Phil: Steve, I don’t know what it is about televised sports, but I’m pretty sure those overtime NBA Finals games have not been good for my rapidly aging physique (yes, it’s a physique, a short round one, but it’s a physique). When my man, D-Fish, hit those three-pointers, I was more agitated than a Maytag on stilts. My heart rate was up, my stomach was in knots and I figured out why my wife puts plastic covers on the furniture. Is this normal behavior? Will the quality of my life actually improve with a Lakers victory?
Steve: I don’t know if the quality of your life will improve, but your neighbors will be happier once they no longer hear that high-pitched piggie squealing coming from your house. How about that Derek Fisher, though, huh? The old guy (34!) came through at just the right time. I’ve always had a soft spot for Fisher because he graduated from my alma mater, the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. (Go Trojans!) I believe he is the only UALR grad in the NBA, and he’s done us proud.
Phil: Oh. those high-pitched piggie squeals have nothing to do with basketball. It’s just my bath night and that happens when I’m scrubbed behind the ears.
Steve: Speaking of getting the old heart rate up, my younger son has finally got his driver’s license and is wheeling around town, so Redding motorists might want to park on the nice, safe sidewalk for the foreseeable future. Kidding! He seems to be a good, if raw and inexperienced, driver, and it’s been a heart-stopping nerve-racking pants-filling pleasure to ride around town with him while he mastered the finer points of driving.
Phil: Yikes. Driving. A rite of passage for both Dad and offspring. The convenience of having the kids transport themselves is overshadowed by the worry and suddenly gi-normous insurance premiums. Do you know what having twin teenage sons does to one’s insurance premiums? It’s another occasion when you hear those piggie-squeals emanating from my abode, when I’m filling out the check to those vampires insurance folks. Can there really be that many digits in mathematics?
Steve: How quickly we run out of fingers and toes. We were able to mitigate our costs somewhat because our older son dropped off the premiums when he decided to roam the West via thumb, rather than behind the wheel. He and his girlfriend are spending the summer hitchhiking to various hippie gatherings/musical events. I have trouble counting on my fingers because they’re all crossed for luck. Along with my toes. And my eyes.
Phil: Well, if it makes you feel any better, I took a year after high school to follow the Grateful Dead up and down the West Coast. Yep, in a buddy’s de rigueur V-Dub van, did a little hitchhiking. Had to call home for money a couple of times but it was a great experience for me. I think. Well, the parts I remember were great anyway. So, don’t worry about the kids, look at me — I turned out fine. But you’re doing what a good parent should do. Worry. Oh, and be ready for the phone call.
Steve: Parenting is such a joy. In the words of Redd Foxx: “Watching your son grow from a tiny acorn into a complete nut…”
Phil: Grow up they do. It’s like I tell my kids, with a role model like me … well, you’re screwed. Get over it. Besides, that’s what your therapist is for, just spell my name right.
Steve: So true. It’s all about role models, isn’t it? For the past few years, I’ve nagged my sons to find regular employment, but they always point out that, for most of their lives, I’ve been unempl self-employed, working at home in my pajamas. Why should they suffer the indignities of bosses/regular hours/customers/neckties/shoes when it never worked for Dad?
Phil: I think the fact that your kids are “seekers” bodes well for them and is a tribute to your parenting. But sometimes I think dads are like quarterbacks: they get too much credit when things go right and too much blame when they go wrong. I’ve always just done my best to love my kids and try to listen. I know I don’t have all the answers, but I can certainly point out a few things not to do. Rule numero uno around the house when the kids were small was no matter how convenient (and tasty) it might seem, never make toast while you’re taking a bath. Don’t ask me how I know. Suffice to say I used to be taller and had more hair. “Learn from me, little grasshoppers.”
Steve: There is one upside to being a dad. Father’s Day is right around the corner. Nice that there’s one day per year when the gifts/money/pancakes flow the other direction.
Phil: Yeah, I know Father’s Day is coming when the kids borrow $20 instead of $10. That’s their idea of “setting aside money.” The pancakes are a nice perk, though. Pancakes and the behind-the-ear scrubbing. I’m a simple man.
Steve: You can say that again. And you will. I like to think of myself as complicated and mysterious, but then I find myself watching basketball for hours, scratching and burping and yelling at the TV, and you can’t get much simpler than that. At least I know I’m setting a good example for my sons. Someday, they, too, will cause some lovely woman to stand in front of the TV and demand their attention. And, they, too, will squeal, “But, hon, we’re in overtime.”
