I apologize for the lateness of this Comic Gold Blog. I’ve come to realize that some of you, my nice readers, actually look forward to these new additions, and I’ve been very slack lately. I have to come clean. I’ve been living a double life and it’s really put a strain on me, physically and emotionally. For weeks now, unbeknownst to my single friends and comedy groupies, I’ve been acting as a suburban dad on the side. My decadent comedy life has been completely replaced by calm decision-making, chicken tenders, and little league practice.
Of course in my case, decadence is sitting in my buddy’s steam room, drinking a beer and doing a crossword puzzle until the newspaper gets too soggy. I really know how to party it down. I haven’t completely abandoned all my dreams though. I still have hope that I can hang with Kid Rock in northern Michigan, just for one weekend. At least until my back gives out or my conscious kicks in.
I’m not really the suburban dad. I’m sort of the assistant dad. The quasi-dad. The honorary uncle. I’ve been doing some writing work for my friend who owns his own company and hanging out with his family in the off hours. It’s like a glimpse of what my life could have been if I’d gone in a more traditional direction. If my life were filled with happy children, a stable career, and an income on a regular basis. It’s like that movie with Tea Leoni and Nicholas Cage. The one where they’ oh forget it. I don’t go to Nicholas Cage movies anymore.
I remember reading once that Joe Namath said one thing he loved about being a football star in New York was that he didn’t have to date too much. He could just go out and run into something. That’s kind of how I thought comedy might be when I started. In the suburbs now, there’s not so much running into anything. I think I’ve got a better shot at just running into a really great recipe from one of the moms at the pool club. Who knew you could put tuna in deviled eggs? The only showing off I’ve done lately is wowing people with how quickly I’ve picked up the rules of youth lacrosse. “Attack-man, drop back so the long stick can go up the field!”
This suburban transition didn’t sneak up on me. I have known for years that the beach is more fun with kids around. Sometimes I say that just to seem like the sensitive type, but I really mean it right now. I’m not big on lying down in the sand doing nothing with a bunch of other exhausted adults. I can read a paperback under a ceiling fan in the beach house, and not have to worry about getting sand in my bathing suit near my perspiration parts. My nephew never seems to get tired of getting splashed, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.
I will admit, I never realized the amount of schlepping that parents do. Getting the 10th Mountain Division’light infantry no less’to Afghanistan has got to be easier than getting three kids to three different fields for three different sports. This parenting thing really seems to be a game-by-game, hour-to-hour operation. The single mom’s on the news make it seem so easy.
I have found one trick to making the pseudo-parenting easier. It seems like a lot of these little league fields have snack bars and I seem to be a lot more parental with a snow cone in my hand.