On the plus side … I seem to understand how my kids think. On the minus side … I may occasionally act like them.
So we’re having dinner the other night. As the VERY helpful husband and dad that I usually am, I was bringing cans of soda to the table. I’m not sure why—possibly it’s the dormant teenage gene that frequently expresses itself in the adult male—but I had the idea to stack up the cans and bring in six at once. (I suspect this sounds very reasonable to most of you husbands reading this, while the wives might be thinking otherwise.)
Noticing the appreciation and admiration of my 12-year-old, I suggested that he add another three to bring the total to nine. (I want to add that I specifically used maturity and restraint when I refrained from adding another three to bring us up to twelve!)
I made it all the way to the table when the cans dropped, breaking a glass and spraying pop from a dented, partially opened can onto the table as well.
My son exploded in laughter and my 16-year-old daughter was mildly amused, but my wife did not see any humor in the situation.
I tried to act like a responsible dad (instead of the immature parent), but I couldn’t help laughing. Interestingly, my dad, also present, laughed as well. Apparently that teenage boy gene can still express itself decades later.
I cleaned everything up (because, of course, I AM a responsible parent), but surprisingly things got worse. Ten minutes later, while clearing off the soup dishes (trying to restore my position as an appropriate parent), I dropped a dish onto my new glass—breaking it and again spilling pop and broken glass all over the table.
Now this one was not my fault—it was just an accident—but I found it incredibly funny. So did everyone else—except my wife. Apparently my laughter also failed to show parental responsibility.
Again, I cleaned everything up (RESPONSIBLE!!). I endured all of the jokes about my needing to use a plastic cup and how incredible it seemed that I could manage at work. We continued to have a fun, enjoyable dinner.
I’d like to be able to promise my wife that I will never again play football in the house with the kids, show my teenagers how to put four cupcakes in my mouth at the same time, or do circus tricks at the dinner table. But I suspect that would not be true.
I simply can’t help myself.
But I really do appreciate her putting up with me.