4th and very very very long…

Posted by: , September 8, 2008 in 2:11 pm

You can’t draft a fantasy family. It’s just not an option. At least for most of us anyway. I don’t usually think about this. Today happened to remind me that you play the hand you’re dealt…

I’m a sports fan. Always have been and I suppose I always will be. It’s just something I grew up with. I played sports, watched sports on TV (12″ black and white, thank you very much), collected sports cards (my mom threw all of them in the garbage), read sports magazines (when I wasn’t reading Ranger Rick or Kerrang). You name it. If it involved a ball of some sort and dirt, I was sold. Now that I look back on it, it seems kind of odd. My dad wasn’t a sports fan at all. I’m pretty sure he thought Jimmy Connors was the shit but i don’t think that counts. My mom certainly didn’t know the difference between Walter Payton and Walter Matthau. I guess it could be that I was born with the competitive gene or I could have simply been a product of my environment. Either way, it seemed like that’s what boys did and it was important.

I think it’s only natural for men to fantasize about someday having sons of their own. The thought of your boy learning to shout “Potvin Sucks” at his first Hockey game or tapping him on his back at the start of the national anthem as a gentle reminder to remove his cap. Or maybe it’s sharing his first hot dog / knish combo up in the blue seats.  It’s the subtle things that you can’t help but daydream about. I know I always did. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I ever pictured it any other way. I even bought a tiny Rangers hockey jersey when my wife was pregnant with our first, not knowing what we were having. Some people might think that’s sick but I thought it was standard.

To make a long story short, the son never came. Two daughters is what I have been blessed with. It’s kind of like watching the lottery drawing on TV for that brief 30 seconds during the news. 6, nope, 32, nope, 8, nope, 14, nope… Well you get the point.

It’s kinda of amazing though. As a father of two daughters, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t want to change a thing. There’s a certain look that a little girl gives her daddy and it’s absolutely priceless. It makes me melt every time. I feel like I have a bond with my daughters  that seems very unique. Perhaps it’s because there were never any preconceived notions about having daughters on my part. Whether that’s because it took me by surprise or because I realize now that I know nothing about the female species is irrelevant. I can’t even picture having a son now. It’s actually nice to not have to worry about all the stereotypical pressure that comes with raising boys. I used to dream about taking my kid to the Rangers games at the Garden but what if he turned out to be an Islanders fan? I’d be pissed. I also used to muse about tossing the old pigskin around in the yard with my boy but what if he sucked at football and couldn’t catch a ball to save his life? Would I get frustrated? Did I really want to do all those things with my fictional sons? Or was I just conditioned to think that way because I didn’t know any better? It’s nice when life smacks you in the face and it turns out to be a pleasant surprise.

On most days, I’m perfectly happy playing Barbies or dress up. It doesn’t phase me at all lifting my oldest daughter during the pretend ballet recital in the den. I even got a kick out of watching her scream frantically with 15,000 other little girls at the Jonas Brothers concert. Even with no beer.

Sometimes being a dad in a house full of girls gets a bit overwhelming though. There’s always a lot of screaming and fighting about nothing. I’m often told that I don’t know anything and it seems a bit weird that a little girl less than two years old has more shoes than I do. But in the end it keeps me on my toes. I’m often learning new and important things about the opposite sex. Like tonight, when my 6 year old daughter told me that it’s good for a girl to sleep without panties every once in a while because it gives her vagina a chance to breathe. Hmmm, I didn’t know that vaginas needed to breathe. I kind of thought that the oxygen came from the lungs. I wonder how many vaginas are out there suffocating as I write this blog…

Today was a day for me though. The first Sunday of Football season. Even though I’m sure my wife would argue that I get about fifty of those days a year. The first Tuesday of Hockey season or the first Wednesday of Baseball season. Whatever. Give me a break. I deserve it. Today was a day that I was able to stretch out on the couch, laptop all fired up and ready to report stats in real-time. PBR cold out of the can and an Italian Hero with “the works”.  I planted myself in the basement, in front of the flat screen. The only part of the house that is free of ponytails and pom poms. It might as well be the Bat Cave as far as they are concerned. But I know my place and my place today was alone in the basement watching football on Sunday (thanks to my awesome wife). With no sons and no daughters, even if for only a few precious hours until once again when I’ll be Out-Numbered…







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