1. What to do when your baby girl is born looking a little Latino
“Dear God, my baby looks Mexican,” you will want to say, from the depths of exhaustion, caught by surprise, but don’t you say it. People don’t know you, son. They won’t understand that you actually love Mexican people, that you think they make the best pina coladas, that their resorts are way better than Cuba’s, and that you loved that movie, City of God, but, um, wait, was that set in Mexico City or Rio? Either way, keep your mouth shut. Say it and your father-in-law will roll his eyes like, “What a racist,” and you’ll spend the next ten years wondering who is right and who is wrong here. You’ll walk down streets and intentionally not notice skin colour, but then worry that’s even more prejudiced so you’ll notice everyone’s skin colour. The baker. The bus driver. The woman in those cut-off jeans with a cupcake tattoo on her thigh. You’ll delete Kevin Hart’s stand-up from your iPod because his views are confusing. You’ll drink Frappuccinos and feel painfully white. Damn near translucent.
2. How to tell your daughter that her grandparents are getting divorced
“There’s no right way to shatter a child’s faith in marriage,” you’ll think. And this is true. So your first instinct will be to distract her with all the good things in life. As in, “We’re going to Disneyland this summer but not Grammy and Gramps because they’re getting divorced and no fun anyway.” Your second instinct: minimize it. “Your grandparents are getting divorced but it’s no big deal. They barely visit anyway.” Your third instinct: lie. “Sometimes married people live apart but still love each other.” This one sounds perfect until she grows up to marry a Bud Light-drinking boat salesman who travels four months a year and shares observations like “Tits like that don’t grow on trees.”
3. How to make a toast at her second wedding
You won’t want to wing it because that’s what you did at her first wedding and, though nobody blames you exactly, their faces will cramp into frowns as you rise. Seventy-five necks stiffening in anticipation. Your ex-wife will pre-emptively shudder. Pushing on, you’ll pull out your folded paper and skim the first joke: “When I was a boy, second weddings were for sluts. How times have changed.” It suddenly won’t seem appropriate so you’ll suck in a breath. The room will ring with silence. Nothing to say, no words in your brain until you open your mouth and “You amaze me” comes out. Repeat that, over and over, like they’re the only three words your chapped lips ever sought to speak.
She’ll be crying, your little girl, when she stands to swallow you in a bear hug. Eyes rimmed with tears. Wait until she is two steps away, then raise your arm in a high-five. She’ll giggle, think it’s cute and raise her palm too — which is right when you burn her. “Too slow!” you’ll shout, yanking the hand back as you drop the mike and walk away. Comedy is awesome.
4. What to do when she asks about homosexuality
Your daughter’s love and your daughter’s laughter are two separate things. Don’t make a joke about “college phases” or “That explains the two divorces” or “This reminds me of this porno I watched once.” People don’t even say “porno” anymore. It’s not the nineties. Be straightforward and open. Be honest and tender. It’s okay if she leaves the table as confused as when she arrived. Just remember that the goal is not to make her laugh. I repeat: the goal is not to make her laugh.
5. What to do when she forgets to call on Father’s Day
You’re getting older and feeling less isolated than plain irrelevant. Bowel movements excite and antagonize you. Fear and dread creep up your skull sometimes and you worry about losing your memory, not the short-term but the long, all those sweet memories you spent a lifetime creating. Faced with this, Father’s Day may take on too much importance. You’ll mark it in your mental calendar. Count down the minutes, hours, days. Build up expectations until you wake and feel crushed to find no sea of colourfully wrapped presents, no high-school marching band parading across the front lawn. This disappointment is yours and yours alone. A phone call is nice any day of the year. She married a nice Mexican girl and adopted a baby from Russia. They are busy. It’s not her fault you’re an anti-social racist-sexist too scared to leave the house.
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