Is your husband a chimp?
Thursday, December 29, 2011
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Shannon Scott StebbinsThere we were, standing in the dark at the exit of some zoo in
the western suburbs of Chicago, ready to go home; but, my 1-year
old, ChunChun, had tossed his shoe out of the plastic wagon in
which we had been toting the kids around in. This missing shoe was
allegedly, according to 4-year-old G Frenzy, now somewhere back by
the llamas.
Conquistadora, Ruler of Domesticada, who thinks I have the
parenting skills of a chimp, saw that our toddler had only one shoe
on, put the dots together on how it had occurred… and gave me…The
Look.
Conquistadora's Look is the manifestation of something that began
hundreds of years ago in the town of Vera Cruz in Mexico when women
would give The Look to their esposos and singe the very fabric of
their soul; the esposos would instantly put their head down and
comply like good boys. The Look is deadly. It can wipe out a small
village of Yanomami.
All dads know The Look. The Look is deceptive: sweet yet with the
stark power of menace.
When I get The Look, I don't panic and run like a trained puppy
like most dads do when their master needs something done.
It ain't like that. I have my own Look. But it is geared toward my
two sons. Every dad has The Look, too. When G Frenzy or my
tumbling, fumbling tot are about to do something they shouldn't,
like drop my toothbrush in the toilet bowl, I give them The Look.
It is different from Mom's Look.
Conquistadora's Look ensures for me a can of brutality, the
infliction of pain or immediate divorce, or a tryst with the Orkin
man. My Look has two parts which are mutually exclusive.
Part one conveys to my children that I am a big strong tough man
who can blow the house down with one fell swoop of my forearm, so
that we as a family are all forced to live in a tent in the
backyard in freezing conditions. I saw the movie "Rambo." I could
survive for years in my backyard.
Part two is selling them into slavery on eBay. With smooth, soft
skin, gorgeous eyes and little smiles that can melt hearts, my kids
could earn me good coin in the e-commerce market.
So there I was, surrounded by beaming multi-colored tree lights in
the shape of animals and the remnants of Christmas emanating the
euphoric scent of dead evergreen.
I was staring at The Look. For a moment, I thought I should try to
outlook her Look with my Look, but Look-offs are not healthy in a
marriage. They are only used in dire situations and this situation
wasn't dire to me.
It's just a dumb shoe, I thought. It was probably - I have no idea
about these things - a hand-me-down or a hand-me-over from one of
the ladies in the Mama Mafia group to which my wife belongs.
The alternative to leaving the shoe behind would be a trip to
Target the next day. A Target trip right after Christmas? I would
rather hang out in my father-in-law's 1960's themed basement packed
with hidden moth balls and watch a 24-hour "All in the
Family"-a-thon.
I gave Conquistadora The Sigh. That's for another time.
I sauntered back along the trail of the outdoor zoo in an effort
to find a little dark brown shoe the size of a printer cartridge.
In the dark.
The light decorations were off the trail path so it was almost
pitch dark. Seriously, this is what my life has become? Dear old
Dad on a lost shoe run on a chilly night? I am a dad. It is my job
to lose everything and find nothing. "Honey, where is the milk?" In
the fridge. "Honey, have you seen my eyeglasses?" They are in the
side pocket of your blazer. "Honey, have you seen my identity as a
man?"
Yes, you lost that right after G Frenzy was born.
All of the animals along the trail must have eaten some high fiber
dessert because it reeked of poo. I passed the owls, the lizards,
the deer (who has deer at a zoo?), the pigs, the sheep, the spider
monkeys and finally made it to the llama.
There I stood, right in front of Ralph the llama as his nameplate
read, separated by a wooden fence. And bingo! I struck gold! No, I
didn't find the shoe. Another mom did.
"Is this yours?"
I had that caveman "I no find shoe" pathetic look on my face that
all dads carry when sent on a mission to find something.
She was kind. She handed me the little brown shoe.
I looked at Ralph. He understood. He had two sons of his own, one
stable over.
I didn't want to let go of the moment because Ralph was looking at
me with a tender empathy. Suddenly my senses were attacked by the
worst smelling poo in the history of the earth and I realized it
wasn't empathy Ralph was sharing in our moment.
I wanted to bond with Ralph, dad-to-dad. I pinched my nose and
offered him my son's little brown shoe. I thought he would enjoy a
departure from his usual spread of hay with a side of hay and could
chew on the rough leather, kind like the beef jerky sticks I eat at
church. He snorted and waved his long furry neck. It was his way of
saying "go, Dad, and be a hero to your wife and your sons" and "I
am about to pass more gas, so beat it, human."
I made it back to the zoo exit and held up the little brown shoe
for my wife to see. I did it! I found the lost shoe!
She gave me The Glare and said in a huff, "Will you give me the
car keys??? The kids are freezing!!!"
At least it wasn't The Look.
There I was. A successful chimp.
Fatherhood is the most amazing, profound and beautiful thing I have ever done and...I don't recommend it.
See more of Shannon's stories here.
