As a parent, you are propelled to a level of responsibility in which none of your other experiences could have prepared you for. Lack of sleep, irritability, and overall ignorance, give you a high probability of messing up, and, from all accounts, you will. Sometimes, you can laugh these mistakes off, but sometimes you feel like the worst parent in the world. These are a few of the things I’ve done, in my time as a father, to let you know you’re not alone. My kid has survived, and doesn’t appear to be physically or emotionally scarred (yet?). So if you’ve had one of these moments, just know the world doesn’t end, no matter how terrible you feel.
Drops
Dropping your child is dipping your toe in the water of lifelong guilt as a parent. It’s the first chill up your spine making you feel like a true piece of shit. You may have been overconfident till this point, thinking it could never be you, then one misstep, one moment you’re not paying attention, you hear a thud, and you see the tears in your kid’s eyes. Congratulations, you’re the worst mother/father ever.
There I was, the family and I were visiting family in Houston, I just changed my kid’s diaper, and it was time to pull up those big boy pants. This was about the time I was leaving the house on the way to another destination, which, if you’ve ever been to Houston, can understand the anxiety of driving on the freeways. My kid was holding onto my legs as I bent forward and pulled up. As I pulled up, his grip gave way and the pants acted as a fulcrum propelling his head backwards like he was an actor doing a wire flip.
I distinctly remember our eyes connecting as his head hit the ground and his eyes welled with tears. I picked him up and held him apologizing and rubbing his head. He pushed me away and went with his mother, making me feel like an even bigger turd. My step father approached me afterward and said “Evan these things happen, it’s ok, he’ll be fine” something I thought was dismissive and insincere at the time as I wallowed in shame.
Was everything ok? Looking back on it, he was fine, and I’m grateful that someone was there to try and make me feel a little less like a neglectful asshole. The kid cried, and he had a headache, but we got to my grandmothers house and played like normal. Not to say I don’t feel bad about it to this day, but it wasn’t the life changing event that I thought it was at the time.
Fireworks
It was a cool night in London, and we had just heard about a fireworks display over the river. It was the 11th day of November, and the Brits put on one hell of a remembrance day celebration. We were walking along the River Thames, in anticipation of this display that I was sure was going to blow my kids mind and solidify my spot as father of the year.
My kid was on my shoulders, just old enough to prop his own head up and firmly hold onto my hair as he looked around blissfully ignorant. We just had some pizza and ice cream, we were on vacation, give me a god damn break. The clock ticked closer, and we found an awesome view, overlooking the river in a crowd of people, we were all smiles and laughter, other parents gave us nods of approval, sharing a parental win for the situation. The problem with fireworks by the way, is that they are explosions, so they’re loud as shit.
The sound that came from maybe a half mile away, assaulted my kids eardrums and senses so hard that he let go of my hair and clutched onto my face like he was falling off a cliff. This position also put his face right next to my ear at just the right time for him to scream, at the top of his tiny lungs, in agonizing fear. I brought him down and held him to my chest, bewildered at what just happened, as I looked around, I was met with judgement; what an asshole (arse I guess would be more appropriate).
We speed walked away to get some distance for the kid, he was pretty upset. We found our way to some open building that turned out to be affiliated with the communist party, judging by all the propaganda on the walls, but it was a commie stronghold with a lobby, water, and a bathroom for us to get our shit together. We all sat there and gave the kid some time to compose himself, as I stared in irony at the anti-capitalist rhetoric on the walls. Turns out kids don’t like explosions when they can feel it in their chests.
Was everything ok? Yeah, the kid is fine, he doesn’t freak out over loud noises, or have hearing issues, I might have felt like I went from best dad ever to sociopath, but damn that’s the deal you make with a kid when you decide to be a parent, both of you are going to make mistakes.
Car door
There are many priorities when arriving at the house late at night with a very tired and cranky child. I had stuff to get out of the car, we just took a bunch of maternity pictures, and to top it off we were all tired and hungry. My kid is old enough to hop out of his seat on his own, which led to some exploration in the garage while I loaded up my arms with dinner, outfits, and whatever the hell else we had packed away in there.
A side note: My kid usually hops out of the car and either messes around with his bike, or just goes inside the house, so the thing that’s about to happen was the furthest possibility from my mind.
I used my elbow to slam the car door closed, only to hear a blood curdling scream. I snapped my head over to see the kid, knife hand wedged into the tiny gap between the car doors between the drivers side door, and back door. The term “oh shit” really doesn’t do justice for what went through my mind. I think if I were going to put words to it, it would sound more like, and please excuse the vulgarity, “holy fucking shit, what the fuck did I just do, I broke my kids fingers, why the hell would he do that, Evan you’re a fucking idiot!” but all at once in an instant.
I opened the car door, releasing his fingers, which made him instinctively grab onto his hands and cry “owie” in long gasping moans through tears. I threw the stuff down and shuttled him to the bathroom to run it under cold water with some ice as I assessed the damage.
Another side note: I don’t trust doctors, so I do everything in my power to avoid going to the emergency room. I bent his swollen fingers to see if they were broken, which prompted more screaming, so I looked at my wife and reluctantly agreed to go to the doctor and make sure his fingers weren’t broken.
The whole way to the emergency room my kid was asking, through tears and moans, “why didn’t you look daddy?” which leads me to say, kids can be real assholes sometimes. We got to the hospital, and my wife was kind enough to give me a second outside to compose myself, since I was infuriated and filled with shame. Afterwards I get inside and my kid is somehow fine, no tears, just rationally explaining to the doctor that his father slammed the door on his fingers, and how he told me not to, like he was an undercover cop, busting neglectful parents to CPS.
Was everything ok? Yeah, no broken fingers, and apparently wasn’t as bad after the distraction of learning about x-rays. The doctor and nurse made light of everything and let me know about all the times they messed up as parents.
So Parents and soon to be Parents, let these stories sink in, shit happens. Sometimes things suck and you make a mess of it, but that’s what happens in life. Bask in your shittiness just long enough to learn from it, and get better for your kid, cause ultimately that’s the kind of human you want to raise. All you can ask for is a kid that is honest with themselves, understands that mistakes happen, and uses the opportunity to learn, because we see the contrary, and how bad that can be.
Caffeinated Face Punch 