. . . and then there was pickle.

Well here it is - round two of those that have come to help keep my blog active while I am focused elsewhere. This next blog is from another new daddy-blogger, and one of my favorites. Thank You Denver Dad for taking the time to put together a post. So, Ladies and Gents - Denver Dad:

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"Look at all the horses," my father would say, as we rocketed passed yet another indistinguishable pasture or field at sixty-five miles per hour. All of us, my sisters, my mom, and myself would all look up and see a herd of cows, staring blankly back at us.

"Those are cows!" my younger sister would argue. At the time, she was too young to understand that this was one of my father's favorite games. And, despite having heard it a hundred times or more, the rest of us would smile, before burying our heads back in our books or pillows as we continued on our annual, summer car trip, hostages to my father's fear of flying.

I didn't really start thinking about the cows and the horses until recently, when my son started understanding that there were differences. Ask him what sound a bear makes and he'll roar. Ask him what a puppy says and he'll bark. Ask him what a kangaroo says and he'll just make a bouncing motion, because not really knowing what kangaroos say to each other in the outback, it was the best that we could do.

In another year, as my family takes car trips of our own, will I start pointing out cows and call them horses? I know it'll be tempting. Why is that? Why would I follow my own father's corny example and confuse my child like that? Isn't fatherhood unique? A series of challenges and experiences shared only by a father and his child? Or, is fatherhood universal, a shared experience that we all understand even if our stories and lessons and satisfactions are all specific to just one father and his one child?

Pickle's Papa was kind enough to invite me to provide a guest post while he's off trying to prove that he paid attention in all of his classes over the years. It's a real honor, as I find Papa's blog both a thought provoking and entertaining read, even if we do clash on the whole issue of men feeling comfortable to exfoliate when needed.

Not having provided a guest post to another blog before, I was a little stumped on what I was supposed to write about. I mean, I don't even know Pickle. I'm sure she's sweet and adorable and drools in a way that makes her even more adorable, rather than less, but on a blog about being the dad of a little girl, what could I offer?

This was an excruciating question. As I said, it was an honor to be asked to provide a post, so I didn't want to just phone it in. I needed to write something profound, something worthy of the privilege of being a guest blogger. And, do you know what I came up with? Nothing. Sorry, Pickle's Papa, I'm going to have to disappoint you and your readers.

The thing is, being a dad, whether you're dad to a little girl or a little boy, is relatively simple. You want what's best for your child. That's it. You want to protect and guide and trust your child at every instance when that protection and guidance and trust is needed. It doesn't matter if you're a dad in Ohio or a dad in Colorado, the challenges and rewards and fears and joys are all the same. Fatherhood is universal, as common as DNA, and every bit as mysterious, even when the mechanics of it all add up to the same basic traits.

I think that's why this "daddy blogging" and "mommy blogging" thing works. It's like a support group, vast and haphazard and disorganized, but still vital. We read each other's posts, nodding our heads with each new sentence, occasionally dropping in a line or two of advice or sympathy. "Yes, I know just how difficult teething is" or "My child doesn't sleep through the night either" or "Holy crap! Pickle totally checked you out?!? Dude!!!"

I think a lot of us parent bloggers are posting to vent. I think many more are posting just to share. And, still others are posting to be understood. It's an amazing leap of faith to post stories about your deepest fears and most fragile joys, so much so that I'm amazed it happens at all. But, the pay off is there. When someone sends you a message about how they understand your situation, maybe offers some advice, or maybe just passed on an amusing story, you feel the community that is around you.

That's why I'm here. Pickle's Papa asked if I would help out and I couldn't turn him down. I suspect that if the same thing happened, and I was asking him for help, he'd step up with a funny, slightly left of center post for my blog. It's what you do in a community, even if it is just a community of words.

We live in an interesting time. No other generation of fathers have been able to interact like this, across such distances, at such blinding speeds. We're all standing at the perfect intersection of technology and social change. I might not ever meet Pickle's Papa, shake his hand, and offer to buy him a beer, but I suppose it's possible. It's also possible that some time in the future Pickle will run into Chunk and they'll have a long, drawn out conversation about the foolish things their father's did to them. The great thing about the internet is that ours is the first generation of parents that can plan for that meeting. The "people in the midwest" and the "people in the Rockies" aren't abstract any more. They're real, because even as imprecise and inaccurate as the internet can sometimes be, we've meet them and learned from them and understood the universal experiences we are all sharing. I know I'm naive, but I think that makes us better people and better parents. And, if we're lucky, it will make for better children.

Thanks for letting me pollute your blog with my rambling, Pickle's Papa. I appreciate it.