As I stood over the the ruined pan of brownies, picking the chewy bits of the overly cooked edges from my teeth, I thought to myself, “Is this what I’ve become?”
As much as I’ve tried not to conform to the stereotypes of how a dad dresses, takes care of his yard, or fixes things around the house, there is one stereotype that I can’t seem to shake. Dad will eat it. What is “it”? Well, whaddya got?
As I’ve mentioned before, a considerable part of a dad’s diet consists of somebody else’s uneaten chicken nuggets, but it extends far beyond that. Sometimes it’s food the kids didn’t want. Sometimes it’s anybody’s leftovers that need to be eaten soon or they’ll go bad. Sometimes it’s simply whatever happens to be sitting on the counter when I’m walking through the kitchen. If it’s food and it’s there, dad will eat it. A stereotype that for me is absolutely true.
The obvious reason is not wanting to waste the food, but I think on some level it is a dad’s way to laying claim to and taking back what was once rightfully his. Kids take. Your time, your money, arguably years off your life. Sometimes taking the food literally out of your hand. Perhaps subconsciously, taking the rest of that half-eaten, slightly soggy bagel off of their plate and into my mouth is a dad’s way to taking back. I may not be able to get the hours I’ve spent watching unenthusiastic soccer practices back, but I sure as hell can get second half of that cheeseburger back.
There is almost something inherently primitive to it. Some need to establish dominance over the children and let them know that I run the cave here, they just live here. I provide you the food and I can take it away. Reinforcement that their lives still depend almost entirely on me. Classic show of parental force. Sometimes mothers eat their young, sometimes fathers eat their young’s pizza because they complained that the sauce was too spicy.
My wife likes to bake, so before there were kids in the house every spoon, spatula, and bowl was licked clean by this guy. Now we’ve got three little people all begging for their taste. I’m lucky to get get a scrap of batter stuck to a teaspoon. But if they think they can leave their birthday cakes unattended, they’ve got another thing coming. Or going as it were. In my mouth. Because I’m eating it. My kids are all well aware that if there was a treat when they went to bed and no treat when they woke up in the morning that dad ate it. Well, I bought the bed they were sleeping in while I demolished their cake, so we’ll call it even.
While I very much fit the stereotype that dad will eat it, I do resist the stereotype of what is considered “dad food.” I’m sure the idea that dad wants meat and potatoes applies to a portion of the dads out there, but I have to believe that there are many others like me out there who’d rather have fish than meat and hopes those potatoes are sweet potato fries. Not that I don’t like meat. A Chicago style hot dog is a thing of beauty. Some barbecue ribs or brisket is one of life’s great pleasures. But I think we can do a little better for a Father’s Day meal than burgers or steak. Why is it that the stereotypical dad food is a slab of beef? What are we saying about dads? Why are our celebratory meals designed to appeal to our most primitive dietary instincts? Can a dad not be congratulated with some black bean enchiladas?
One dad food stereotype that I can’t seem to get past despite my best efforts is that dad doesn’t like healthy food. For the most part, I eat very healthy. Lots of veggies, fresh food, clean eating. And it’s not because my wife is nagging me to. Sure, she has introduced me to most of my current eating habits, but it’s not like she needs to hide a banana in my cheeseburger like I’m Ron Swanson. It’s not like I’m choking down broccoli on doctors orders to watch my cholesterol. First, I really like broccoli. Second, I’m pretty sure the doctor prescribing vegetables for dad’s high cholesterol was something that only exists in sitcoms for the sake of setting up the scene where the dad has to choke down broccoli. Because clearly there is no other way a dad would eat vegetables. I guess dad taking a pill before bed just isn’t funny. Anyway, the catch is, I do eat really healthy, until I don’t.
Which takes us back to the ruined pan of brownies. To be fair, these were ruined mostly textually and aesthetically. Were they something you’d want to present to Paul Hollywood? Absolutely not. Were they edible? 100%. So as I separated out the properly cooked and mildly crispy bits from the unset mush, all the while denying my begging kids the opportunity of their own to try some, I thought to myself, “Is this what I’ve become?”
Then I realized, no, this is not what I’ve become. This is what I’ve always been. The same me that licked the spatula clean before I had kids is the same me that embarks on a salvage and rescue mission in a failed attempt at new brownie recipe. Is the need to take back food from my kids a true stereotype of fathers? Yes. However, the need to eat as healthy as I possibly can to compensate for the times I can’t help myself from eating an entire cake in a day has nothing to do with stereotypical dad behavior. It’s stereotypical fat kid behavior. So the child that brought this on wasn’t mine, it was me.
My eating habits are a confluence of two stereotypes – dad and fat kid. I guess I’m alright with that. No food goes to waste, I try hard to stay in shape, and I make the absolute most of my cheat days. So here I am now, eating broccoli for lunch and success for breakfast, with skim milk. Actually almond milk, but if you know you know.
I Think Therefore I Dad 