Yesterday was Father’s Day, and I’m going to pretend that people still care about fatherhood and the celebration thereof for at least a few days following the designated day, but if I’m wrong, you don’t have to keep reading. Of course, maybe at the end of the post, I’m going to tell you what tomorrow’s winning lottery numbers are or something equally advantageous like that, so do you really want to take the risk of not reading?
I didn’t think so.
Anyway, my family goes to a small church. The building is small. The attendance is small. The only thing not small is the actual people, but that’s beside the point. This is America and we have an image to uphold.
Boy, that got off topic quickly. I wasn’t even “on topic” yet. Sorry.
So, at church, we have an extended time of hand-shaking and catching up. This is one of the advantages of a small church. People generally know each other and can remember things about you from week to week, enough to ask how things are going and such.
As my pastor made his rounds, glad-handing the congregation, he made a comment to the effect of “Happy Father’s Day” and “You know, with as cute as your kids are, a redhead and a blonde, both with bright blue eyes, Josh is in trouble.”
My wife agreed.
“But it’s okay,” my pastor continued, “because Josh can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be and he’ll just scare off most of the guys that come around.”
Good. That’s what I’m going for. Intimidating.
It isn’t easy to intimidate when you have a teddy-bear physique like mine and generally rounded facial features (seriously, when is the last time you saw a Disney villain with a bulbous ski-slope nose like mine, not to mention the slight double-chin?). I have to rely on unpredictability.
No one knows what I will say or do at any given time. And when I do say something outrageous, am I lying or telling the truth? Am I bluffing? Can you take that chance?
Of course, I can’t rely wholly on unpredictability. That’s why I own a replica of a Viking sword. I’ve heard the stories about fathers who are polishing their shotguns when suitors come to call, but I think it is more intimidating to sharpen a sword. I mean, guns are mostly long-range weapons. A sword says, “Hey, I’m going to look you in the eyes as I spill your guts on the porch.” Why the porch? I’m not going to do that in the house where I can’t just hose it off!
Right now, you might be thinking, “Boy, he’s put some thought into this. I don’t know if I should take him seriously or not.”
I really do own a Viking sword, by the way. So if any boys are reading this blog right now, doing their homework on the Mosey family, trying to establish the best way to approach my daughters, know this: I love my daughters more than I love any of you. And if you give me reason to dislike you, I’ve been itching to test my sword’s edge.
Any other fathers out there have advice on becoming more intimidating?