Apparently, I’ve done it all wrong, according to my new hotshot publicist. “Men don’t read — women do,” she told me, shaking her head in quite visible disgust to emphasize that I was a complete dumb ass. She says what I should have done was title my book, Diary of an Angry Father, something like A Mommy’s Guide to Raising A Perfect Angel, under a non-threatening nom-de-plume. Maybe something like Ophelia Butts. Well, that sucked the wind from my sails. Here I was, engineering this huge war against Time and Huffington because the misandrists who run those rags ignore fathers and men in general, and it turns out they were right. There was no audience to begin with. There’s nothing more frustrating than nuking nothing. And that is NOT an apology, you man-haters. My publicist’s advice is quite valid, and I will probably follow at least some of it. I’ll probably do the Today Show in drag during my book promotion tour after I get breast implants and fake eyebrows. I have done stranger things.
But the mis-marketing or misandrist things are not the real problem. I was quite disturbed to find that men, especially fathers-to-be, don’t fucking read. Perhaps they were endowed with some sort of God-given instinct that enables them to pick up that baby and simply know exactly what to do for the next 18 years. I wasn’t blessed with that gene. Or, maybe it’s true that a majority of fathers think they know everything, simply don’t give a shit, or are lazy and defer anything that matters to the mother. I certainly hope that’s not the case. After all, I care. A lot. However, a brief evaluation of most of my male friends leads me to believe the misandrists’ beliefs have some merit.
Parenting takes a balance of two (or more) learned adults to offer the very crucial yet commonly missing quality of objectivity. Granted, my own father barely acknowledged my existence. And when he did, I blew him off. That helped me realize that men need more help than women do with this parenting thing. Perhaps I will re-brand my honest and painful advice into something more palatable for women. And who knows. Maybe I’ll come out with a third variation, written by Mike Clitoris, that sneakily slips tips for fathers into a golf digest, gun magazine, soft porn video, or fantasy football website.