The first two syllables of fatherhood are “Oh-Crap”

By Jeffrey R. DeRego
HippoPress.com

The idea of fatherhood has always scared me. Early memories of my own father are blurry. I remember him working, then being home. I remember eating a whole jar of
pickled onions with him while watching a Red Sox game, and subsequently vomiting the onions all over the living room.

I remember the smell of ammonia as dad hurried to clean up before Mom returned home.

I learned of my pending fatherhood at 5:15 AM on November 1st. I was asleep at the time, but distinctly remember the dream I enjoyed just before she awakened me. There I was, standing at home plate, the count was three and two. Pamela Anderson, naked, wound up and hurled a killer fast ball right down the pike. I swung, even felt the meaty center of the bat connect, and...

Two little pink lines on a piece of plastic that resembles an underarm thermometer.

See, home pregnancy tests must be performed in the early morning. Cindy, my lovely wife, explained that this is because the hormones that the test measures are at their
strongest during early morning hours. Personally, I think it is necessary to perform this test so early so that the father-to-be is unprepared to run screaming from the house.

I’ve seen this moment played out on television and in the movies enough to realize that my initial reaction was not what Cindy expected. In film, upon learning that his
significant other is pregnant, the male character usually embraces the woman and purrs softly. The woman, now blessed with the immediate compassion and understanding that motherhood demands, whispers, “and I love you.” Fade to black, credits roll, find car keys, drive home, if lucky get the chance to practice making a baby.

Our reactions were somewhat different:

I said, “Oh crap... Are you sure?”

She answered, “of course I’m sure,” then added, “get up before you’re late for work.”

I am now convinced that all movies and television shows in which couples learn of an impending child are written by women.

I learned something else about fatherhood as I spread the word around work that day. Everyone, regardless of gender, has horror stories about their own childhood.

“Congratulations! Fatherhood wow! Are you excited? I remember how my father used to attack us with an oxyacetylene torch on Christmas morning, just before he went out to get drunk and gamble away all of the family’s savings...”

I think most dads get a bad rap these days. Part of the problem is our early education. Remember those days when the girls and boys were separated in health class. The girls were taken away and taught everything they would ever need to learn about raising a family, courtesy of filmstrips made in 1950. Meanwhile, the boys were instructed on the symptoms and care of jock itch.

This disparity is what fuels the male lack of understanding when it comes to child rearing. Men need instructions. We love instructions, even ones on a single piece of paper, and in a foreign language, just like the one that came with the particle board entertainment center.

Fatherhood comes with nothing.

Here is a simple example of male and female training on parentage.

Baby is crying-

Father- “Baby is crying.”
Mother- “Baby is hungry.”
Father-”How do you know baby is hungry?”
Mother-”Because baby is crying.”

Later, as baby cries again-

Father-”Baby is hungry.”
Mother-”No, Baby is tired.”
Father-”I thought when they cried they were hungry...”
Mother-”Don’t you know anything?”
Father-”I know about jock itch. Does the baby have jock itch?”

So, it is no surprise that the first person I wanted advice from was my own father. Who else would understand better the fear and excitement that came with the news of a first baby? He would be my yardstick. He would be the man I turned too when all was bleak and dark. Dad had been down this road before! Dad knew all the pitfalls and traps. He knew all the tips and tricks. He could even write me an instruction sheet!

“Dad,” I said, “Cindy is going to have a baby.”

“Oh crap,” he said, “Are you sure?”

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