Call me Dad

August and September have completely disappeared.

I, for one, blame the iPhone.

It's genius mobility and ease of use has totally decapitated my "stop and smell the flowers" time. Sitting down with my lap-top feels archaic and slow. Anywhere I go I'm connected to everything and involved in nothing. As my readers will be quick to point out, I haven't published in almost two months. I haven't written a single line of verse. Were it not for the insistence of my wife to continue performing, I might not have even plucked my guitar from the wall and strummed a few bars.

I played one show. But very few people showed. Just family, and die-hards. Thank the world for them.

And something happened in the haze that really surprised me.

Calvin started calling me "dad".

Not "Daddy"

Just "Dad"

It's small and innocuous, but it hit me in this weird way as if I had just walked out of the theatre bathroom found my seat and discovered that Mercutio was dead.

"What the hell?" I would whisper.

"Shhh" my date might say.

"But he was so full of life!" I would whisper, cupping my hand over her ear.

"That was two acts ago! Now shhh!" she would reply.

"Daddy" is cute. "Daddy" is comforting. "Daddy" is a term of endearment. Coupled with big blue Bambi eyes, "Daddy" says I love you, I need you, can I have a hot chocolate, or eat some ice cream even though I never really finished my dinner. "Daddy" is a full body hug. It's a two syllable snuggle.

 "Dad" is something you call, 

well, 

your dad. 

Its the word you use when you need a ride to the mall, or an extra twenty bucks for "whatever".

Even the vocal placement of the word dad is different. Try saying both words and you'll notice that "Daddy" lilts between your soft palate and the tip of your tongue as it clicks behind your teeth and across you lips. The long "e" 

The word "Dad" explodes off your teeth as the short "a" shoots right out your nose with all the soft subtle nuance of an air raid siren.

I don't even call my own dad "dad". I discovered in high school that I like the sound of the word "Pop" much better. Its cooler. It's retro. It's the least formal and totally male.

Thinking back, I may have started calling my father "Pop" after reading and watching "The Outsiders" It just feels like a greaser word.

It also reminds me that my life is never more than three degrees of separation from the great Patrick Swayze. God bless him.

I bet his kids called him "Pop"

But "Dad" is just too utilitarian for my taste.

God forbid, however, he ever start calling me "Father"

That'll be the day I give up on my vicarious rock star dreams and buy him a breifcase. He'll probably need glasses, and braces, and a 401k.

Anyway,

Maybe the iPhone is to blame for my having lost two whole months.

Maybe it is the heat.

Maybe I just ran out of steam.

Such is the examined life when no one is looking.

Calvin is four now.

I'm dad.

Except when Calvin really wants my attention.

Then he calls me Josh.