Victoria's Secret target audience: Three-year-old Boys?

My wife gets the Victoria's Secret catalogue, and as the holiday season approaches, one seems to come weekly. I usually wait for the kids to go to bed before I take a glance. You know, getting gift ideas for Jen. They have great sweaters and pants. Anyway, one afternoon Jen came and got me. "Come look at your son," she said. I went around the corner and watched my three-year-old boy, intently focused on the almost naked models, carefully turning the pages and saying, "This one wants to kiss me. And this one wants to kiss me."

The next day I was sitting on the couch looking through the magazine. This time, I actually was looking at the sweaters for Christmas presents. Not joking. Anyway, Marcus came up and sat next to me. I turned the page and there were two models in swimsuits, and one model in a bikini with her arms crossed over her breasts. Marcus looked and said, "I like the one without the bra, Daddy." I almost forgot myself and said something like, "Ya, me too," and then my senses came to me. I'm sitting with my three-year-old, checking out beautiful women and commenting on them...

I quickly closed the magazine and said, "Um...okay son, why don't you go play upstairs with your sister." All I could think at that moment was, I'm going to have to have 'The Talk' with this boy before he goes into 1st grade!

Mommy gets a ticket

Jen was in a hurry. She and Marcus were dashing to the store to pick up last minute items for Thanksgiving on the evening before, when the inside of the van lighted up, and the piercing siren encompassed their ears. Although the officer was nice and said hello to Marcus, he was frightened by the experience. He is, afterall, only three.

Needless to say, it made quite an impression. The following morning, he followed his mommy around the house, writing her numerous tickets and telling her to slow down. Classic.

Ankle Foot

Have you ever had one of those mornings? You know, the kind where you wake up and everything is wrong? The kind where you feel ill but you can't describe it? When I complain of having this kind of malaise, my wife usually says, "Oh, you have your non-specific illness thing again?" That pretty well describes it. My three-year-old son, Marcus, however, has a different way to describes these feelings: Ankle Foot.

About once or twice a week, he'll wake up in a crabby mood. He'll complain about this thing and that thing, and when asked what's wrong, he'll say in a very raspy complainy-kind-of-voice, "I have Ankle Foot...." To which his mother and I exchange humorous glances and respond with something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"

So, my Non-specific Illness is his Ankle Foot. From now on, however, I'm changing my term to his. "What's wrong dear?" Jen will ask.

"I don't feel well. I think I'll stay home today."

"Really, what's going on with you?"

"I have Ankle Foot."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Introduction

Is there a point in a young man's life when he boldly proclaims to the world, "I'm ready and prepared to be a father. I know what to expect, so bring it on!"? Does anyone receive mentoring or training in this area? Did I miss a lecture in college that covered this stuff, while I was soothing a hangover?

Because it wasn't that way for me...

I was ready and willing yes, but prepared? Oh my God! I had read a couple books, but nothing could have prepared me for the sleepless nights and having to work the next day. Or, how the intimate relationship I had crafted with my wife would be forever changed. Or, how the needs of my new child superseded my own to the point of feeling neglected by my wife. No one taught me that being a father requires a Buddhist monk's training. (Selflessness, living life in the present moment, no sex for extended periods of time, etc.)

No one gave me the tools on how to support my wife through this change and that I needed to be there for her emotionally as well as physically - something I was not prepared for growing up.

No, I had to learn, as I guess most men do, how to be a father one day at a time. I had to learn from making a lot of mistakes and by having numerous arguments.

I remember yelling at my first young child who refused to put his pants on (I think he was three at the time). I was in charge and I needed to be somewhere in five minutes. I explained, very tersely, that he needed to get dressed because Daddy had to be somewhere right now, to which he simply said, in his most defiant voice, "No!" I remember him crying as my anger welled up and frightened him. And I remember the guilt and shame I felt as I held him in my arms and told him I was sorry over and over again.

What model of fatherhood did I have? Mr. Brady, Mr. Cleaver, Mr. Ingalls. They were all great TV dads, but I never saw them deal with what I had to confront. Would Charles Ingalls have yelled at Half Pint the way I yelled at my little Nate? No way. But then, Charles Ingalls didn't have a son who refused to pee and held it for over 24 hours. I'm on the phone with the doctor and he's telling me I have to get him in the bath and force him to pee or bring him into the hospital right away. My son is screaming bloody murder and I'm crying real tears. Luckily he peed, and I remember just being completely emotionally spent. I'm not accustomed to crying.

I now have three children. I love each one more than life itself and I would do anything for them. They are my spring of eternal youth, and my purpose of living. My capacity for love, empathy, and joy has manifested a hundredfold. No longer am I the cold, distant and emotionally unavailable macho drunk of my youth. It continues to be hard, but it's also rewarding in so many ways. At least now, they're all out of diapers and can dress themselves. And now, when my youngest (who's three-years-old) refuses to get his pants on, I just say, fine. I grab some pants and take him naked, crying to the car. By the time we arrive to our destination, he's ready to get his pants on, and my blood pressure hasn't changed.

When my son peed on the floor of the grocery store and got his pants all soaked...I had an extra pair in my jacket. Didn't say a word, just changed his pants and rolled on. "Excuse me?" I say, "Yes, there's a spill on aisle 14. You might want to have someone with a mop clean it up before someone slips," and I continue to shop undeterred.

For anyone who might think, oh this guy has got it all down, stop right there. I've got ten years experience, but every day brings new challenges and I'm always wrestling with guilt and with the decisions I make.

This blog is about the journey of fatherhood: its funny, tender moments as well as its hard, frustrating ones. My hope is that other fathers will want to share their stories and together, we can learn and grow from each other.