Dad To The Bone

I spent four consecutive Father’s Days in limbo.

My father passed away in February of 2000 and I had no children of my own, so I had a rather “Bah, humbug!” attitude about the holiday.

Now that baby Gideon is here, I’m playing fatherhood for all its worth.

Right now I’m doting on every cute little grunt of Gideon’s. At least now they don’t require much work on my part. In a few years I’ll have to earn the grunts, with stupid questions such as “Where are you going?,” “What time will you be home?,” and “Did Jimmy ever get that electronic tracking bracelet removed from his ankle?”

I’ve developed an insufferable habit of inserting “my son” into every conversation. (“Marcus Aurelius? Surely when that Roman emperor conquered the Marcomanni in 168 A.D., he didn’t enslave any babies as cute as MY SON.”)

Before “my son,” my big phrase was “my wife.” Before that, it was “my girlfriend.” For some reason, all of them met with a better response than the old “my inflatable doll.”

I love pushing Gideon around in his stroller and having complete strangers make a fuss over him. I never tire of answering all the standard questions, such as “How old is he?,” “What’s his name?,” “Is he on solid food yet?,” and “Has he ever considered a lucrative career in Amway?”

Certainly we keep up with the milestones in Gideon’s development: “Baby rolls over for the first time,” “Baby holds his rattle for the first time,” “Baby sleeps through the sound of the hospital bills toppling over for the first time,” etc.

I’ll admit I’m guilty of aiding and abetting Melissa in going overboard on recording Gideon’s antics for posterity. (“Say, is that the Lord of the Rings trilogy on your videotape shelf?” “No, that’s the Gideon’s Naps, May 24^th, trilogy.”)

Although Gideon takes features from both sides of the family , I still revel in it when people point out how much he resembles me. I’m especially proud of his blue eyes.. I’m glad my genes are being put to use. As I approached my 44^th birthday, I was afraid the genes were on the verge of moving to Boca Raton to play shuffleboard and hit the “early bird” dinner special.

I’m proud of the set of lungs on Gideon. Someday he’ll benefit mankind in a profession such as preaching, opera singing, or Yelling Helpfully At You When You’re Backed Up By A Two-Mile Traffic Jam.

I don’t want to raise Gideon in a plastic bubble; but I do want to warn him about the things that could spill innocent Tyree blood, like wasps, broken glass, stove burners, “My dad can beat up your dad” T-shirts, etc.

I have to take things one day at a time with Gideon. In my father’s generation, a person had to be more of a “jack of all trades.” But I don’t really know what to teach Gideon about knot-tying, fishing, swimming, and other activities. All I can give him is love and attention. I just hope my parenting skills grow and develop as Gideon does. Otherwise, it might be embarrassing if I ever have to coach Little League. (“Uh, there’s a runner on second with two men out. Why don’t you, uh… show ‘em who’s a pretty boy!”)