Category Archives: Dad Video

Crib, Cradle, Car

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This post was sponsored by Fiat and the new Fiat 500L: Significantly larger than the iconic Fiat 500, and plenty big enough for a family of five. For more information on sponsored posts, read the bottom of our About Page.

Crib, cradle, car: these are, apparently, the three main sleep-inducers for the modern family. This we know because of a recent study that showed that new UK parents drive an average of 1,300 miles a year just trying to get their children to sleep. And, as the Daily Mail pointed out, the fathers as a separate category are even rangier than that, driving an astonishing 1,827 miles in the first year of their child’s life. That’s the equivalent of three Le Mans endurance races, except there’s not always second driver to take over when you get fatigued.

At least there isn’t for the self-described “baby chauffer”  in Fiat’s dad-centered video followup to Fiat’s The Motherhood video. This installment, called The Fatherhood (Fiat 500L 12″ Remix), begins with an identifiable scene: mom packs the two mewling infants in the back car seats and then shuts the door so the father can drive off in the hopes the children will finally settle down. The car door shutting serves as the downbeat for a retro musical take on the road rules of being a first-time dad, as some satirical New Wave synth pop kicks off (think The Human League and their ilk). Whether or not that’s your jam, readers of this blog will be glad to see the lyrics laced with the kind of self-pity and regret we often indulge in here:

It’s fine because I love you / And I will never trade your mother
But in the future I’ll be abstinent / Or double up the rubber

There must be an element of sleep-deprived hallucination involved here—soon he’s seeing singing wood nymph and dancing unicorn, which is usually a firm sign of mental distortion—which could also explain the teleportation directly back to the sounds of early-80’s Sheffield. The good news here—for the driver, for Fiat, and for the babies—is that despite his solipsism, sleeplessness and hallucinations, the father manages to drive safely enough to arrive unscathed back in front of his home.

Except, just then, the infants wake up. And thus, perhaps, was a sequel to The Fatherhood (Fiat 500L 12″ Remix) born.

Until then, here’s the video, on YouTube:

Envy, Thy Name Is Baseball

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Before I get into any of this, let me be clear: things aren’t so bad. I have a lovely and continually pregnant wife, two lovely and preternaturally intelligent kids, a lovely and relatively remunerative job in an only-perceived-as-dying-but-not-really-dying industry, most of my teeth, and whatever additional things one might think of to connote basic, boring, lame-ass middle class ambrosia.

Now onto the complaining.

So I took JP to a baseball game this past weekend, which is a fine thing to do. Good seats, better hot dogs, and a fireworks display at the end. The only problem was that it wasn’t to a game contested by my favorite team–the Mets (whatever)–or his favorite–the Yankees. No, we weren’t watching the Major Leagues at all, but the minors, the Met’s a-ball affiliate that plays its games on the boardwalk in Coney Island. This was a reasonably priced evening, as these things go: $16 a pop for the tickets, plus whatever I spent on two dogs and a two cups of ice cream (served in a tiny cup that resembles a Met batting helmet–souvenir!) Fun was had by all (although the woman sitting next to us that JP spent the night describing videogames to might disagree).

As a kid, my father, who, at the time at least, occupied a fairly similar place in the middle class as I do today, took me to a few ballgames per year–major, not minor–plus the Knicks, and don’t forget the U.S. Open, a couple of Broadway shows, the opera or ballet once or twice when he could sedate me into going, along with a few other pricey cultural activities that slip my mind. He also sent me, my brother, and my two stepbrothers to an uptown private school.

Again, Tomoko and I are doing all right. It’s just that times have changed in this brutal and vicious city we so love, that the middle class lifestyle is now only the prerogative of the super-wealthy. Or, a better way to put it–I went looking for the middle class (in my wallet) and discovered there was no there there.

Final complaint: brother, can you spare a dime (I’d like to retire some day).

Coming Soon: DadWagon Presents: Loinfruit, Meltdowns, and Weeknight Drinking

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If you follow us on Facebook, you may have noticed that we’ve been promoting “DadWagon Presents,” our new monthly reading series featuring some of New York’s most entertaining dads. But for some reason (probably sheer laziness), we’ve neglected to, you know, discuss it here on the site. Well, we’re lazy no longer! Here’s what’s up:

Every month starting at 7 p.m. on Wednesday, June 13, DadWagon Presents will bring three procreative writers to Pacific Standard (82 Fourth Avenue, Brooklyn, 718-858-1951; pacificstandardbrooklyn.com) to tell parenting tales that may make you laugh, will probably make you cringe with self-recognition, and will almost definitely send you to the bar for another pint. So, leave the kids at home (please!) and come see our inaugural speakers:

• Peter Meehan, author of the Momofuku and Frankies cookbooks, former NYT “$25 & Under” columnist, and founder (with David Chang) of Lucky Peach magazine. He lives in Manhattan with his wife and their daughter, Hazel.
• Jeff Yang, “Tao Jones” columnist at the Wall Street Journal, regular contributor to WNYC and PRI’s “The Takeaway,” and author of Secret Identities: The Asian American Superhero Anthology (volume 2 to be released this fall). He lives four blocks away in Park Slope with his wife, Heather, and their awesome sons, Hudson and Skyler.
• Paul Ford, ftrain.com founder, former Harper’s Magazine editor, writer for New York, Slate, The Morning News, as well as the author of the novel Gary Benchley, Rock Star, and an all-around Internet-fame guru. He is lives in Ditmas Park (which he claims is much nicer than Park Slope) with his wife and twin babies.

Again, the details:

Where: Pacific Standard (82 Fourth Avenue, Brooklyn, 718-858-1951; pacificstandardbrooklyn.com)
When:  Wednesday, June 13, at 7 p.m.
Cost: Free!

The Tantrum: Should Young Men Be Permitted to Breed?

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(This is the Tantrum, in which Dadwagon’s writers debate one question over the course of a week. For previous Tantrums, click here.)

As the elder statesmen of the DadWagon fathers (I’m 60), the first installment of this Tantrum fell to me. It’s a simple question, one that seems to be of increasing relevance to people like me (aka, people who think about not particularly important questions): is it okay to have children young?

Obviously not. Have you met men in the prime of their lives? (I’m actually 39—which is choice, not prime, at best.) Awful, stinky, deluded, arrogant, untrustworthy, incompetent, infantile mooks. Not only should they not be allowed to breed, it’s debatable whether or not they should be allowed to age.

More seriously, though, I’d like to consider the advantages of having a child while young (JP came when I was 33). Along with the fundamental matter of energy—going years without enough sleep is enough to age even a young man—there is the idea that youngsters are more open-minded and can handle the introduction of a squirming, screaming, pooping buzzkill more easily than their elders.

Perhaps. At least in my case, however, I don’t think I would have been mature enough to effectively navigate the upheavals that come with fatherhood while I was in my twenties. Not that I am such a self-effacing, putting-others-firster now, but I was definitely more selfish ten years ago—and selfishness does not a fine daddy make (or words to that effect).

Now, I will say this: there is something weird (to me) about the really old men (and by that I mean anyone older than my 39) having progeny, something that suggests a bulwarking of the self-esteem, a re-recognition of one’s virility, essentially, fatherhood as vanity project. This, I imagine, ain’t good. But at least when you’re older you are more likely to be able to pay someone to make up for your mistakes. So there’s that.