Making my kids into who they are.

I am a father of two wonderful children.

I repeat that sentence to myself a lot. It speaks to my loose grip on reality that I need affirmations like that.

Almost 8 years into being responsible, at least in a legal sense, I still find it amazing that the half-sized humans living at my house are in fact 50% or more me. On the rare occasion that I do realize this fact I well up with a fierce, protective emotion towards them. I suppose that's the feeling Mom's have most of the time.

There is wisdom in correctly identifying your role in the relationship to your child. There are some obviously wrong ones, like pet, owner or puppet-master. Then there is the subtly wrong one, friend.

The short reason for this is respect. A child needs boundaries, structure, rewards, discipline and protection. Being their buddy can seem cool and progressive but in the end it makes it hard to get them to take the garbage out.

Now that my children have developed personalities beyond 'sleepy food to poop transmogrifiers' I am seeing the affect my DNA, and chillingly, my personality is having on them.

This week my older daughter had to stay home from school because she was sick. So she curled up on the couch and watched three of her favourite movies back to back.

That isn't strange for a child. What is strange is that she picked the original Star Wars Trilogy. I had a sick day just like that 9 years ago. I'm just praying she doesn't find out about the Star Wars conventions.

The second edition of my spawn has taken a great affection for a computer game. That isn't odd. But it's not Webkinz or Care Bears.

She has a creepy skill and passion for 'One Must Fall 2097'. This is a 'Mortal Combat' knockoff from 15 years ago. The 5 year old bounces on the couch, mashing the controller with her little fist, and when she wins pumps her hand in the air saying 'I Win, you're dead!'

It's like a mashup of a Mormon commercial meeting Chucky from "Child's play".

This is where the value of keeping the parental role can really pay off. After losing a game I can say 'Go to bed' and then proceed to play until I max my robot out so I don't lose the next battle.

Middle-Hero in training

I like to think of myself as a helpful person. That in no way has any bearing on the reality; which is I'm a busybody.

It wasn't hard to make the transition from geek to mother hen for all of society. I didn't worry about what others thought of me. Most people fail to hide their contempt or utter disinterest. And I'm opinionated. That seems to be all that is required.

I prefer to imagine that I am the 'nice guy who stood up for everyone' to all those around me, but I expect that in a follow up interview I'll be pointed out as the man who wasn't there.

For example, I have not restrained my tongue on the bus when people have acted badly. Unfortunately at those moments the brain condition that delays witty repartee by two days still exists. In it's place is the catalog of parental scolding.

Although I must say it IS effective to say "No-one here appreciates that sort of language" to a foul mouthed 20 year old on a bus.

Beyond doing impressions of 'Granny' from the Beverly Hillbillies I'm also a middle-hero in training while waiting in line.

You see, I have a heart for those in the service industry. Sometimes they need one.

Kidding aside I have worked both at the counter and in the kitchen. I know what a bad customer can do to a sensitive, acne prone young man who is just trying to prove to the girls that he really is straight.

Because of that when I am in line I try to enjoy the experience. And those who know me fear that phrase. What that means is that I actually converse with the person taking my money away from me. They never give me my money back by the way. No harm in trying.

Today I was in line at the local sub shop. The lineup took 15 minutes to move to where I could order my sandwich. The attendants were clearly run off their feet and stressed. I formed a plan as quickly as I could.

With five minutes remaining I had it. If the line became long behind me I would fake a stutter. Yes, a speech impediment to truly outdo Porky the pig.

My plan was to allow the poor girl working on my sandwich the time to catch her breath, relax, and get my order right. That way I could slow the line down tremendously without provoking anyone to be angry with me for doing so.

And although I didn't have to execute it (the plan, not the sandwich-maker), I did mention my plan to said submarine assembly technician. She was grateful for the gesture, but pointed out they act like they were dervishes in a good whirl so people wouldn't be mad with them.

After all that I succeeded in making one person happier today, albeit by planning to do something.

I really need to get out of bureaucracy.

Coming soon to you: The smells of home, while you're away!

There is a long running debate on whether children are more affected by nature or nurture. Usually the arguments posed by either camp are wonderful examples of pop psychology mashing it up with statistics dropouts.

Inadvertently as a parent I have had a fairly long experiment. I don't nurture too well, I don't want the kids thinking they have a firm foothold on the premises. Besides, when I hear nurture I think 'breastfeeding' and my kids are too old for that now. And I'm a bit hairy.

On a recent business trip I was talking with my older daughter on the phone. It is a good chance to practice remote interrogation techniques. I swear my kids have some non-disclosure agreement on their learning at school.

After a good 3 minutes of shaking her down to get that she made a snowman at recess, my almost 8 year old says 'Sorry Daddy.'

The hair on the back of my neck rose. My beloved laptop was at home. Images of pouring apple juice from the keyboard danced through my head. I hesitantly asked for what she was apologizing.

Her: 'I just farted.'
Me: 'That's ok honey, I don't think I can smell it from here.'

Undeterred the child continued: 'I could fart into the phone.'

I paused to consider which to take more offense to. Her persistence, her idea that this was appropriate, or her knowledge of how telephones work.

Me: ???? 'Nooooo. Don't do that. People put their mouths near the phone.'
Her: 'No, I'll do it by the earpiece'

She was really pushing for this.

Me: 'No honey. Don't put on your butt what people put to their faces.'

It's the best I could come up with. What is really terrifying to me is how often she has done this and NOT apologized. Her little mind must have been racing on why Daddy wasn't reeling from her noxious gasses.

I imagine there is some macabre market for that sort of 'smells of home while you're away'. Perhaps this is why video phones never took off, maybe this is a more normal occurrence than I want to think about.

So if you ask me if this was a natural thing to do, or if by some freak act of parenting we gave her this idea, I'll point my finger at my wife (and hope she doesn't pull it). After all, she is the nurturing one.

Definitely expected to.

There is something about being a husband and a father that defines you as a person. Part of that definition is the expectation of yourself to provide for those you love. To take care of them, to protect them and irrationally, to fix things for them.

I have a long standing relationship with my snow blower. It is like an unhappily married old couple. There is a lot of tears, cursing, and nothing gets going when I want it to work, no matter how much pull starting is involved.

So far this winter I have lumped it and just shoveled. I have been hoping that my neighbors have an early onset of dementia and forget the fact I own a snow blower.

Today I tackled it. Not physically in a fit of frustration, I just attempted the fix.

I have learned that the best way to emasculate someone is to have them fail at something that they should be able to do, like cook eggs, remember an anniversary, or fix a small internal combustion engine. I would rather sit down to do all things bathroom rather than fail at those tasks.

Usually these operations end up with me in a fit of tears, throwing things around and pronouncing death on all things mechanical with every word they taught me in basic training. To obtain similar results just lock an orangutan in a room with only a crescent wrench and a banana trapped inside a lawnmower.

My wife has learned about these times. Today she stopped me and said "I'm so proud of you for trying." I think she was hoping to prevent the children learning how to swear in two languages. It was appreciated.

A lot of the problem is that I think "Hey, I'm a smart guy. I can fix computers. I can read. I have the internet. I can fix a machine that won't pull start."

I love how macho it sounds when I get to say "I think it's a problem with tainted fuel in the lines. I'll have to drain the carburetor." Usually the only time I say things like that are when I have to encode the message to my wife that I have to go potty.

I did get it working, which only slightly balanced out my day. I'm still sad that I couldn't get the extra 2GB of RAM I bought for my laptop to work in series with the SODIMM I already have. Cosmically I suspect somewhere there is a shop mechanic who just built a working cantenna.

The lesson for this is support those trying to fix stuff, especially if they fail spectacularly. Unless of course you enjoy watching them cry, and if so, just go pop some popcorn and offer suggestions like "you're not turning it hard enough".