My first post should provide an introduction, and perhaps also some context. It should presage the posts to come – likely to oscillate between tired jokes/routines, caustic complaints about insolent bystanders, and heartwarming non sequiturs in which my goose is inevitably cooked by someone 1/10th my age. It should give some indication of my wit (I have wit?), my capacity for candour about my private life (I have a private life?), and/or the degree to which I might dwell on topics that interest you little (I interest you? A little?). Finally, the post should have predictive value in terms of the possible alignment of your reading preferences with my compulsion to tell.
I’m not going to do any of that, of course. I think I’ll try to scare you off first. I’m a graduate student in Vancouver, Canada, raising one daughter (now three years old) with my wife. There is a whole lot of juggling. Sometimes it’s funny. Other times, things anger me. Other times my jaw drops to the floor in astoundment. Other times, I’ll be preoccupied with much else.
I predict that The Dad Beat will be much like the dad who writes it: fickle, critical, prone to bouts of willful cultural obscurantism, driven (nearly mad) by morons, error-prone and very progressive, politically. I’m also old enough to have regrets but still young enough to have hope. Now there’s something tired. Shameful.
& oh right. The centre of it all is my daughter, with whom I am hopelessly enamoured. There might be a few words about her here too.