Grown up men


Dads are funny.  Ask anyone with a dad and they’ll usually agree.  I don’t understand the alchemy that happens from teenaged boy to father but I believe there is a scientific study in there somewhere.  

When I met the Goose, he was a boy of such breathtaking badness that I actually felt a little giddy and nervous about our first date.  He had a tiny sports car I could hear from 2 miles away and drove it with the ferocity of suicide bomber.  He knew people who knew people who were criminals. He was all leather jacket and porn mustache.  Recently, I had to sit on my hands in the car so as not to smack the living daylights out of him for driving under the speed limit in the slow lane.  I’ve also had to ask him not to wear his golf saddle shoes as leisure wear.  He takes naps and asked me just yesterday not to drive to the store because it wasn’t safe in the rain.  

What happens to men when they become dads?  When the Goose reads this he will come storming into the room telling me it’s all about responsibility and the fact that they carry the weight of the financial world upon their stooped shoulders.  Blah, blah, blah.  He will probably bring up that old refrain about “one of us has to be the adult…”

I think his 21 year old self would hang his heads in shame. 

My own father was a man tamed as well.  When he was a boy, he and his brothers would take quarter sticks of dynamite, not the lame m80s of today,  and throw them back and forth over their house and try not to be holding it when it went off.  My dad was missing the tip of his middle finger and his brother was missing the last two of his right hand.  My dad was mostly deaf and I’m sure this contributed to the problem.  

Because of his hearing problems, my dad yelled.  Many a time the True Southern Lady would have to shuush him because he blurted out inappropriate stuff in public.  When he would come to Shep’s baseball games, we would have to remind him not to shout out “get that fat kid off second base, he can’t catch anything with those chubby hands!”, AGAIN because said child’s mother hadn’t been happy about it the last time. He commented loudly on the weight of waitresses, on the dullness of the sermon during church and repeatedly shouted  “WHAT?” during movies. The True Southern Lady lived on pins and needles at what he might yell.  Now, you know he wasn’t like that when she dated him. He was the daring boy from next door. 

I know boys that used to fight and race cars and dance on the speakers at the Limelight whose main focus now is keeping the thermostat on an energy saving temperature. 

I guess it’s true and someone in the relationship has to take the role of adult.  I’m happy it was the Goose and that he’s allowed me to stay the delightful youthful girl that I’ve always been.  

Becoming a dad is a crazy kind of alchemy.  Now that our kids are mostly grown, I see signs of the old Goose emerging and I feel that it’s possible that during his regression he and Shep will pass somewhere along the way.  While I certainly appreciate his responsible attitude that’s taken great care of us all over the years, I’m looking forward to the 21 year old Goose coming back for a visit. Perhaps without the 80s porn mustache, though.  Now, I’ll just have to get the advil ready, and some Ben Gay, oh, and maybe we should lower the stereo because high decibel levels are damaging…

Goose, you’re the best Goose ever.  Don’t come find me and lecture me!


Honey, I figured out what I’m doing off the TEE!

I know I’ve discussed men.  Most of us have one or have had one and some of us have had multiples.  There are several repetitive discussions that go on in most homes that have a man living within it’s confines.  The problem, as I see it, is that we women have failed to band together to formulate acceptable textbook dialogue for our part of these discussions.  I imagine that the amount of superfluous conversation that could be rerouted and redirected towards a happier and more productive man could increase as much as 65%.  It is our failure, ladies, not to take this situation in hand.

Here is a sample conversation as it stands in my home at least four days a week:


Goose: Honey, I’ve FINALLY figured out what I’m doing off the tee.

Me: Uh huh

Goose: See my wrist?  It was turned .007% too much towards my elbow.

Me: Uh huh

Goose: It’s all in the wrist. Look! (Displays same wrist position I’ve seen 6,798,444 times).

Me: You’re blocking the tv.

Goose: See how straight that is now?  (Shoots imaginary ball across the bedroom)

Me: Uh huh


Now, as I see it, men are only interested in telling us things we’re not interested in hearing. Do they ever talk to us about upholstery fabric?  Shoes?  Our deep thoughts and feelings?  He’s only blabbering on about this because he’s not getting a reaction.  The other day, I feigned interest and the conversation went like this:


Goose: Honey, I’m going to go to the club and use my new swing.  I’ll probably shoot a 30 or something.

Me: I’d like to go along! I have a new golf skirt! We can hit the range for a while and then walk (for the exercise) 18 holes.

Goose:  Uh, yeah, that sounds…

Me: And then I might like to look at some new clubs myself…

Goose:  Well, actually, someone already asked me to play…


And this “off the tee” conversation has not been repeated in two weeks.  This is because men are really talking to themselves and don’t want us in their stuff.  In the same way that I ask him to run with me, I’m really thinking heaven forbid I have to drag his lazy fanny around with me. The one time he went with me this summer the moaning and complaining was biblical in nature. Still, I ask to be nice.


Men, no matter how great they are (and the Goose is a truly great husband), are simple in the way a good dog is simple.  They want to be acknowledged, they don’t want us to know what they’re up to all the time and the just want a pat on the head when they do a good trick.  And then there is Jeff Foxworthy’s take on what men want that is the Goose’s standard answer when I ask him what he’s thinking, “I just want a beer and to see something naked”.


I love it that men don’t come with all the drama that goes along with women, but if  a man gets sick, we all know how that goes.  Recently, I’ve had the first cold in years.  It has been pretty miserable and has caused me to snore.  Snoring is something I’ve heard for years.  Now that the tables have turned, the Goose is walking around, pale and wan, from loosing a few moment’s sleep.  I could literally be giving birth and the man would ask the doctor about his own suspicious symptoms .  Once, I had to see an infectious disease doctor and when the doctor was through examining me, the Goose actually said the sentence “now, back to me…” while I reclined on the table, close to death.  This has become a code sentence in our family and I think it sums up men in general.  Maybe people in general.  We care about our loved ones.  We really do, we just want to talk about our own stuff and figure out what we’re doing off the tee.