What Am I Most Afraid Of?

20 Nov

This:

      

Yeah. Give that a gander. Does that guy’s shirt actually reference his…? Yep. Is that a mustache on the right? I can’t be sure.

As pregnancy continues and fatherhood becomes more a reality, I am faced with this every day.

Think about this: You go to buy a car and the salesman pitches you their “extremely rare, one-of-a-kind” champagne white SUV. OH MY GOD you must have it — IT’S CHAMPAGNE WHITE! Then as you are driving it off the lot, you pass three other champagne white vehicles. All the sudden you realize your neighbour has two. The guy around the corner has one. At the grocery store you park between two champagne white SUVs. You’re in a champagne white sandwich! Yeah…. really rare right? This exact phenomena is happening to me. I used to think these people above were confined to extremely preposterous TV shows. Lately I have seen otherwise. Every where I turn one of these guys above is walking past me with pants either two sizes too tight or sagging past his knees. Don’t worry, he wore gym shorts to cover his underwear… kind of. I have seen more flat-billed snap-back hats in the past year than there are in my grandpa’s closet. Gold chains? What are they for? Affliction t-shirts… ohhh Affliction t-shirts. Show me a man wearing an Affliction t-shirt and I’ll show you a boy who has shriveled up nuts and back acne.

Before we started down this whole path, I was expecting a girl. I really, kind of, sorta wanted a girl. Here is my very complex reason. You ready? Buckle up.

It would be me and my guns keeping these guys away from my daughter!

Simple! I have the control (to a degree) and if one of these tardbaskets shows up to date a Dill girl… well I’m sorry but I believe you have the wrong address.

But now… Now I have an even more important task. I have to make sure my son doesn’t grow up to be… I can’t even bring myself to say it.

Somebody asked me the other day if I would be upset if he didn’t want to play sports. That is an easy answer. No. Not even a little bit. [Sidetrack: for those that don’t know me, my first words were “alley-oop” and I would spend hours in my perpetual motion swing watching sporting events on TV.] Of course sports is a major piece of my life, but if it wasn’t important to him — I can live with that. What if he didn’t enjoy music? That’s fine. Hunting and fishing? No problem. What if he wants to major in Art History and move to NYC to chase his dream of being a fine art museum curator? You’d have a serious case of proud as a peacock right over here.

But I have to draw the line somewhere, and my line is drawn at pure, unadulterated, douschebaggery. The question now is how do I circumvent that? That answer is still unknown and probably will be for a while and I know I don’t need to know exactly what to do from the start.

But when asked what scares me the most? That is easy… I just pull the pictures above out of my wallet and say…. THIS!

Somebody please take my soapbox away.

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