Which Dad Am I

The other night was Daddy's Night at Garrett's (3) pre-school. As I attempted to sit Indian Style, oops, pardon my political insensitivity. As I sat Criss-Cross in a circle with the other Dads I began noticing a few things.

For starters it felt much more like a bar scene then it should have. Like it or not we, the Dads, were preening around and checking each other out. Guessing each others line of work, picking out who had the cool kid vs. the wimpy one, the "good" dads vs. the clueless.

Through the pulsating beat of Ole McDonald I started to check out the scene.

We had the Blackberry guys. You know, so important that email must be checked during those 40 minutes with the kid. And why is it that the newer the device the more often it gets pulled out?

Then there are the Late Bloomers. There is a strange phenomenon that occurs when you have your first kid about age 40. You talk to your child in some cheesy voice, ensuring the child develops a lisp. You hover, overreacting to every possible injury. And worse of all you repeat loudly everything your kid says. You hear these guys over the din of the crowd in their high-pitched "kid" voices.

The Surfer crowd is always the one that gets me. These guys show up with a little longer hair, a tan in the middle of winter, jeans and flip-flops. They are proudly flaunting the fact that they don't really have to work like the rest of us, or if they do work it's at one of those jobs we all dream about.

Last we have the Wall Flowers. They are identified by a wide variety of tale-tell signs. A blazer that just doesn't match, a pager, cell-phone and something else all attached to the belt, and then my favorite, the shoes. When the shoes don't work, well....

Which one am I? I am in a category all by myself. A Hodad: A wannabe surfer, who notices guys shoes and then blogs about it.

Dude could you imagine what goes on at a Mommy night?