Cats and Tao

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!