These dads won't be as good as me.

These dads here, here in this whole park, I’ll be better than all of them put together. Won’t even be close. Not that it’s saying much, cause right now, this assemblage of dads here is a piss poor one, at best.

That dad over there? I got him beat without even trying very hard. I don’t even hafta lift a finger to be a better dad than him. Look at him over there. Pushing his girl in a swing with one hand, farting around on his Blackberry with the other. When my kid needs pushing on a swing, I’m gonna use both hands. I’m gonna push my kid high. Not like this dad right here. How high’s his kid going? Not very. Just medium-height. Not even above the crossbar. What’s the point of swinging if you’re not even going above the crossbar? I can’t think of one and neither can his kid, from the looks of her. She looks bored. Like she’s crying out to be pushed with both hands. He should notice stuff like that. He should pay attention. A large part of parenting is paying attention.

And there’s that dad over there. On the blanket. He’s not a very good dad either. I’ll be better than him. I just know I will. I won’t play my music so loud. I won’t even mention the fact the music he’s playing sucks so bad. It’s crappy music but to each his own, right? One man’s crappy music’s another man’s not crappy music at all. But it’s so loud it’s gotta be piercing his kid’s eardrums. You know how you can feel the heavy bass in the ground when it’s real loud? That’s what’s going on right now. Booming outta the … outta the boombox. Kid’s like eight inches away from it. Kid’s gotta be deaf as a post. Not smart, dad. Not smart. I’m already smarter than him, and I’m an idiot.

Yep. Sure. I’m an idiot. I know this. But ever since I started identifying all the dads I’m gonna be better than, I gotta tell you. I’m still an idiot, a big fat one most of the time, but I could be a lot worse.

Like that guy trying to teach his kid how to ride a bike. He’s worse than me. Even if you take into account I know the guy, I know what he does for a living, and he makes way more money than I do, I got him beat. Even if you value all that money shit and financial security garbage and providing peace of mind and well being crap, I’m a better dad and I’m not even a dadyet. When I actually get to be a dad (end of October), then I’ll really blow the doors off that lousy dad.

Teaching his kid how to ride a bike by letting him fall over. Can you imagine? Who told him that that’s the way you teach a kid how to ride a bike. That’s not how you teach a kid how to ride a bike.

You teach a kid how to ride a bike by making sure that you only take the training wheels off when you’re sure he/she really only needs the training wheels not very often at all. If the kid can make it almost all the way down to … oh, I dunno … say, way over there, that corner there without relying on training wheels to keep him/her from wiping out, then it’s time to take off the training wheels. Then and only then. This guy took his kid’s training wheels off way too early. Kid can’t even make it ten feet without wobbling over to the ground all of a sudden like he’s doing now. Man. And the kid is getting no coaching whatsoever. Bad parenting. That’s what that is.

Kid clearly never had anyone instruct him on the finer points of what you gotta do is pedal through the wobbly parts. The only way to stay upright is to pedal. Soon as you hesitate or halter, you’re falling over. He doesn’t know that. My kid will. My kid will know that. Because I will teach him. Or Wife-asaurus. One of us will.

Look. I’m never winning Father of the Year. I’m not deluding myself into thinking I’m gonna win any kinda prize ever. I won’t even get nominated. But those dads right over there have no idea where their kids are, and I can flat out guarantee you I will never lose my kid in a big huge city park. The kind that’s so big it has a clubhouse, fieldhouse, baseball diamonds, tennis courts, a big park, a hot dog stand and a couple trails for jogging or walking. I won’t ever lose my kid like those guys have perhaps lost theirs.

Seriously. Where’d their kids go. They were just right close by. Scampering around chasing after each other playing some kinda game whose only rule seemed to be slap someone else on the butt but don’t get slapped yourself.

All these dads, not a single one of ‘em realizes their kids have vamoosed. Just standing there, arms folded and smug, talking bout whatever it is bad dads talk about. What if their kids’re halfway up a real dangerous tree? These guys wouldn’t know it. So wrapped up in their own little … you know, being a dad means you can’t exactly just get wrapped up in your own little world whenever you feel like it. You gotta pay attention. You gotta be aware. You gotta remember that it’s no longer you and your …

Oh. Okay. There they are. The kids. Okay. Right over there, waiting at theice cream man. But they coulda gone off somewhere. They coulda. And they were not within eyeshot. This park has lotsa hiding places. These dads wouldn’t’ve known, so my point remains. I’m a better dad than all of them.

Better dad than that guy idling in his convertible too. Who gives their kid a cappuccino, anyway? Other than that guy, I mean. It’s only a sip or two outta the dad’s super big cappuccino, but still. That’s how kids get hooked. When I worked at the railroad, almost twenty years ago (!!), there was this woman who gave her three year old all the soda he wanted to drink and sure enough, within like a month, that kid would only drink soda. Soda and nothing but soda. Kid turned into a holy terror. Spazzing over every little thing like the world was coming to an end then collapsing to sleep just like that. I gotta think that the caffeine in a cappuccino functions in much the same way sugar in soda does.

Freaking the hell outta the kid, that’s how it functions. This kid right here’s gonna be hooked soon too. Just like that poor railroad coworker’s kid. Never catch me letting that happen. Are you kidding? Are you serious? Have you lost your mind? The last thing I want to have happen is me being kept up all night by a kid crying and running around and talking nonsense gibberish cause he had a shot of espresso, basically. No way. This dad here should be more responsible. Juice or water or milk or maybe a sno-cone.

And is it really worth me mentioning the Little League dad over there too? What a dick that guy is. How’d you like to have a dick like that for a dad? That’d be terrible. Have your dad yell at you in front of everyone, from the stands, cause you charged a fly that wound up sailing over your head. Kid feels bad enough as it is cause a couple runs scored and now his teammates think he sucks. (Which he does, cause it was a real easy fly he misjudged.)

But right field is lonely. You’re out there all by yourself, and you feel … exiled or on an island or some kinda gulag when you mess up real bad and everyone’s looking at you even though they’re pretending they’re not. Trust me, I should know. I got stuck in right field once I grew out of my coordination. Once I went from short, agile and quick to gangly, loping and weird, there was nowhere for me to go but right field. Right field is where you inflict the least damage. But I hold no grudges. It’s not like I’m gonna try to live vicariously through my kid, like this dick’s doing, and if my kid messes up (which he did, no doubt about it, the kid screwed up real big), I’m gonna yell at my kid and call him all kindsa swear words. I’m not gonna do that, which makes me a far better dad than that dick.