Being Both a Man and a Dad - Not Easy These Days

There’s a fine line between genius and insanity. The line’s also pretty fine between pleasure and pain. I’m no authority on genius - and even less of one on insanity (although some would differ with me on the latter). I am, however, an expert on pleasure and pain and the thin grey line that divides them. You see, I’m a dad. I walk that line every second of every day that I’m around my kids. One moment I’m stepping on the pleasure side of the line. And the next, I’m stumbling around on the pain side. Back and forth; back and forth. Good; bad – Happy; sad – Pleased; mad.

I live in a world that is not of my own making. A world where kids rule and parents crawl. It was not supposed to be this way. It’s unnatural to have the world revolve around children. They’re supposed to be seen and not heard. They aren’t deserving of our endless attention. They shouldn’t be allowed to disrupt our lives and be so demanding. But they do, and they are. And we let them. Boy do we let them.

I figure its all about supply and demand. Years ago families were large and there was a big supply of kids, so they and their demands meant less. Their input was unnecessary for survival. They knew little of any importance. They didn’t incessantly demand to be heard like they do today because they knew that they had little of any value to add to any discussion. And, when they did interact with adults, it was mostly to listen and learn; not to spout off as though they were equals. Because they were not equals. Most of the time, they lived in their child’s world and adults lived in their adult world. It was natural, and it was right.

These days, families are not just small, they are microscopic. One child families are common. And what value do you suppose parents place on only child, compared with the value parents place on one out of 6 or 10 children? A helluvalot more. An unhealthy amount more.

Kids are treated like gold. They are pandered to and made to feel as though their views are as important as their parents. Parents don’t tell their children what to do any more – they engage them in discussions so that a “mutually beneficial outcome can be achieved”. Oddly, in doing this, parents are not elevating their children to their level; rather, they are reducing themselves to a child’s level and diminishing themselves and their authority in their children’s eyes.

The world was not designed to revolve around our children. And men were not designed to tolerate children who believe that the world revolves around them. It’s unnerving; it’s unnatural; and it’s positively unhealthy to a man’s ego and sanity.

Men were not designed to subjugate themselves to their offspring. To even entertain the idea that a child should have the right to question their authority runs counter to every Y chromosome in a man’s body. Personally, I am not genetically capable of calmly discussing options with a whining or screaming child. Nor am I inclined to look favorably upon a long drawn out discussion with a petulant child when I already know the outcome will be the same as I have already decreed.

It is no accident that past generations of children were better behaved. They knew when dad said no, he meant no. They didn’t enter into debates with their dad because they knew it would be folly. And, as a positive result, dad didn’t have to waste his valuable time debating with a mere child. When disagreements started they were often circumvented by a quick, efficient smack on the bum, or the threat of one.

Men only live once and his lifespan is considerably shorter than a woman’s. Why on earth would any sane dad waste so much of his valuable, irreplaceable time engaged in fruitless circular arguments with his children when other, more efficient and effective methods are available to successfully modify their behavior.

When my children make demands or put up a fuss when I tell them to do something, it humiliates me to have to pander to them. Sure, I'm human, and sometimes I make the mistake of lowering myself to their level. But I hate myself afterward. All I can think as my daughters resist my authority is “I gave you life, you ungrateful brat. I feed you and clothe you. Everything you have you owe to me. I sacrifice everyday for you. Everything I do, I do in your best interest. I would die for you. You have no right to show me such disrespect”. And they don’t. They have absolutely no right whatsoever.

A few weeks ago I was standing at the side of an outdoor public skating rink watching my kids skate around. I overheard a father talking to his son. He was pointing out the correct way to skate. His son, in a petulant voice, said: “ You can’t tell me what to do”. The father immediately assumed a humble stance and, in a pleading tone said: “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just trying to help you. If you want to learn, you should listen to me.” The boy, about nine, didn’t look impressed. No wonder. There was nothing to be impressed about. And I wondered, if a father doesn’t have the right to tell his nine year old son what to do, who does? Do we live in a society where no one has the right to tell children what to do without entering into a lengthy debate about it? And if a child refuses to respect his fathers guidance and knowledge in such simple matters without coming back with a smart-ass rebuttal, what chance will the father have later on when it comes to more important things?

And day by day, it gets worse. Dads and parents in general continue to lose ground. They lose it to their children, who become increasingly more demanding and less obedient. They lose it to their children’s schools, who demand that parents teach their children grammar at home so they can concentrate on teaching them personal values. They lose it to the media, who sexualize children and expose them to violent, obscene and suggestive imagery at every turn. We lose it to busy body, left wing social activists who continually come up with new ways to transfer parental authority to the state, like when they launch court challenges to criminalize parents who give their children a few slaps on the bum or advocate for mandatory helmets for all kids who go tobogganing.

Years ago, when children knew their place, the family was big and it was inviolable. (‘Inviolable’ is defined as “unbreakable, sacred, firm, unchallengeable”) back in those days, the family came before teachers and government. There were no self righteous socialists or radical feminists marching around trying to dismantle and disempower it. And the media celebrated the human qualities that were good and admirable, rather than celebrating our most shameful decadent desires like it does today.

Nowadays, the family comes before practically nothing. And it's about as unbreakable, sacred, firm and unchallengeable as the marriage contract around which it is formed. That is to say, not very. Families have become so insignificant and unimportant, in fact, that many people choose to have none. And those who do choose to have one, have one so small that it is practically meaningless in terms of perpetuating the species.

I have only two children so I guess I shouldn’t talk. After all, I too am a qualified runner in the family extinction race’. I guess I should be deferring to my children more and caving in to their demands like most new age parents do. I guess I should be more tolerant when they are obstinate and adopt a humble, pleading stance. But I’m not and I won’t. And I am appalled and astounded how alone I am in my sentiments – how separate and different I am from all the soft, tolerant, sensitive, new-age dads out there.

But I am not ashamed that I am different from them. I am proud. I look at them and I feel sympathy. They can’t be enjoying themselves.

You’ll Be Wrapped Around My Finger

“I will turn your face to alabaster; when you find your servant is your master.”

When Sting wrote those words back in the 80s, I bet he didn’t have Canada’s health care system in mind. And yet, these many years later, it could very well be used as our health care theme song.

And there’s a twist. The Canadian version of the song has a surprising role reversal. Playing the role of the master is: the health care system. And, playing the role of the servant is: me, you and all other middle class Canadians. Yep it’s the faces of Canadians that have turned to alabaster, after finding out their health care Servant has become their Master.

Hmm, just a minute. “Servant” may not be a strong enough word to describe Canadians’ relationship with their health care system. Rather, it’s more like “slave”. After all, like slaves, we Canadians are not permitted to obtain any medical treatments except what is provided under the whip of our communistic state health-care master.

The whole situation is completely and utterly perverse.

Think about it. Canadian doctors routinely turn away new patients because they have too many patients already. Statistics Canada reports that many Canadians have no family doctor. Here in Canada, it is the doctors who are in demand, not the patients. Tell me, what service provider actually tells customers to go away? What business has clients competing for its services rather than the other way around?

A while back, I read an article in the newspaper about a Canadian doctor who was telling all his smoking patients that he would not be their doctor anymore. It was his way of sending a message to them about their smoking, I guess. Well, the message was received alright – and it was a message saying that he was the master and his smoking patients were his servants – excuse me, slaves – to be disposed of at his discretion, with, apparently, no adverse affects on him or his income. Such is the reprehensible world of Canadian communist medicine. A world where doctors hold all the cards and citizens beg to get into the game.

Here in Canada there are hundreds of thousands of people waiting for surgery at any given moment. Some wait months, some wait years. Some die or get irreversibly worse waiting in the queue. Such is your lot in life when you are a slave and have no control over your medical destiny except what little is allowed you by your master.

We supposedly live in a free and democratic society. At least that’s what we are told. Not so free, though, when it comes to seeking our own medical treatment. This has always puzzled me. How did Canadians become so stupid and naive – so narrow mindedly socialist – so as to buy this damaged bill of goods? We walk around with our chests pumped up and our noses in the air, relishing the sensitivity and compassion we show to our poorest people, all of whom have complete medical coverage. Unfortunately, in providing them with this coverage, we haven’t raised them up to the level a middle class person should receive. We’ve dragged the middle class down to the same level of service a poor person would receive. (Making everyone equally miserable is what socialism does best, or didn’t you get the Memo?)

Yep, the middle class can, apparently, just go to hell and wait months for cancer treatment and heart surgery; just as long as the poor can go to our hospital emergency rooms with the sniffles and have their treatment paid for by the terminally sick and dying middle class through their taxes. It is so uplifting to be an enlightened socialist. Have we attained health care utopia or what? Pinch me. It’s all so perfect I must be dreaming

We are so free here in Canada. We have freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom of religion. But, oddly, we have no freedom of health – arguably the only freedom where life literally hangs in the balance.

We are free alright. Free to lie for days on stretchers in hospital corridors. Free to wait months for cancer treatment. Free to live in pain and become hopelessly addicted to opioids. Free to lick the boots of our almighty health care master while we die like dogs waiting for permission to be treated. Ahhhhh, It’s good to be a free Canadian.

Look, it is one thing to want to give everyone, especially those who cannot afford it, adequate health care. We all want to do that. But, it is another thing entirely to pass laws making it illegal for anyone to seek their own treatment when the public system is failing them. It is, in fact, not just perverse, it is downright fascist.

And anyway, despite the agonized protestations of those who would deny us our freedom of health and keep us powerless and enslaved, there is really no proof that allowing additional access would destroy the public system. In fact, the opposite is true. Many enlightened nations such as Finland, Sweden and France have public health care for everyone while allowing citizens to buy additional insurance or pay for their own treatment if they desire. Please note that I used the word “allowing”. Imagine, we actually live in a world where the dying and the suffering have to be ‘allowed’ to take measures to extend their own lives. Shouldn’t such freedom simply be seen as a human right rather than a gift to be given or taken away by the state? What the hell is the matter with us? Have we become so pathetically used to crawling to government, that we need its permission to save our own lives?

Who Wants to Live Forever Anyway?

I’m getting old too darn fast. There are more years behind me now than in front of me.

I used to think that being immortal would be pretty cool. Imagine - never dying; never growing old. It’s the ultimate dream, isn’t it? The unattainable prize that everyone thinks about at some moment in their lives.

When I was younger I WAS immortal, or at least I acted like it. Sometimes, between bursts of youthful exuberance and flurries of foolhardy risks I would experience rare moments of introspection. Sometimes I would think about mortality and wonder whether older people worry about death and wish for immortality more than younger people. It seemed sensible that death and mortality would weigh more heavily on the mind of an older person than a younger one. One would think that mortality would become more and more an issue as a person’s remaining time became less and less.

But now that I’m *ahem* getting up there, I have come to realize that, for me, quite the opposite is true. The older I get, the less attractive immortality looks. I see the changing world around me and realize that I really don’t want to live forever. Not on this planet, anyway. With each passing day I am becoming a creature of a different time; a different era. A different world. Day by passing day, I become less and less comfortable with what our society is becoming and my place in it. Vague feelings of disconnect grow stronger. Sometimes I feel as though I no longer belong here.

Sure, it would be wonderful to be able to witness what the distant future holds for my family. To walk my great-great-great-great-granddaughter down the aisle at her wedding ceremony; to hold her first born in my hands; to be there down the road to offer support, comfort and love during those times when my family needs it.

But, there’s more to life than family. In order to live, one must interact with the world. To be there with my family down the road, I would also have to be there in all other respects - in their time and in their world. Yikes. I can barely tolerate the thought of what the world would be like in 25 years, let alone in one-hundred or two-hundred years Hell, sometimes I can barely tolerate the thought of what it is like today.

Whatever the case, as you can probably tell, I’ve pretty well come to terms with my mortality. In fact, in a weird way, I almost appreciate, rather than resent, the limited time I have on this planet. Whether by default or design, our natural lifespan seems, to me, to be just perfect. Not too short to be fleeting and not too long to be tiresome. And the knowledge that it’s all going to come to an end someday certainly makes every experience that much more precious. In fact, I would venture to guess that if we weren’t mortal, nothing at all would be precious.

So, in celebration of this precious life, from this mortal, middle-aged man to you, a gift. Three suggestions for making the most out of your all too finite life

1. Have your children before you get too old. If you do, you may very well get to meet your great-grandchild, just as my great-grandmother did with me. It's a mistake to artificially postpone parenthood just to acquire more stuff. And don’t wait for the right time. It may never come. And anyway, when is it ever the wrong time to give life? Just do it. And, may I add - speaking as a man who will be in his sixties when his last child is in University - do it early, get it over with and then you and your spouse can enjoy your later years free from the little blighters.

2. Do not – I repeat – DO NOT change with the times. Respect the generation that spawned you and try to act your age. Sure, movie, TV and music stars are always reinventing themselves. But that’s because they are shallow, narcisstic idiots, desperately clinging to the illusion of youth. They have no sense of self-worth beyond what they see in, or snort off, the mirror. The reason they need to constantly “evolve” is to sucker new generations into buying their crap so they can stay rich and famous. So, they whore themselves out to every new trend that comes along. Trust me – this only works when you have a good plastic surgeon and publicist. 

3. Finally – when your time finally comes – die well. Unless you go suddenly, you’ll likely have some time to come to terms with your pending demise. So, remember, people are watching. You are only as good as your last gig. Go out like a whimpering sobbing bag of jelly and that’s the way you’ll be remembered. Despite what they say about taxes; death is really the only inevitable thing about life. If you have to face it, face it with all the dignity, strength and resolve you can muster. If you are going to teach your children or family anything, let it be how to die. It will not be a lesson wasted.

For now though, if you are still reading this, I hope that last suggestion can be deferred for a long, long time.