You know, in the early days of my wife's pregnancy, when the
idea of having a child and becoming a father was still more abstract, I always
figured there would come a time in the final trimester when the full reality of
the situation would hit me all at once, when my impending parenthood would
become shockingly and suddenly tangible.
What I didn't realize is that I wouldn't have that epiphany
once, but over and over again. Just about every single day. Sometimes more than
once. USUALLY more than once.
I'll be brushing my teeth (for instance) and think,
"Holy shit, someday Donovan will start teething! And we'll have to go to
the dentist! And then he'll start losing his baby teeth!" (That last point
I hope I can manage to deal with… I'm not squeamish about much, but teeth
coming out is something I'm REALLY squeamish about.)
And I'm having stranger revelations, too, things you don't
typically think about when you think about becoming a parent. I realized the
other day that I've probably named my last pet. Maybe not forever, but at least
for the next eighteen years, and probably longer, depending on how many more
kids we end up having after him.
Right now Kaite and I have two pets, a dog and a cat, and
we've talked about the fact that that's what we'll probably always have. She's
a dog person and I'm a cat person, as I think I've mentioned here before, and I
kinda like that Donovan will grow up with one of each. Ruby is still a puppy,
and while Sammy the cat had a health scare recently she came out of it stronger
than ever. She's only thirteen, so she's bound to live at least several more
years.
The next cat we get, then, will probably be Donovan's, which
means that he'll pick her name – though Kaite and I will reserve the power of
the veto, I suspect. The next dog we get will probably belong to Donovan's
hypothetical little brother or sister.
I know there will come a time, of course, when Donovan and
whatever siblings we end up producing for him to play with are grown up, off at
college, moved away, and starting their own lives. But until then, if I want to
name my own pet, I'm going to have to get another fish for my office. And I'm a
bit hesitant to do that, after my complete and utter failure to keep my last
fish, Robert Frobisher, alive for more than a week.
Not that this bothers me, of course – it's just kinda funny
to think about.
Before I get to this week's dad joke, I wanted to introduce
a new segment to this blog. I often think of advice that I'll want to share
with my son as he grows older – practical life advice, philosophical advice,
and so on. So, I'm calling this segment, "Advice That I Want to Give My
Son When He Gets A Little Bit Older But I'm Afraid I Might Forget In The
Meantime."
I think I've mentioned before that I'm not very good with
titles.
Anyway, I've been studying the Tao Te Ching lately (Stephen
Mitchell's excellent translation, which I highly recommend) and one thing
that's really stuck with me is the Three Treasures or the Three Jewels, which
are three basic virtues of Taoism that I've taken to heart: compassion,
frugality, and humility. It's the last one that I want to talk about today.
First, let me just clarify that "humility" is
actually just the most concise translation of the third treasure. The full
Chinese is not a single word but actually a six-character phrase, bugan wei
tianxia xian, more literally translated by Mitchell as: daring not to be first
in the world.
I feel like a lot of the traits that we would consider, for
lack of a better term, traditionally evil come from the opposite of that – from
putting oneself first in the world. Selfishness, greed, a disregard for the
wellbeing of others, be they individuals, a community, or the greater whole of
humanity. Humility is how we avoid falling into these negative patterns of behavior.
At the same time, though, I think that in the pursuit of
virtue it's all too easy to fall into the opposite extreme, which like any
zealotry can feel virtuous just through the power of its own enthusiasm. Having
a respect for all humanity by definition has to include a respect for one's
self. Perpetually putting the wellbeing of others before your own is no more
fair, just, or right than the exact opposite.
I personally strive for balance in all things. That is why I
would advise my son – or anyone, really – when faced with a difficult moral
dilemma to simply take a step back and imagine the situation as happening to
someone else, an imaginary third party in whom you have no investment. If you
were reading a book or watching a movie and the protagonist found himself in
your situation, how would you want him to respond? Usually, the answer will be
neither with pure altruism at the expense of one's self, nor with pure egotism and
self interest, but a third more nuanced path that balances the two.
Of course this can be difficult, because we ARE invested in
ourselves one way or the other, but it's a helpful thought exercise that works
for me at least some of the time.
Moving on, today's Dad Joke of the Week comes courtesy of my
father in law, and it's his own favorite dad joke. I've heard him tell it
countless times (well, at least two or three, anyway).
Q: Why does a chicken coop only have two doors?
A: If it had four, it would be a chicken sedan.
So if you like that one, thank me for sharing it with you.
If you hate it, blame Bob. Either way, thanks for reading, and I'll see you
next week!
P.S. Oh, actually, one more thing! I haven't done much self-promotion in a while, so I just wanted to remind you that if you've been enjoying this blog, please consider taking a look at my first novel, Soapy Animals, available exclusively through Amazon. It's not fatherhood related or really all that child friendly, but a couple people have liked it, and maybe you will too! Find it here!
