Bad Coffee or Vodka Cranberry

As a writer, you start to see the world through a different lens. You can find that lens in my first novel, Dangerously Overcaffeinated, on Amazon at https://a.co/d/0gpgp2Uf. You can see more about me at https://www.dalethomas.com/

I was in healthcare consulting before my boys were born, and in real estate for much of their lives. Both occupations viewed the world differently. Healthcare was an overwhelming, enormous, unforgiving system. Real estate helped you develop a tough skin. However, nothing prepares you for parenthood.

It starts when the invitation, clearly addressed to your son, is laid on the Bombay Chest.  After a day, it’s moved to a place out in the open, maybe near the corner of the kitchen island.  As a small morsel of partially chewed food falls from their open mouths or meat is sawed with a fork, all eyes divert to the folded paper lying on the island.  We travel back a couple of years when we saw an elementary school fifth-grade play, Dear Edwina, where one character exclaimed;

“I have all the utensils I need right here,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

This scene is quoted multiple times over the next few years.  We fast-forward to their first job-interview lunch and decide it’s time for cotillion.

“Dad, I don’t need cotillion, I have manners.”

“So that’s what those are. Maybe you haven’t seen yourself eat at Old Spaghetti Factory.”

“I’m no longer knife-challenged.”

“Son, when we went to your older brother’s class at The Ritz, there were too many cute 8th-grade girls to count.  It’s like your Mom and I are paying for dates.”

“Cute girls, like who?”

“Well, for example, Lilly.  She’s smart, cute, athletic, and speaks Spanish.”

“Whatever.”

So you rush out and buy a navy blue sport coat. Ties are a challenge for the shorter kids, and two colors are available. There’s the Polo Club red with a blue stripe and yellow.  Who would choose yellow for a 14-year-old boy eating a meal?  You wonder if the Youth Department buyer has children.  Engineers are the only occupation allowed to use a clip-on tie, and purist Dads always struggle to tie their sons’ ties backward.  Having spent years in a navy-blue pinstripe suit, white, starched dress shirt, and red tie, suits and sports coats just don’t look right on 14-year-olds.

“These dress shoes are too tight.”

“Well, if you tied the basketball shoes that you wear every day, as opposed to slipping them on, they would feel tight too.”

At 7:00 PM, you make the long drive to The Ritz. Sometimes, we change in the back seat after basketball scrimmages and soccer. We call it the triathlon: 2 hours of basketball at Indiana Basketball Academy, 1 hour of soccer training at Roundtrippers (a baseball facility that uses the outfield as a soccer field), and Cotillion.  At 9:25 PM, the string of minivans and SUVs begins lining the drive for pickup. A few curious Moms park and decide to grab a peek inside during the final dance number and the receiving line.  Unfortunately, their motherly curiosity only makes matters worse for the next dinner dance a month later.

“Well, isn’t she a pretty little thing? Her dress is beautiful,” a mom asks, pointing to a girl at the entrance. “Did you ask her to dance?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Miss Rebecca pairs us up.”

“Do you ever sneak a kiss?

“What?”

A Dad’s pickup conversation goes a little differently. Parents tend to carpool to and from cotillion, so besides your own, there could be two other boys in the car.

“How was it?”

“Dumb, I don’t know why I go.”

“Son, I manage sports.  This is your Mom’s thing, so we’re going to do this for her, understand? Besides, we both think. it’s good for you.”

“Whatever.”

So overall, how was it tonight?” I ask my son.

“Oh, it was alright, Dad.”

“What about you guys?” I ask, looking over the backseat.

“I agree, Mr. Thomas, there were some good things and some bad,” chimes in one boy.

Then there’s the player.

“I loved every minute of it, Mr. Thomas. There were 60 girls, and they all had to be nice to you. I’d go every week if I could.”

Maybe I’ll invent an Xbox Game Call to Manners