A Full Disclosure On Being A Dad

Let's make this perfectly clear from the start: I didn't read the fatherhood manual before I became a dad. My wife did. Then she summarized the important parts for me each night before bed.

It quickly became obvious that in terms of respect and assumed competence, soon-to-be dads fell somewhere between a bobblehead doll and a rabid hedgehog. How else to explain such informative chapter titles as: "Babies Do Not Make Good Coasters" and "Diapers Go on This End."

Granted, I learned a great deal about the myriad secretions an infant is capable of, as well as the fascinating journey a mouthful of strained peas makes through the gastronomical tract (the first bend in the upper colon had me on the edge of my seat). But for the most part, I felt thoroughly patronized. Of course newborns have to be burped. How else are they going to spit up all over your shirt? Of course Diaper Genies eventually need to be emptied. ... OK, that one actually did come as a bit of a surprise.

The point is, I wasn't as clueless as everyone seemed to fear I would be. When my daughter was born, I actually managed to cut the cord and videotape the top of my right shoe at the same time - no small feat considering the informative voice-over I was providing simultaneously. A typical example: "Goop factor high, trying not to hurl."

So here it is, four years later and I am happy to say my daughter has grown into a happy, healthy little girl, by which I mean she still has all her digits and no longer pecks at her reflection in the mirror.

Looking back, I can't help but take pride in a few of the more notable accomplishments of my admittedly brief stint as a dad. I can, for instance, say with confidence that I never dangled my daughter over a fifth-floor balcony or waved her in front of the snout of a hungry crocodile. I never allowed her to pilot a commercial airliner (despite her numerous pleas) or arc-weld without protective attire. And as far as I know, she has never used any performance-enhancing drugs. Her incredible monkey bar skills are entirely God-given - via her father's side of the gene pool.

All of which I offer as evidence of my qualifications to write with authority about fatherhood, child-rearing and arc welding. There's a lot of trendy, hubris-driven advice out there, and I intend to contribute to it. Citing such renowned experts as my mom, that lady down the street with all the cats and the guy who cuts my hair, I will attempt to shine the spotlight of knowledge on some of the more shadowy mysteries of parenthood.

What, for instance, are "cooties" and can they indeed be transmitted by sharing Skittles? Who invented inflatable castles and why? How many times can the "pull my finger" gag work on a typical 4-year-old before the bloom begins to fade? (My research is ongoing.) We'll find out together the answers to these and many other fascinating topics.

You've been warned.