Be careful children, you might hurt me

Reading Maggie's hilarious/infuriating post about being lectured by a stranger on her parenting skills jump started the old reflector beam for me. I started thinking about my own work as the paterfamilias, and I gotta tell ya, I don't think I'd get high marks from the coddling crowd.

I've been the primary caregiver for my two little monkeys since each was 12 weeks old. Truth be told, it was hardly a role I was born to play. Truthier still, if you'd have asked me 6 years ago if I could foresee the day when I would be a stay-at-home parent, I'd have assumed you were having some sort of seizure and had forgotten who you were talking to.

Alas, times and situations change, and now, I suppose, the shoe fits just fine. My boys are well adjusted, smart, and most of all, fearless. While a good share of the credit goes to my Long Suffering Wife (LSW), I take some pride in having a hand in it.

But man, I gotta tell ya. Some days, I am just a big DOPE.

A good example came last Saturday night. We were sitting around the fire pit, when the boys each came out with a tapered candle in their hand. They wanted us to light them, so they could watch the flame and melting wax. The boys are 3 and 5. A sane person--a responsible parent--simply says, "No."

Guess that makes me INsane and IRresponsible. I figure, what the hell; the watchword in our boys club is, you can do anything within reason so long as you do it safely. I lit the candle, reminded them to be very careful, and watched with pride as they held them away from their bodies, commenting on the interesting shapes the wax was making. The 5 year old even reminded his brother, "Don't get the flame close to your skin or you'll get burned!" The 3 year old responded with an understanding nod.

A seemingly dangerous moment, more than offset by the childish wonder and the sense of maturity that the boys displayed. What could be better for their self esteem and self confidence, among other valuable lessons?

But the Gods of the Coddling Crowd got the last laugh, I'm afraid. After some ten minutes, the candles blew out. The boys came to dad for a re-light. The great hunter/gatherer pulled out his trusty box of fireside blue tips, and struck a flame. And I'll be goddamned if that match didn't eject a single, glowing hot cinder which landed on my beard, burning off a patch of hair and singing my skin. I've got a bald spot and a painful blister there right now; it throbs in a rythym that seems to say, "You're a dope. You're a dope."

To quote that old hippie song, "teach your parents well......"