A DadWagon proclamation: Fatherhood means learning to live with repulsion. From the moment our children emerge frog-like and slime-coated from the birth canal, we suffer and, silently, retch. But we put up with it all—through months and years of filthy diapers and ass-backwards temperature readings, on for even more years of crusty noses and spontaneous vomitings, only to wind up with teenagers for whom an hour-long argument about the merits of various human secretions counts as highbrow debate.

Still, though, repulsion is a difficult thing to get a handle on, to conquer and control. But this week, we tried, often valiantly.

Nathan was his customarily morbid self, pondering dead children, abandoned children, and Republican children. We expect him home soon from the Arizona borderlands, his eyes glazed over with saguaro fog.

Christopher’s preferred mode of repulsion, however, took a wry, understated form, as when he dismissed cutting-edge fatherhood research with a devastating “Okay, well, thanks.” Ouch! His pondering of the future of digital memory neatly sidestepped the horror he no doubt feels at seeing his beloved Polaroid camera replaced with Ashton Kutcher’s Nikon Coolpix.

Theodore… Well, his instinctive gut-quake was particularly (and oddly) joyous, as he introduced us to steroid boy and the fattest girl in the world, and contemplated an unavoidable encounter with his ex-wife. Attempts to be the Buddha’s beach ball and to poetaste were unsuccessful. The streets of Brooklyn still run with his bile.

Meanwhile, Matt: When he wasn’t shitting on sentimental fathers, excoriating pedophilophobic San Franciscans and contemplating the almost-tearful abandonment of his family, he was offering step-by-step instructions on how to screw up your children. And then there was this. Clearly, while the other ‘wagoneers are trying to come to terms with repulsion, the Lush-raiser has decided to embrace—nay, embody—the principle.

Have a nice weekend, and we’ll be back to horrify and amuse on Monday.

Some things you can’t unread. Like this Gawker story, which may be true or not true, and about which I don’t want to reveal any details. Except that it involves some very, very bad parenting indeed—the kind of stuff that normally might make our Bad Dads We Love category, except that there’s nothing whatsoever to love here.

All I will tell you is that it involves the state of Indiana. And, for some reason we can’t quite fathom, Australia. Also, it will likely satisfy some of the people who find this site via very strange search terms.

So, feel free to click through. But don’t come crying to me, tearing out your hair, kvetching that I should have warned you. Because I did.

Following from Chris’s post this morning, in which he revealed that researchers have Solved Fatherhood!, I did some Googling around to see what others have made of the argument that good fathering depends on Accessibility, Engagement, and Responsibility.

And what I found, in a nearly year-old post on the blog of Philadelphia Stories, a Pennsylvania-based literary magazine, is that this new science goes both ways—it shows you not just how to be a good parent but how to produce specific psychological aberrations in your children:

Engagement: How “hands-on” was your MC’s father when she was small? Was he a good guy but had a job that took him away often? Did he just seem like he was yelling everytime he spoke to his kids, but he was just trying to encourage them?

Accessibility: Could your MC bring any question under the sun to her dad or was she relegated to communicating with him through his secretary? Did he send the MC off to boarding school and say “See ya at Christmas?” Was there always a DO NOT DISTURB sign on his door, but he was very attentive at dinner time?

Responsibility: Did your MC’s father support his family well? Was he a good earner but a fierce disciplinarian? Was he a drinker but loved his family with all his heart? Was he a drifter that constantly told his kids to reach for the stars?

Now, if you’re wondering, “MC” stands for “main character.” Yes, this is advice on how to write fiction, but it’s just as useful for understanding how your actions may affect your real, actual children. How will your being a loving alcoholic rub off on your daughter? What sort of good-bye should you give your son before dumping him at boarding school?

The challenge here is that there’s not just a one-to-one correspondence between what a father does and how a child reacts and develops. “In flat characterizations,” the post continues, “fathers are either no-good bums or unsung heroes, drinking louses or quiet loyalists. Usually a main character (MC) comes to acknowledge the father’s cheating ways or learns to appreciate the constant wisdom that they couldn’t recognize before. It’s all so cheesy and cheap.”

Cheesy and cheap, indeed! You don’t want your kid living that kind of life, do you? So you have to be on the lookout that the lessons you teach them are, well, so complicated that it takes a 500-page modern novel to unravel them. Shun epiphanies like “Oh, Dad was a reticent drinker because he had another family he never told us about!” Instead, drink, be reticent, but make sure the kids know everything about the other family. Your openness about one embarrassing facet of your life will conflict with your reluctance to open up about anything else, and you’ll be guaranteed a main character child with a uniquely warped personality.

And hey, at worst you’ll have produced a poet.

JP will shortly turn 4, which is a good thing—I’m not the sort of parent who thinks they grow up so fast. They don’t. Four years is a long time, I didn’t get to sleep for the first two of them, and last night at dinner, my son, my great love, mankind’s last and final hope, told me that he intended to “shoot me sooner” and also “burn me in the oven.” This because I said he couldn’t have his dessert until he cleaned his plate.

Anyway, with the birthday comes the party, which in a divorcing family such as mine is a true pleasure and joy. Last year, my ex and I were civil enough with each other to hold a joint party. This year … not so much.

We are currently in high-level discussions about holding such a party. To come to a decision—one party, two, how does it impact the custody agreement, does he get one bike or two?—requires the involvement of three lawyers, a mediator, four priests, her rabbi (she’s Catholic), and Kofi Annan. Outcome pending.

My point in all of this—and please, no need to remind me to put the child first, I know that—is I am curious what if any stories/perspectives my fellow divorced DadWagoners have on the topic. A minor thing in the long run, I know, but birthdays are a big deal to kids, and any help you folks out there have would be appreciated.

For the record, I suggested joint party.