Roles: Not the Kind You Serve at Dinner

I have been thinking a lot about traditional roles in the household when it comes to husbands, wives and kids. A lot has changed over the last fifty years and I want to be the one to illustrate those changes.

Let us consider, shall we, this ad from Housekeeping Monthly from 1955. I can't say much for it because it really speaks for itself. But when I first read it, I was compelled to make some revisions for our day and age.





The following is my version:














The Good Husband's Guide

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even a week before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for her return. This is a way of letting her know that you have been obsessing over her and are concerned about her well-being every second of the day. Most women don't want to cook for your lazy ass when she comes home so the prospect of not having to do any more work is part of the warm welcome needed.

• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to pump up and take a shower so you won't be smelly and fat when she arrives. Touch up your deodorant, dab on a little cologne and be fresh looking. She has just been with a lot of smelly nerds and doesn't need to come home to one.

• Be a little gay...no wait, don't be gay. Be ecstatic when she walks in the door and don't say anything stupid. Her boring day doesn't need any of your BS and it is your duty to make sure you don't give her any.

• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house before your wife arrives and make sure you didn't leave any of your dirty magazines in plain view.

• Gather up the empty Cheetoh bags, beer cans, porn, etc., and then run the vacuum over the tables.

• Over the cooler months of the year, you should run her a hot bubble bath for her to unwind in. While you're at it, why not pour her a glass of wine? Be available to wash her hair and rub her feet, too. After all, being her personal slave will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

• Prepare the kids. Plug them into a Barney DVD and forget it.

• Greet her with a flex of the pecks, a smack on the hiney and tell her a hard day's work looks good on her.

• Listen to her. For God's sake, just listen. Don't talk. Don't just nod like an idiot when you know are thinking about the game on Sunday. Let her do the talking - remember, her topics of conversation are way more important than yours and quite frankly, she doesn't want to hear any of your BS. Like I said.

• Make the evening hers. Never complain if she comes home late or goes out with the girls or does other fun stuff without you. Face it, buddy. You went outta style faster than DayGlo.

• Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your wife can renew herself in body and spirit.

• Don't greet her with your BS. How many times do I have to say that?

• Don't complain if she is late home for dinner or even if you don't see her for an entire week and she never calls. Count this as minor compared to the BS her boss may have put her through all day. Back to the BS. No BS.

• Don't ask her questions about why she bought that pair of Monolos or question her judgment on the trip to Fiji she is planning with her friends. Remember, she is the queen of the house and as such will always do whatever she feels the need to do, whether you like it or not. You have no right to question her.

• A good husband always knows his place.

(Note: No husbands were hurt during the writing of this entry.)

Congratulations, moron. You just won the award for Best Parent of the Year.

I always find myself observing other parents when I am out in public. It is interesting the different styles of parenting I see. There's the mom who lets her kids run amok, reeking havoc like dust storms in the desert. (Get a grip on them already, lady.) There's the earth mama, with a newborn wrapped snugly against her bosom with a stylishly-dressed toddler in tow. (Okay, hippy. I respect the harnessing of zen. But couldn't you wear some deodorant?) You've got the trailer trash, the Bellevue bitches (a.k.a. soccer moms), the ghetto superstars with their lil g's pimped out in all their BabySeanJohnFubuFilaEnyce glory, rockin' their Baby Phat. (No, not baby fat. Baby Phat. Represent.) They've all got their respective styles. It's cool. They all contribute to the diversity of our community. I like to think I am a well-balanced meal of all these courses combined. Being a part of a greater collective of different people makes me feel connected to the parenting community at large.

Then you have the dysnfunctionals. These are my favorite. I see them all too often. They openly chastise their kids in public, indiscreetly and condescendingly. They sit on the bench in front of Target, smoking, while their children sit next to them and watch and inhale and absorb the acrid smoke their parents are teaching them is a normal part of life. They verbally abuse each other, while smoking, openly chastising their kids, dropping the "F" bomb every other sentence.

These parents (if you can call them that) are the ones who perpetuate the cycle of dysfunction by raising their kids (if you can call it that) to follow their examples. They, themselves, were abused, which I suppose I can't fault them for. But it still doesn't make it right, because their kids will abuse and their kids will abuse and their kids, etc., etc.

I, unfortunately, don't have some witty explanation for this. It just stays sad no matter how I try and put humor to it. It's like trying to make bad hair better by upping the AquaNet. It's just not possible. (Okay, that might have been somewhat amusing.)

But, seriously, it just makes me want to be that much better of a mother to my daughter. Then she'll be a good mother to her kids and on through the generations. We have so much power as parents to improve our society by how we raise our children. And that is an amazing role to play in the experience of life on Earth.