NEANDERDAD

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It had been a great day of hunting.  Many mammoths had been slain.  Neanderdad had reigned supreme at work.  Now Neanderdad departed his cubicle stronghold and returned home triumphantly.  He strode into his dwelling, strong, tall and commanding.  Sensing his ebullience, the dog greeted him at the door spastically, leaping up at him as if to lick off some of his success.  The children too seemed to sense his splendor, rushing gleefully to hug him.  Even Neanderdad’s mate, swamped with her efforts to staunch domestic chaos after her own workday, took time to join in Neanderdad’s jubilant homecoming, giving him a hug, kiss and smile.  Neanderdad’s was truly a hero’s return.

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Still in his pajamas, Neanderdad sat slumped at the breakfast table. He sipped groggily at the caffeine leaching from the tea bag in his cup. He scratched at his unkempt, shaggy head. He rubbed his puffy, sleep-blurred eyes. Then he scowled slightly at the bright sunlight. Never a morning person, Neanderdad was famously grumpy before noon. His family had learned to adjust to that reality and give him space. But this day, because the girl had left early with her mother, Neanderdad was alone with the boy. Neanderdad now worried that his morning distemper would lead to a poor bonding experience.

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The first amber leaves of Fall dotted the surrounding trees.  Darkness started to creep earlier into each passing day.  So too did signs of darkness appear in the dwelling of Neanderdad, the shaggy, primordial parent of two.  Little ones were learning the power and perils of their negative emotions and Neanderdad was determined to be the beacon of light to lead his offspring through this tempestuous season.

First came the boy.  His tantrum was unexpected, abrupt and violent.

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Now came troubles to Neanderdad’s house.    The worst kind of troubles.   A civil war had erupted between the girl and the boy.   Now came insults and slights, jabs and needling, attacks and reprisals.   Two sweet children, so recently full of love for each other, had now devolved into demons bent on mutual harm.   The siblings had become rivals.   Neanderdad had been the catalyst.

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Motherhood.  Its not a job for the faint of heart.  And you mothers that read this newsletter are in the toughest part of the toughest job.  The early years are simply brutal.  Day by day, you are struggling to pull it all together against formidable challenges.  Luckily, most of you have a co-pilot to help share the load.  And, as it turns out, it is that time of year when the world, led by Hallmark, turns it gaze of appreciation toward the co-pilot and makes him the guest of honor on that copycat of holidays, Father’s day.

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“Have a great time,” she said with a smile.  And it was the smile that worried Neanderdad the most.  Was it part humor?   Part pity?   Or perhaps part apprehension?  He wasn’t quite sure.  But it worried him him.  And after flashing that cryptic smile, Neanderdad’s mate rolled her luggage out the front door and into the night, leaving him completely, utterly, irrevocably alone.

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It was dark now and Neanderdad’s offspring were slumbering.  With his mate out of the house running errands, Neanderdad had a rare moment of quiet to collect his thoughts.  Quiet, that is, save for the incessant jingling of the dog collar as the dog chewed nervously at his paws.  This was a habit that the beast had practiced with gusto since the arrival of the children, and it drove Neanderdad to distraction.  Neanderdad endeavored to ignore this irritant as he gazed out the window and down across the valley below his dwelling.

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Be memorable.  That had been Neanderdad’s parenting goal that day.  It was, perhaps, a bit self-serving.  But that was his goal nonetheless.  So he had taken his daughter on a special trip to the riding stables to feed carrots to the horses.  She talked about it glowingly for the rest of the day as if it perhaps would be a lasting memory.  For the boy, it had been batting practice with the tee.  His swing was developing quite impressively.  Neanderdad had been out there for a long time, patiently coaching him.  Perhaps the boy wouldn’t remember these specific lessons, but someday that swing would shine under the lights and he might vaguely recall his dear old dad’s involvement.  Such were Neanderdad’s fantasies, anyway.  

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No figure in the mythology of Neanderdad’s culture held more sway with the little ones than a certain bearded, red-suited, chuckling, jolly-old-elf.  Neanderdad knew this well.  So it was with some dismay that he rode the Christmas Train with his family and looked over the man who claimed to be Santa Claus. First, this one was much thinner than the archetype.  Second, his red and white suit had a thin, threadbare quality.  Third, the fake black boots were sewn onto the pant legs and did not completely cover a pair of brown street shoes.  Fourth, his stringy, artificial beard hung unevenly on his black-beard-stubbled face.  Fifth and finally, his baritone chuckling and ho-ho-ing were forced, as if his voice truly belonged in a higher register.  

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Upon arriving at the umpteenth straight weekend birthday party for a play-group friend of his offspring, Neanderdad did what he always did. He released his two wards into the intense gravity of the nearby Bouncy Castle and watched them get sucked inside. The boy went first, not even bothering to struggle. The girl did at least look around; at the food, the table full of presents and at the few kids who weren’t yet inside. But she quickly succumbed as well, crawling through the flap door and onto the inflated inner surface.  

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Their long journey was almost over now. Almost. Neanderdad stared wearily at the road before him, his thick knuckles tightly gripping the steering wheel. His mate sat grimly beside him, a wrinkled bag of Goldfish crackers clutched in one hand and an assortment of rejected children’s music CDs in another. Not a word passed between them. They shared the silent bond of endurance.

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“When is it coming?” the girl asked.

Neanderdad and his wife shook their heads. They didn’t know. And so, on a pair of rocks beside a parking lot, between the train tracks and a pathway to the beach, the whole family waited.  Only the slightest of ocean breezes blew. The sun shined down benignly on them, unable to penetrate either the sea mist in the air or the layer of sunblock shielding the children. A seagull cried out in the distance. In a feat of patience that Neanderdad knew would never be reproduced on demand, the children simply sat.

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