On the Today Show they had a segment about when should kids not be allowed to go naked anymore. Apparently it has become a huge concern for some (as noted in a New York Times article). For us, we have and will continue to let our boys run around naked as long as they are comfortable. Giving in to family/peer pressure to cover them up is not something we are concerned with.

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.

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.”

We are launching our TriangleDads 2007 Toys-For-Tots drive today! This year we are collecting toys at our December Dad's Night Out. We are also collecting money* to buy toys which we will then drop-off at a donation location before the Toys-For-Tots deadline.

*All donations will be used towards our toy purchases.