Dear Ivan:

Now that you’re going to be 5, I figure it’s time that you can start to understand a little more about the World.  One thing you should understand is the difference between Mommy and Daddy.

Oh, I know, that you know that we look different, but there are other differences as well, and I don’t just mean that Mommy is neater and cleaner than I am and cooks better and is better at drawing.  There are some other things that you might not be so aware of.  First of all, Mommy is a necessity.  Daddy is a luxury.  Mommy was able to make food for you for the first 2 years of your life with her own body.  The only thing Daddy can make with his own body has to be flushed down the toilet.

That’s not to say I don’t have value.  Somebody’s got to carry the giant, heavy bag of laundry up and down the stairs to the apartment.  And, somebody has to be in charge of going postal when the pediatrician’s office tries to screw us on a bill.  And, of course, somebody has to be in charge of getting you riled up right before you go to bed!  Also, there’s holding you upside down while brushing your teeth, teaching you the beauty of a good fart, and how to watch tv with your lower lip hanging open.

The thing that’s interesting is that even though Mommy’s job is in many ways much harder than mine, Daddy gets judged on a much easier curve.  When you used to wear diapers, if I ever had to change a diaper of yours in public, people acted like I was father of the year.  Women of all ages would smile and weep and remark to each other that I must be some sort of angel sent down from Heaven to make Mommy’s life easier.  But, if Mommy had to change your diaper, these very same women would scrunch up their faces, point at Mommy, and make nasty comments, like: “What’s wrong with her?  Why does she let her child sit in a soiled diaper for so long?  And, let it cry too?”  Me – I was a hero.  Mommy — they acted like she was Cruella DeVille and Cinderella’s stepmother rolled into one.

My point is, the bar set for daddies is pretty low.  It’s like when someone in the WNBA dunks a basketball.  People go crazy.  They say: “Did you see that?!  Oh my goodness, she dunked!!”  A guy in the NBA dunks, and people say: “Whatever. The guy who lost the All-Star dunk contest did ten times better than that on his worst dunk.”  So, yes, I’m saying that being the best dad is like being the best player in the WNBA: it’s terrific, but you can’t get too proud of yourself because the worst person in the league above you is still better than you (in this case that’s mommies, not NBA players just in case you were wondering, since I really have no idea what kind of fathers NBA players are.  I’m sure some are terrific.  But, I’m sure some are terrible.  But mostly I’m sure that, like me, they’re nowhere near as good at this parenting this as their children’s moms).

Anyway, I just wanted to point all this out because Mommy is really tired, and I think you should cut her some slack.  You wanna goof off, and jump on the couch, and punch someone in the throat?  Why don’t you do that with me, and let Mommy take a night off.  She earned it.

Love,

Daddy