There are four things that I do not like. One is to be hollered at. Another is to be hit. A third is to be ignored. And the fourth is to be spit on.
I didn’t grow up with people doing these things to me necessarily, though every child gets ignored by his older brother or sister. I have one of both. I also have my share of memories of being hollered at by more than a few people. Still, along with a friend named Tyler, I’ve learned how much I dislike these four things.
It’s funny because I used to go into my “There are four things in the world that I don’t like” when my wife would ignore me. It got to the point when it was funny.
I found myself thinking about my long-unemployed mantra a few days into fatherhood. I wasn’t laughing.
Well-intentioned people brightened when they saw me after Bryce was born. Their faces wore a number of questions, one of which was “So, how’s it feel to be a dad?” I enjoyed their interest and happiness, but I secretly hated their question. I edited the first words in my mouth… There are four things I do not like, I wanted to say.
Don’t get it twisted: I’m loving some things about early fatherhood. I love the way Bryce turns his face to something when an unfamiliar sound pulls his ear. I’d give my best books to see Bryce smile and laugh after he’s been fed, when the milk fairy dances in front of him and lulls him into another 2-3 hours of sleep. I love the walks we took those first days so Dawn could sleep, even though they were two hours long and my feet were sore and he was asleep during most of that time. I enjoy those few times when Dawn cannot quiet him and, like magic or grace or some other miracle, he just goes silent when he comes into my arms. I hope to trap inside my head and heart the first time I heard him cry because my eyes were wet too, the first time he screamed during bath time, and the way he listened while Bishop G. E. Patterson prayed on my playlist.
I could continue. I love things. I even like things.
I don’t like being spit upon. I don’t like being ignored, which is incidentally what his little ears are doing when I say “Stop crying” and he keeps crying. I don’t like being hollered or roared or screamed at. I can do without being hit, or, in this case, pressed at the arms by tiny feet and little thick legs stretcing into a premature stance because I’m removing a soiled pamper.
Nobody told me about the moments or days when being a father would annoy me. They said sleep would end. They said life would change, that I’d never have time to do things I wanted. They said that me and Dawn would be great at parenting. They even said we’d make mistakes.
They didn’t say that I would feel frustrated or annoyed at me and even at this little blessing from God. Or that my job would consist of pailing wrapped up white packages in a green bag or that taking out the garbage and the recycling would get that much more complicated because of a new resident who’s too young to work and clean up after himself.
So, yes, I love being a father. There are times I don’t like it much because I have never learned to like those four things which this lovely kid does so well.
What are some things you don’t like? Let’s make this interesting.