chicagodads

Today’s caveat lector: I am beginning another series of my tongue-planted-so-firmly-up-my-cheek-it’s-coming-up-my-other-cheek-if-you-know-what-I-mean serials. It’s really just one short essay that I will be releasing over the next week. I’ve yet to decide on a title for this one, so the title above will probably be changed a couple times.

Enough talk. Let’s rawk!

You ever sit back, look in the mirror? I mean, really hard into the soul of that fellow in the mirror who is looking back at you all curious eyed and maybe with one nasty hairlip and possibly a few extra nose hairs than he thought he had? That one. And then you ask that guy: Where are the men? Where are the grown guys who raise children and maybe gather some moss? Why is it hard to find men thoroughly engaged in their children’s upbringing? Why does it seem like the only two options are to raise hell or to raise hellions? Why are some locales nearly Father-Free Zones?

Try this exercise: look around, count the number of men that you know that are actively, hands-on involved in nearly every aspect of their spawns’ upbringing. Compare that to the women who are involved. Usually, I find this exercise to be staggering. But if you think differently, please don’t hesitate to tell me so.

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