SOME STUFF
It's My Job
“Dad, are you decent?”

“Yup.”

She barely stepped around the corner to borrow something from her mother’s bathroom drawer. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!”

She scrambled away. Good thing the master bedroom door wasn’t closed because it didn’t sound as if she would have bothered to open it. I listened to hear if she’d stumble and crash down the stairs in her mad rush.

“Oh, my God! How gross can you get!” she wailed.

“You asked if I was decent -- I never claimed to be drop-dead gorgeous,” I called, pausing from shaving my second chin, wearing only underwear briefs.

“Mom! Dad only had his skimpy shorts on!” I could hear her from the kitchen, a floor below. Then, their voices muffled.

I chuckled. Gutturally. Satisfied. Wickedly. I smiled at myself in the mirror and resumed scraping my neck.


As the father of three daughters (two teenaged, one on the brink) and husband of their mother, I consider it my job to keep the four females of our family on their toes.

Other parts of my singular role as the only male in the house involve:

• Killing spiders and occasional centipedes.

• Opening jars.

• Providing male humor, locker room jocularity and other forms of culture that they would not be exposed to otherwise.

• Shoveling snow.

• Caring for “our dog.”

• Mispronouncing certain words and names.

• Delivering various lectures as appropriate and explaining how things were done in olden times.

• Repeating myself.

• Embarrassing/intimidating adolescent males who telephone or visit.

• Walking with heavy steps to let them know I’m coming.

• Tickling my daughters when they need a lift (I’m forbidden, however, to ever tickle my spouse).

• Playing devil’s advocate by representing minority points of view.

• Being misunderstood and feeling sorry for myself.

• Keeping the van between the ditches while my daughters push buttons on the blaring radio more adroitly than anyone could pick a 12-string guitar.

• Unplugging toilets.

• Chasing family members with squashed spiders and centipedes.

• Taking out the garbage.

• Promoting healthy respiration, circulation and general physical fitness by screaming at the top of my lungs during strategic moments of horror movies.

• Monitoring lengths of phone calls.

• Being constantly alert to uncover feminine financial conspiracies that could ruin us.

• Obsessing about how we’re ever going to pay for three weddings.

• Continually paying for past sins committed by my two brothers, my dad and me against my mother, who also was outnumbered four to one.


There’s more -- this is only a partial job description. But I’m told you’re supposed to limit a resumé to one page.
© 1999 Jed Block

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