Family Daze
In the shadows of every great father-child outing stands mom
By Debbie Farmer
The one thing I've learned about life, as a mother all these years, is that you've got to watch out for any event trying to pass itself off as father-child activity. Oh, not that there is anything wrong with a father spending time with his children. What no one tells you is there really is no such thing as a father-child activity. Any fool knows it's really a secret code meaning mother-child activity--without the mother.
Before you start thinking this is going to be just another stereotypical male-bashing type of column, it isn't. I'm strictly speaking from personal experience.
And, mind you, nothing speaks louder than our involvement with the local Indian Guide troop.
The Indian Guides, for those of you who don't know, is a group of fathers and sons, similar to Boy Scouts, who meet once a month at various members' houses for a discussion, craft and a snack. But the real beauty of it is that fathers are supposed organize everything. EVERYTHING. The mother's only involvement is to stand on the front porch, waving off father and son, as they drive down the cul-de-sac for the monthly meeting.
At least, that's what I thought until our annual Indian Guide Troop potluck picnic.
Now, you are probably thinking that a group of eight men arranging a day at the park with their families sounds like a fun, family-bonding experience. And you're right.
There was, however, one particular drawback that hadn't occurred to me: There is a very big difference in how men and women plan picnics. I mean, actual scientific studies have proven this. For instance, most women will spend hours debating the best day and exact starting time, then start a phone tree to decide what type of theme to have, whether to serve beef or chicken, and who, exactly, can be trusted to bring the hotdog buns and potato salad. Men will discuss the whole event for about, say, five minutes and decide on the location of the park.
Granted, some of you out there right now (and you know who you are) are pounding your fist on the table, shouting, "Hey, that's nothing but a stereotypical exaggeration! Besides, location is IMPORTANT, you know."
But this brings up a whole set of problems; one being that it bases the whole picnic planning process loosely on rumor. Out of eight families, two thought it was "some time during Saturday," two "late on Sunday" and the rest were evenly divided, but absolutely sure they were in charge of bringing the ice.
Now the other problem with father-child activities is that most men don't admit they need any help, until five, maybe six, minutes before the start of an event. And, yes, while this may be another flaming generalization, it sure explains why my friend, Carol, called me the other day, panic-stricken, on her cell phone from a local discount store, right before a group of 16 fathers and sons was supposed to meet at her house.
"Hi, it's me," she panted. "What aisle are the Popsicle sticks on?"
"What?
"We're weaving God's eyes at the meeting tonight."
"Try aisle 2."
"What about the yarn?"
"Seve--."
"Thanks. Gotta run!"
I don't have to tell you what's going on here. Clearly, left to their own devices most fathers would be wandering around, Popsiclestickless, having no idea when to meet at the park.
On the other hand, let's face it; without them there'd be no high-speed cable connections or fancy remote-control satellite-television systems. OK, maybe there would be, but most of them wouldn't be connected right.
I must admit, father-child activities have taught me one thing: No matter how hard you try, you can't change a person's nature.
So, now, whenever my husband announces that he's going on a father-son camping trip or a father-daughter hike, I just smile weakly and say, "That's nice, Dear. It sounds like fun."
Then I dash for the phone, call the other mothers in the troop to set up the day and time, air out the sleeping bags, pull down the suitcases, make a list of clothing they'll need, fill the water bottles, and pack up all of the snacks.
You know, sometimes it's just easier that way.
Debbie Farmer is the author of Life in the Fast-Food Lane: Surviving the Chaos of Parenting. Email her at paradigmnews@familydaze.com.
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Saratoga, California Since 1955
