TriangleDads.com

Last night we had our first Wii party @ Time Out Bar & Grill. They allowed us to use their big back room and TV to play some games, eat & drink, and have a great time. We played Super Smash Brothers Brawl, Mario Kart, and had a home run derby with Wii Sports. Overall everyone seemed to have a great time. Looking forward to our next Wii party next month!

What do you do with this again?
I am going to kick your @$$!

I still remember the wisest thing my father said to me when I was a child. I’d just made a helpful driving suggestion on one of our cross-country vacations, and he replied: “You’ll have to drive one of these some day, smart guy.”

Now that I have, I understand what he was getting at. When a dad is at the end of his rope, he’d probably just as soon use it to bind and gag his young passengers. A day behind the wheel can make any parent feel this way. Anything longer than a grocery run and I’m ready to slam my head in the tailgate. All from dealing with a mere 25 percent of my parents’ responsibilities.

Yep, they had eight kids – practically their own ball team. Yet somehow, they never seemed to have a ball….

Each summer, they’d load up our 1971 wood-paneled Plymouth Satellite station wagon (the same model the Brady Bunch drove) with a trunk, ice chest, picnic basket, and portable potty, then brave the Interstates with half a dozen backseat drivers (the age spread among us was wide enough that, fortunately for them, my parents never had to take all eight of us at once). We’d set out early in the morning, leaving the comfort of our suburban home in Northern Virginia to face the grueling full-tank increments of sitting in the car for 5-6 hours. (I’m pretty sure Dad’s bladder capacity was higher than that of the gas tank.)

We had several favorite destinations, alternating between them from one summer to the next – Nags Head, North Carolina; York Beach, Maine; or Estes Park, Colorado. As we covered up to 1700 miles on the road, the kids had opportunities to learn about American geography, as well as paternal vocabulary. Dad could let fly with some creative curses, and road trips were a sure way to stoke that creativity.

Messrs. Adams, Hancock, Jefferson, et al,

Thank you for the gift you gave us on this date more than two centuries ago. It was a great gift for a while, and we’re sorry we didn’t take better care of it. Now we’ve practically ruined it.

Thank you for the example of George Washington, a logical choice for our first commander-in-chief because he’d actually been -- well, a commander. We’re sorry for the lengths that recent presidents have gone to in order to avoid commanding -- let alone serving -- in the military, preferring to stay out of harm’s way before they step up with a generous offer to command those who stay in it.

We’re sorry for the abundance of candidates who, instead of a history of leadership, have only a voting record. We’re sorry they run for office with no other qualifications than a catchphrase or a buzzword. We’re sorry their lies are not self-evident.

We’re sorry those who eventually win the elections, can’t be relied on to serve us faithfully. We’re sorry they prefer to serve special interest groups rather than the people of this nation, that they care more about the contributions of the lobbyists than the consent of the governed. We’re sorry they’ve become hedonistic and selfish, and refuse to acknowledge this when asked. We’re sorry they are cowardly and dishonest, covering their transgressions with lies or silence.

Our son recently had his sixth birthday. We gave him a road atlas.

Before you condemn us as poor gift-givers or parents who can’t relate to our kids, dig this – it was his favorite gift. He really wanted a new one, as his old copy was falling apart.

This was the day before Father’s Day, so after giving my child an atlas, I got Diddy Kong Racing. It plays on my Nintendo DS, which he gave me last Father’s Day – two days after receiving a calculator for his birthday. Freaky Friday, anyone?

The birthday boy – let’s call him “Doodlebug” – loved the atlas. A deluxe edition, it’s vastly superior to the old one.

“Words fail!” he exclaimed after unwrapping it. We think that means Doodlebug is pleased.

The deluxe version is spiral-bound with heavy pages, coated for easy cleaning. (You never know when a childish person might play with your atlas and get it dirty.) Doodlebug appreciates the added protection against the possibly dirty hands of his irresponsible two-year-old brother, Sugarbear.

Of course, the new atlas retains all the features he liked in the old one – mileage tables, alphanumeric grids, and population listings. Plus, it includes Canada and Mexico, a must for any would-be traveler of North America.

Not that Doodlebug is a big traveler; he’s been in only ten percent of the United States. He has grandparents in Virginia, so we go there occasionally. He has grandrodents in Disney World, so we go there frequently. Those drives account for four additional states; toss in his native stomping grounds and he’s been in five. He’s obsessed with the other 45 (also D.C. and Puerto Rico).

The only thing more traumatic than the first day of school is the first day of camp. Kindergarten offered experienced teachers and an established curriculum; camp offers teen-agers and water sports. A little too “Friday the 13th”, but I’m sure my son will be fine if he lasts through lunchtime without incident.

My microwave pizza has 21 seconds left when the phone rings.

“Mr. Bain, your son has a bead stuck up his nose.”

“I’m sorry – a bead?”

“For participation and character traits. Some kids put them on a string; yours put it up his nose. It’s a standard craft bead – 9mm.”

“Like the gun?”

“Just the bullet.”

“I feel much better.”

“Don’t panic; this happens frequently.”

“I’ll be right there.”