The Napkin of Shame

Home -> Columnists -> While Mom's @ Work

By Chag Holland

Read more: school, growing up, parents, while moms at work

I guess I was about thirteen years old when I discovered my parents had made a drastic change: they had morphed from loving, doting parents to aliens who had traded in their plans for world domination for a complex scheme to fully embarrass me every time we ventured forth together in public. I figured I still had some time before I myself completed this metamorphosis, but my wife and I are quickly becoming the epitome of lameness in the eyes of our six-year-old daughter.

"Mommy?" Zoey asked as she sat on the couch with us yesterday. "We need to talk."

At first, I smiled at the grown-up phrase coming from my daughter's lips, but my elation turned to concern as I realized that phrase only leads to trouble.

"What do you want to talk about?" Ella asked.

"Your napkins," Zoey replied.

Every morning, Ella drags herself out of bed to pack the kids' lunches. On Zed's napkin, she draws a little picture. On Zoey's napkin, she writes a little joke she pulls from a joke book intended for children, jokes so punny and unfunny they would make Raven McCoy from Fox Force Five cringe, but perfect for the elementary set.

"You don't like my jokes anymore?" Ella asked, more than just a little bit hurt.

"No. I like your jokes," Zoey began. "It's the other stuff you write."

In addition to the jokes and pictures, Ella also includes a little note on the napkins along the lines of "Have a great day! I love you! Love, Mommy."

"I see. You don't want me writing little notes to you anymore?" Ella asked, even more hurt than before.

Benjamin, some little jerk in Zoey's class, noticed Zoey reading and laughing at her napkin at school on Friday. He snatched the napkin from her hands and proceeded to read it. I don't know whether or not he found the joke funny, but I do know he found Ella's note interesting enough to tell half of the boys in the class. Congratulations, Benjamin! You've just earned yourself top billing on my Enemies List.

Unfortunately, the Napkin Of Shame is not an isolated incident. The other week, I was lucky enough to eat lunch with Zoey at her school. Upon seeing me, she screamed my name, ran toward me, leaped into my arms, and hugged me. Almost instantly, she realized the social faux pas she had committed and dropped from my arms, smoothed her skirt, and proceeded to act like her public display of affection had not happened. She was still happy and excited enough to see me to introduce me to all of her friends at the lunch table. "This is my Daddy," she beamed. Her pride changed to horror as I said something she deemed socially inappropriate. She shot me a glance and sternly whispered "Daddy" to me, which I took as code for "Dude, you have two choices. Either you keep your mouth shut for the rest of lunch or leave. Your decision." So I spent the rest of lunch as a casual observer, glancing at her every so often to make sure I was behaving properly.

The morning drop-off also concerns me. While I can still get a kiss from her inside the car as we await our turn on the front row, once the car door opens, I've lost her. I'll shout out a slew of well wishes as she exits: "Have a great day! I love you! See you this afternoon! Bye!" But she's too busy scanning the area looking for a friend to walk into school with. I'm lucky to get a "Bye" or a grunt out of her before she closes the door. It's gotten to the point that I imagine the thud of the closing car door is just another way of saying, "I love you too, Daddy!"

When we go outside to play in the afternoon, she's quite content swinging, climbing, sliding, building sandcastles, and pretending she's a ninja with her brother and me.

Until the next door neighbor shows up.

Once Brittany appears, I cease to exist. They'll play in our yard for a while until I do something weird. Zoey will then say, "Let's go play in your yard" and they'll spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Brittany's far inferior jungle gym. I'm sure Zed could secure an invite if he wanted one, but he's still content with hanging out with Dad. For now.

Look, I'm not some entirely naпve soul living in a fantasy world. I know I'm not going to obliterate generations of human nature which states once parents reach a certain age, they cease to be fun and change into something completely lame, capable of embarrassing their children with minimal thought and effort. I just didn't think it would happen so soon.

In the meantime, as I count down the days until I'm rendered totally humiliating and unfit to live under the same roof as my kids, I'll fondly remember and pine for the days when she was happy to be Daddy's Little Girl.

A former rock star, programmer, fashion model, thespian, ballroom dance instructor, and master of hyperbole, Chag Holland is now married to a former Sports Illustrated swimsuit model and is a stay-at-home dad to the two most beautiful children in the world. He'd show you pictures but he thinks you're all psychopathic stalkers. Chag can also be found at Cynical Dad.

More Columnists:

Growing Pains
Mini-Sleepovers
By Elizabeth Thompson

Mother Magnetism
This week: Lipstick! Featuring an interview with lipstick queen Poppy King.
By Kelly Reising

Not Your Average Fairy Tale
The Accidental Adoption
By Melissa Doak

From the Editor's Desk
"Co" is the new black.
By Prescott Carlson

Rugrat Reprieve
Home for Wayward Mothers
By Rachael Brownell

The View From Here
The True Cost of Education
By Amy Sue Nathan

Growing Pains
Skating Through Life, Talking Street and Living with Almost Etnies
By Elizabeth Thompson

Mominatrix
Daddy, what are you doing to Mommy?
By Kristen Chase

Imperfections
I wanted to give birth to a teenager.
By Jessica C.

Growing Pains
The Ides and Crooked Teeth of March
By Elizabeth Thompson