By Gregory Keer
I push the grocery cart into Trader Joe’s, feeling like I’m being pulled along a roller-coaster track toward humiliation. My two youngest sons love shopping for food, but their unpredictable antics in the aisles put my fatherly management skills under a microscope.
The ride begins smoothly as Ari, 4, and Jacob, 7, stay by my side as we ease into the produce section. Moments later, the initial hairpin turn cranks left when Ari gathers five strawberry baskets I have to replace on the precarious display heap, barely faster than he can grab them. The next whiplash of the car jerks right as Jacob disappears into the crowd and I drag a crying Ari to the dairy area, where Jacob collects enough yogurt samples to feed his first-grade class.
“Daddy, you hurt my arm,” Ari whines.
Down the first big drop I go.
“Look, Ari, ice cream,” I say, diverting his attention as my eyes wildly scan the crowd, hoping no one is suspecting me of child abuse.
I keep moving through the store, plucking foodstuffs rapidly, hoping I can get to the checkout stand before anyone notices I have no control of my children.
“Mommy says we need eggs,” Jacob announces loudly.
I whip the cart around and stop in front of the egg layout. So many choices. Brown, Grade AA, cage-free …
Before I make a selection, Ari slips under me, snatches a box, and literally throws the fragile package into the cart. Miraculously, I catch the eggs in midair before the yolks have a chance at liberty. And I yell.
“Damn it, Ari, can’t you just stay still for a second?”
At this, my little one bawls, “I – HATE – you – Daddy! I’m not going to be your son anymore!”
Beads of sweat sprout all over my face. I try not to look up because my facial shade of purple rivals the eggplants I contemplated earlier.
“Nice catch,” one mom with a raised eyebrow comments, nodding at the egg carton in my hand.
All I can manage in response is a sheepish smile because I am those eggs. I’m cracking with embarrassment.
Of my numerous parental shortcomings, my tendency to wither under the judgmental eyes of others has deep roots. From the minute my wife and I expected a baby, I planned how I would look as a dad to others. I wanted to be that calm paternal type who was involved, wise and even-keeled – like the character Bill Bixby played on the ’70s TV series The Courtship of Eddie’s Father.
Almost from the start, my image of perfection was shattered as I panicked in front of friends and family when our firstborn’s diaper leaked, believing they saw me as a failure at basic infant maintenance.
Matters have gotten messier as my uneven triangle of sons bounces me around with a growing list of behaviors I always thought I should control. With both kids and adults, Ari veers toward aggressiveness, Jacob tends to ignore direction, and Benjamin, 10, often neglects to even say hello to anyone other than his immediate friends. Outsiders must conclude that the lax counseling of my children is the cause of this poor conduct.
More than ever, I want to stop having imaginary dialogues with people who may or may not actually be judging me for my parenting. Realistically, do other parents care that much about how I father? Even if they do, is it any of their business unless my children are physically or verbally terrorizing them or their kids? Should my sons cross the line into such offensive conduct, need I consume myself with guilt for not having prevented it when I know that kids aren’t completely programmable despite all the best efforts?
Yes, my kids – who give me countless reasons to be proud of them – sometimes need volume control and occasionally veer toward being sloppy and irreverent. And I certainly fall down on the job plenty in my quest to make them kind and well-mannered. But, this year, I intend to return with my sons to grocery stores, schools, restaurants, parks and friends’ homes without a debilitating fear of embarrassment … even if writing this very resolution makes me worried what others will think of it.
Gregory Keer is a writer, teacher and father of three boys. You can read previous Family Man columns at Parenthood.com/familyman.php.
