Tag Archives: phineas and ferb

The fall of summer

Fatherhood, , , , , ,

On Friday, I posted this on Facebook:


Some people “liked” it and others commented. My friend Megan said “There is nothing more awesome than that first time you put on jeans and a sweater without a coat. That means the weather is perfect. Ok, there are a couple more awesome things but you know what I mean.” To which I replied “And then you have a beer. And then it is perfect.” A bunch of other folks chimed in with similar sentiments.

This morning, my friend Marcus posted the following on my Facebook wall:


Leaving aside Marcus’s obvious exaggerations – worst case scenario sees spring return to Chicago in May and I spent many a joyous, sunny, warm afternoon on our back porch during my March to May layoff – I get where he’s coming from on this. The window is small. The days that call out for the beach or the pool are too few. Entire days that leave you thinking “Being outside today was great” are few in number.

And that’s exactly why I’m charging straight into fall.

I used to be a bit of a summer hater. Some of this is due to lifestyle issues; I used to hate wearing shorts and my pale, skinny body wasn’t exactly suited to temperatures and activities that exposed both to the sun or the gaze of others. Plus, when you’re a kid, summer rules. When you’re an adult, not so much. It’s hard to sit in an office and think about all the fun you could be having outside especially when you’re in clothes that are better suited to air conditioning. But last summer was a joke. It truly didn’t get acceptably warm until June and once fall arrived it felt as if the days that psychologically help you to prepare for the long winter ahead barely filled a week, much less a season.

So this year I embraced summer and didn’t complain even as the month of June dumped rainstorm after rainstorm on us and the month of August had me sweating through my button-down shirts as I walked to the train. I didn’t discover Phineas and Ferb until the mid-point of the summer but the theme song was exactly where my head was at:

(I don’t think I saw anything as poetic this summer as those first few seconds when the pages of the calendar drift off into the sun…)

I also started this summer unemployed after a work experience that taught me you can work as hard as you like at a job and it still won’t counterbalance a situation in which you’re set up to fail. I had the support of friends and family and spent that entire time hustling to find a new job. When I started work again two months later, I wondered if I’d misspent some of my time, not taking advantage of the warmth and the willingness of those around me to understand a desire to sit on my ass and do nothing but bask in a day of nothing to do. But I’m not that guy. I’m the guy who says “What are we going to do today?” And I had a great summer for it.

So I’m not celebrating the end of summer at all. But I’m also not going to mourn it either.

Fall tends to be when everything begins anew for me. Fall is when I started high school and resolved to become the person I knew I could be, not the person my junior high classmates thought I was. Fall is when I went to Ohio University after a summer of recovering from a life-threatening infection brought on by appendicitis and fell in with a group of people who became lifelong friends and gave me the chance to be a true leader. Fall is when I first fell in love. Fall is when I got married for the second, and last, time knowing full well I got it right. Fall is when we bought our house.

Then there are all of the lifestyle things about fall. Hot coffee, soup, chili and yes, scotch all go better with fall. I, like Megan, love sweaters and jeans. There’s a lot less sweating in fall and since sitting outside this past August wasn’t much fun on many occasions thanks to the humidity and the omnipresent mosquitoes, I’m looking forward to a few weeks of doing just that and enjoying all of the above.

Yes, fall means winter is coming. Winter in Chicago is rough, no question. Most years it has me cursing my existence come February. But I always consider it the price of admission for living in a city that I love the rest of the year. Of course, this year winter – February, specifically – is going to bring the birth of my daughter. So perhaps I have even more of a desire than others to dive into the next five months.

This summer taught me to embrace what’s right in front of you. As I type this I’m in our upstairs office with the windows open and a teasing breeze is gently making its way through from the open windows. I’m about to go outside and spend the better part of the next two hours tending to my lawn (which, frankly, this summer’s hot temps ravaged all to hell) then sit back and admire a job well done. This afternoon we’re going to a party with some friends. And I’m off of work tomorrow so I’ll sit on my back porch and read a book cover to cover. It’s 70 degrees outside right now and it’s supposed to be 85 tomorrow.

I don’t wish for there to be fewer days like this. I just know all the excitement and possibilities that come from putting them behind me for another year.

Pink

Fatherhood, , , ,

Sometimes I think I have no idea how to raise our girl to be a woman.

Sure, I’ve witnessed my parents do so with my sisters two. But then it’s only “I have an idea how to raise a girl to be a woman.” Not our girl to be a woman of my union with Erin. Because lo this is to be the girl who will grow to cure cancer, slay vampires, bring peace to the Middle East and will one day best monetize the websites of newspapers and magazines throughout the land.

She is to be The Chosen One.

Or so I’ve built it up in my mind.

In reality, she is but one more young woman who will be brought into the world by well-educated, over-read, liberal parents who are trying to steer their daughter clear of sexist influences and give her every choice in the world…except Pink.

Pink.

Last week, Erin and I were discussing colors for the nursery and I said “Anything but pink!” Because, of course, this will prevent…I don’t know.

Something.

It’s just too easy. Accepting pink as the default color for a girl is the equivalent of saying you liked The Joshua Tree when I was in high school: doing so raises far fewer questions about your personal point of view and allows you to get through a stressful situation without a bunch of weird looks.

In my mind, Pink is the pastel specter that hangs over our pregnancy. A threat far greater than any other, leading our daughter down the path of various princess-branded toys, which as everyone knows are the gateway drug to playing dumb to get boys to like her. And here thar be dragons!

***

A couple weeks before we learned we were having a girl, one of Erin’s relatives told us she hoped we were having a boy as she – owing largely to my fascination with all things Kryptonian – had bought us a few Superman onesies. Not missing a beat, Erin and I said our unborn child’s gender wasn’t an issue in this case as ours was a child destined to wear the shield.

Yet even Erin – a woman quite contrary – said to me at lunch last week “Our daughter might like pink and Barbies” in a tone that left unsaid the words “and that’s OK” as well as “and you might just have to suck it up and deal.”

My wife said these things after I expressed concern over exposing our daughter to – of all things – Phineas and Ferb as none of the female characters were women I’d want her to aspire to be:

* Candace – tattletale
* Isabella – boy-crazy (or Phineas-crazy, as it were)
* Mom – unobservant
* Vanessa – the child of an evil, if largely unsuccessful, mad scientist

My wife is more intelligent in these matters and reminded me that our daughter would likely want to model herself after Phineas and Ferb, the resourceful, charismatic, unstoppable heroes of the show. This brought me some measure of calm.

None of this should suggest I’m set on Turning Our Girl Into A Boy.* I want my daughter to be free to form her own identity, irrespective of the expectations of others, including – or especially – her father. After all, it’s not like I’m a typical male: I fake it pretty well but I know jack about sports, avoid dude culture at all costs and have preferred cocktails over beer since college. I’m far more Oscar Wilde than Oscar Madison.

My wish for our daughter is that she would be the human equivalent of an order in a Chinese restaurant: a little from column A and a little from Column B, becoming a well-rounded, thoughtful, multi-talented individual who’s sees nothing – even the color pink – in terms of gender and everything in terms of territory to explore at will.

* Let it be noted here that there’s an incredibly nuanced discussion to be had about gender constructs. Let it also be noted here that I’ve had a few glasses of wine and am unable to fully explore said discussion in the above but am aware of the issues surrounding it.