode involves a lot of interaction with Kelly, the pretty blond owner of the hardware shop.  Although the show never alludes to it directly, Kelly is clearly all over Manny’s jock.  She follows him around like a puppy, desperate for the least bit of attention or approval, and says stuff that, if heard through the Valderrama prism, is highly suggestive.  It isn’t just Kelly, either.  The mayor is a total cougar, and every other female character behaves in the exact same way.  It’s hilarious.

Now, I don’t mean to suggest for a second that the show is inappropriate for kids – quite the contrary.  They would never notice any of this stuff.  Grownups, on the other hand, should be able to see it right away.   I defy anyone to watch the show with this in mind and disagree with me.

I hate baseball

I got so depressed about the Cubs getting swept out of the playoffs (AGAIN!) that I have quit listening to sports radio.  Now I’m listening to news about the nation’s financial meltdown and the prospect of Sarah Palin in the White House on NPR as a more cheerful alternative.

On being a grownup

When I got to my boss’ house this morning, he was eating grocery store bakery cookies for breakfast. He grinned at me, and said “I promised myself when I was a kid that when I grew up I would eat cookies for breakfast. And now I’m doing it.” He was pretty pleased with himself. It got me thinking about what exactly it means to be a grownup.

You see, it has become increasingly apparent to me, at age 31, that I am now an official grownup. Embarrassing, I know- I really wasn’t comfortable with the idea until pretty recently. It all started several years back, when I finally wore out my favorite pair of camouflage pants. I was grumbling that I needed to go to M&I Army Surplus to get a new pair (I hate spending money on clothes, and it takes me about six months of muttering before I will finally give in) when The Wife (then The Girlfriend) asked me if I didn’t think I was getting a little too old for the army surplus pants. To my shock and horror, I realized she was right.

Now, many years later, I am married, a parent, nearly a homeowner (I hope), and have a graduate degree with the student loans to prove it. I am graying at the temples (and elsewhere), a phenomenon that I describe as “badger-head”, but which actually looks kind of like this:

...or so I hope.

Anyway, by just about any definition of the word, I am officially an adult. Not even a “young adult” anymore, having moved out of my twenties and into what are supposedly my “prime earning years.” (Still waiting for that to start. You’d think I would have that whole what-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up thing sorted out by now.) This realization still kind of freaks me out. To some extent, that is the reason I started this blog – to reflect on the pleasures and strangeness of adulthood as I experience and embrace it.

Here are three things that suck about being an adult, in no particular order:

You look like a dumbass if you wear a baseball cap backwards all the time. This is something I have always done, and you can get away with it up to a certain point, but eventually it just makes you look like a jerk. As much as I like to wear my baseball cap backwards, I really don’t want to be “Backwards Baseball Cap Guy.” I might as well get a mini-monster truck, barbwire arm band tattoos, sport a goatee, chew tobacco, and pick up a couple of DUIs. That’s what Backwards Baseball Cap Guy would do. That, and get into fistfights at Hooters.

You still have to go to work when you’re sick. And now that they changed the formula for DayQuil, (damn you, tweakers!) you really have to just suffer through it. I think that this may be the single worst thing about being a grownup – the world does not stop, or even slow down for you when you’ve got a head cold. You just have to be miserable and suffer through it.

You have to buy tires. Just when you think you might be able to squeeze out a little wiggle room in this month’s budget, you have to drop over $500 on tires. Paying for car maintenance stinks. You don’t even get anything tangible for your money, just the same old car on the road.

“Blah.” said Toad. (Alas for you if you don’t get that reference)

Three random things that rule about being an adult:

Naps are as rare and as glorious as a trip to Disneyland was when you were a kid. Pure heaven.

You really do get to eat cookies, or Western Bacon Cheeseburgers, or whatever for breakfast.

Hearing a loud and happy cry of “DADDY!” and the sound of little feet tearing across the carpet towards the front door before you’ve even got your key out of the lock. Nothing in the world beats getting tackled by your three-year-old after a long day at work. That sounds so cliche, but is absolutely true.

I invite anybody reading this to come up with your own additional lists of three in the comments.