It will surprise no one that I did not do much preparation before I became a parent. Preparation has never really been my bag, as anyone who has participated in a fantasy sports draft with me can attest. I believe I read a few chapters from an “expectant parents” book before getting bored. The general mindset I brought to the task of raising children was similar to the approach I strive for in life, which is essentially, don’t be an asshole. I think that nicely and concisely summarizes how I prepared, and what I expected about parenting. I went into this expecting that I would be surprised.
So I knew there would be surprises. I was fully unaware of the alarming frequency with which I would refer to myself in the third person when talking with my children. I can honestly say I don’t recall ever falling into this trap — a trap that is often associated with egomaniacal celebrities — before I had kids. And I have absolutely no concept of how it began. It certainly wasn’t intentional. I didn’t sit around and think to myself, “I bet my kids will respect me more if I refer to myself in the third person in their presence.” Nope, that didn’t happen. Yet here we are, with me blithely telling my kids “that’s daddy’s food” or whatever other nonsensical thing I might say every day.
Grammar is not my strong suit as a writer. It’s entirely possible I don’t have a strong suit. But if I do, it’s not grammar. Yet I at least think of myself as someone for who correct grammar is important. I try — I endeavor to write and speak correctly. I’m the sort of person who texts in complete sentences with punctuation. Some might call that a dork, and they wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. I have lived my life as someone who would look, if not down, at least askew at someone consistently using the third person. There is no explanation for how it happened, but I have become that which I loathe.
I think it probably began by using the collective “mommy and daddy” when referring to Caryn and I together. “Okay boys, we can read in mommy and daddy’s room tonight.” Things of that flavor. Yet slowly, imperceptibly it morphed into this virus. A virus over which I have absolutely no control. It is probably within the last six months that I really noticed myself speaking this way, still there has been no course correction. I want to stop and yet I seem unable. The virus rages on, and it’s unclear if an antidote exists.
Perhaps the first step is admitting there is a problem. I now hear myself say this foolishness and attempt to self correct. Although usually it is just me giving myself a mental kick in the butt and a literal shake of the head after I catch myself doing it once again. I want to be better. Daddy wants to be better. Here is hoping that will put me on the path towards triumph.