Bad Cop, Worse Cop . . . Absentee Cop

Before I typecast myself as a lunatic, I thought I would bring this project back to the mundane for a moment.  If a person spends too much time tending to the soul of the earth, they miss out on the details that make this all worth writing about.  The wife and I aren’t unlike any other set of parents out there.  We do our best in guiding our heathens into adulthood and each play our designated role to that end.  This good cop/bad cop routine is hard coded into our DNA.  There are notable exceptions of course, but generally the great mass of humanity falls into the same categories and as such I will endeavor to make massive generalizations where I would otherwise retreat in disgust.  


Men and women are different.  There is no denying it, and the differences don’t stop at the need to sit or stand while urinating.  Men are simple creatures.  Not a lot of bells and whistles, essentially just an on and off switch.  Women on the other hand are far more complex, with a series of buttons, switches and levers that must be adjusted in just the right way to ensure proper function.  More often than not, our simplicity as men naturally lends itself to the “good cop” role.  We never cease to amaze our better halves or our children with our ability to maintain the emotional growth of 5 year old.  This fact alone is the reason we make a great playmate and a rather poor guide for proper social behavior.  Ever met a father that wasn’t a horrible embarrassment to his entire family when allowed to venture outside the confines of their own backyard?  Didn’t think so.  Despite the fact that I tend to be the primary disciplinarian in our home, the kids still view me as the guardian of fun.

Just the other morning, we broke with routine and I was to be transporting the children to school both ways instead of the usual division of mom dropping off and dad picking up.  That news received a hearty cheer from our youngest.  I worry that the wife felt slighted and that their often times poor reaction to her presence weighs heavily on her mind.  The kids know how to push her buttons and I am constantly asked if they behave in this manner when it is just they and I.  The answer is no, of course not.  When I respond in this manner I can see her heart sink.  What she doesn’t witness however is the plethora of occasions when they call out for her when she isn’t here.  My less than gentle nursemaid hands are not as practiced as my wifes in the healing arts, nor is my cold heart warm to the idea of cuddling after a scraped knee.  My response is not to scoop them up in my arms when they have fallen down, but rather to demand that they stand and blame them for falling in the first place.

I was reminded of this on this very morning when my eldest was not feeling well and called out for “Mom” . . . never “Dad”.  I am a last resort in these matters.  Like I said, we have our roles, and just because I selfishly gobble up the “fun” doesn’t mean that the boys favor my presence over their mother’s.  They don’t act up on my watch because I am demanding and can be the least fun person they know.  Once again I am humbled by the single parents of the world that must man both sides of this coin.  It is tough duty, and I have been fortunate (that’s right)  . . . fortunate enough to have had glimpses of this lifestyle while the wife is away for weeks at a time.  The experience creates emotional growth in a parent that is invaluable and I wouldn’t  trade those times for all the riches in the world.  I was reminded of some of the more trying moments when recently commenting to a friend regarding an upcoming 4 day stint during which he must act as a single father to his two young children.  I wouldn’t say that I remember these times fondly, but my survival of them certainly causes me to beam with pride more than all other accomplishments in my life.  Thinking of these times almost always makes me appreciate the “easy” days when all is relatively well.  It serves as a good reminder that we should never sweat the small stuff.  If only I could remember to relive these moments with a little more frequency.  Here are just a couple that I think worth jotting down for prosperity.

Due to my wife’s international travel schedule, it is important to remember that during these moments the wife is a continent away and often not available by phone.   The first occurred while still living in the States.  These were complicated times.  In addition to the daily care for two young children, I was tasked with a career of my own and the care for a growing farm full of livestock.  It was early . . . I mean EARLY as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and greeted the day.  Like UPS, I needed to get more done before 8 a.m. than most people get done all day.  As I stood from my bedside I felt a slight pain in my side.  “It’s hell getting old” I thought to myself.  With the boys still asleep in their bunks, I pulled  on a dirty pair of jeans and clad my muddy work boots so that I could head out into the cold to tend to a needful calf who was waiting in the barn to be fed his morning bottle.  About half way to the barn, the slight pain I had felt in my side returned and caused me to pause for a moment or two.  Still focused on the laundry list of things I must accomplished, I forged ahead.  With chores completed, I headed back for the house.  Half way home, what started as a mild pain in the side turned into a sweat inducing stabbing the likes of which I had never experienced.  Certain that death was imminent I was forced to take a knee.  I staggered to the house and woke my eldest.  I informed him that Daddy was sick and that he needed to look after his younger brother.  A lot to handle for a boy at 6 or 7 years of age.  I grabbed the phone and called 911 for an ambulance and then a close friend to come and take the boys to school and daycare.

By this time I was laying in the kitchen floor in agonizing pain.  The youngest was still not awake and I was doing my best to keep my eldest from hitting the panic button over my condition.  The wife was not due to return from overseas for another day or so and I was uncertain if my hospitalization would be a passing fancy or a long term event.  A lot goes through your head when you go from a healthy and active thirty-something to feeling like a crippled 90 year old who has just fallen with a broken hip.  Fortunately, this friend of mine didn’t live too far away and made the 20 to 30 minute drive out to the farm to arrive just moments before the ambulance.  She took care of the children and promised to try and contact the wife while the paramedics loaded me onto the gurney.  Off to the hospital, now wailing as loudly as the sirens, I was informed by a rather beefy fellow that it was probably a kidney stone and that I was to squeeze his burly hand when the pain became overwhelming.  Being close to tears, I would have given the big fella a hug if it would have lessened the pain.  He advised that he had seen such a thing make men much larger than I cry like babies, so I didn’t feel as bad that I wanted him to cuddle with me.  True to his word, the diagnosis was a kidney stone, which they liken to child birth.  Damned glad I am not my wife and I am absolutely amazed we have TWO children.  One time of that would have been plenty for me to call it quits.  A day or so removed, and uncertain whether my children were OK or not, my friend contacted me and let me know everything was fine and that the wife would be home soon.  I spent the next day in a morphine high and when I woke that evening I found my wife and two sons at the foot of my bed.

The second story I related to my friend (in brief) occurred in a similar manner.  The eldest had fallen ill and the wife was forced to leave him in my care when she left for a week of business travel.  For the week or so prior, he had been battling with fever and a wicked case of the hives, neither of which the doctors could explain.  Now, I was concerned at the outset, but knowing that Mom is a better caregiver than Dad, must have had my eldest shaking in his proverbial boots.  To add to his problems, he quickly picked up a secondary staph infection in his big toe.  Now I had two problems to treat throughout the course of the week.  About half way in, both conditions worsened and in the wee hours of the night, I was forced to take him and his 2 year old brother to the Urgent care at our local children’s hospital.  He was in bad shape and the 4 hour wait to be seen began to test my patience.  Eventually the youngest became tired of the scene and was on the verge of emotional breakdown along side his weary father.  We were finally seen by a doctor who cut open the eldest foot to relieve the infection and treated him once more for the fever and hives.  We made it home in just enough time for me to have a shower and head to work the next day.

These are but two of the examples of how thrilling life in the trenches can be, so rest assured my friend . . . 4 days is a cinch.  Just learn to be thankful when you are not alone and appreciate your spouse for all that they do to allow you to be the “good cop”.  That is about all I have time for today.  Take care.  R.