So, last week was Father's Day.  It wasn't a bad day actually.  A beautiful one, in fact.  And it started me thinking about all the joys of parenthood.  It started me thinking about what the worst things about being a parent are.  (Look, if you want to read some mushy babble that you'll forget in five minutes turn the page.)  Real parents and people who feel they want to enter the society of the downtrodden (parenthood) read on: The 10 Worst Things About Being a Father.

1. Untimely and powerfully stink bowel movements.  Brownish green soft serve stool.  My favorite.  The other day the middle child raced to the bathroom but couldn't get on the bowl in time.  Milky deposits sat on the white tiles with little footprints in them.  Delicious.

2. Children who, after you have threatened to tear their heads off if they say another word . . . say several more words.  I have never actually threatened to tear any of my children's heads off . . . Maybe that's why they keep talking?  Hmmm.

3. Children who won't eat anything for an entire day except crackers, dry bread and cookies.  Look man, I was the last of 6 children in a single parent home.  I never, during all those years said, "No, I don't want to eat that. It's so yucky." Never.  You ate what the woman put in front of you or you ate what you could find.  End of story.  I need to starve these chirren obviously.  Then they'll be grateful for a handful of sawdust.

4. Children who can't sleep at 10:30 pm but are too young for you to leave unsupervised while you go to sleep.  This is when despair sets in.  When you just want to watch the news.  When you just want to have one conversation about your day but the buggers won't let you.  You fed them.  You bathed them.  You watched them brush their teeth.  They changed their clothes (sort of).  And you sent them to their beds and turned out the lights.  But no.  Sleep do dem sumtin.  What I wouldn't do for that kind of treatment.  But noooooo.  They want to tell YOU four bed time stories they just thought up.  They want water, juice, milk, water then milk, juice with ice.  They want, they want, they want . . . THEY WANT ME TO TEAR THEIR HEADS OFF!  Oh, I can't do that?  Right.  I'll get the milk.  And do, yes, do tell me that story of yours that makes absolutely no sense, just like the last two.

5. Which brings me to the fifth worst thing about being a parent.  I used to have quality time with the person who persuaded me to make babies with her.  Now, we just shoot mean looks at one another over who will clean up the untimely and powerfully stink bowel movements of  brownish green soft serve.

6. You will find it awfully hard to find anyone willing to sit with your children while you try to maintain your sanity, unless you are prepared to put some money in their hands.  Everybody encourages you to have children.  None of them want to help you with them.  Remember that, please, you young people who out there juicin' like there's no tomorrow.

7. Mornings.  Mornings.  Mornings.  Why, why must my child and I wake up at 6.30am to get to school for 8.30 a.m. when school is 7 miles away?  The drive should take me 12 minutes if I'm driving at 35 miles an hour.  Instead it takes an hour.  Why?  Oh, I know why, 'cause I live in Nassau and we're all stupid and have too many cars and unplanned roads and a shabby bus system.  Gotta love morning traffic from August to May.  Almost as much fun as an appendectomy.

8. The child who refuses to wear his underwear the right way around.  And insists that all the labels on the inside of his shirt make him itch.  And insists that he can't wipe his own butt even though he can and he's just had an untimely and powerfully stink bowel movement of brownish green soft serve stool.  And insists that he doesn't know to take off or put on his own shirt.  Or his own socks.  Or breathe his own air!

9. Healthy Child Deafness Disorder.  It's real, people.  They can't hear.  Oh, you can feel free to go and have them tested.  Go on.  They'll pass with flying colors.  But you actually give them an instruction and watch the madness.  Watch the confusion.  Watch the amazing deafness!  "Pick up that cup, Joshua.  That cup Joshua.  Look at me Joshua.  Joshua.  Joshua.  JOSHUA.  Look at where I'm pointing Joshua.  The blue cup Joshua.  Pick it up.  For the love of God! . . . Nevermind."

10. Crying.  A child is designed by his Maker to yell, scream and screech so loudly that a parent will hear from a far distance and know that the little one is in danger or in need.  That is good.  The problem is these children learn quickly that their crying has the ability to make a seasoned spy spill his guts and shoot himself in the head.  They will use this crying thing at the drop of a hat.  They will use it as a weapon; yes, a weapon I tell you.  A form of psychological warfare.  They smell weakness and fear and they attack.  But I have a remedy.  I shall not be moved.  I have . . . earplugs.

OK, fun and jokes aside.  Being a dad is awesome in a whole lot of ways.  It's awesome fun and it's an awesome responsibility.  I never understood so well God's relationship to me, His child, as I did once I had children of my own.  I'm every bit as infuriating and precious to Him, I'm sure, as my three are to me.  And if I want his mercy surely I can show my own children mercy too.

Before I go I want to just give a shout out to three fathers of mine: my father Mr. Tracey Watts Strachan; my maternal uncle Mr. Huel F. Moss (recently turned 80) and my father-in-law, Mr. Anthony Joseph.  Every day is Father's Day.  So Happy Father's Day gentlemen. 

With love. IAN STRACHAN is Associate Professor of English at The College of The Bahamas. You can write him at strachantalk@gmail.com or visit www.ianstrachan.wordpress.com.

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