The Daddy Diaries 2: Stuck in Rush Hour on the Road Less Traveled

By Paul Kemp

The Adventure Continues! Taking up where the first book, The Daddy Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Modern American Dad leaves off, Paul and his sons continue to bond and grow as a family as he navigates the perils of single fatherhood. Starting off with little more than the basics, Paul accumulates more as he works to give himself and his sons a better life. He teaches them what he knows from his days in school and also life lessons in order to give them a foundation for a successful future. He chronicles their adventures in Sedona and the Grand Canyon, as well as smaller day trips closer to home so they can have memories that will last them a lifetime. By turns, he is doctor, therapist, detective and mentor, helping his children over the rough spots as they start to mature and, in teaching them about life, he learns how to be a better parent. As his little family starts to evolve, Paul decides it's time to get back out in the world and start dating. This results in receiving dating advice from his nine year old autistic son that ends in a discussion of the definition of the word "sexy". They learn about the buddy system and realize that they are stronger together than they are separately and that only serves to tighten the bonds of love. Paul tells his stories with an eye toward the humor in all situations and with all the love that his heart contains for his two children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Kemp
• Release date: Aug 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370196678

Paul Kemp

Paul grew up in Kansas where he figured out early on that he was different from the other children. Realizing that his opposable thumbs were good for more than just opening beer cans and playing video games, Paul moved to Colorado and started a life as a nomad. After 10 years of traveling around the country, he settled in Phoenix in 1988, where he lives to this day. Paul has a wife and 1 dog nicknamed 4 1/2 Pounds of Fury and 2 teenage sons and chronicles his adventures as a divorced dad. A football fanatic, he lives on the couch and by the computer for six months out of the year and spends the rest of his time by the computer and on the couch. He's a firm believer in children doing chores while he relaxes in the shade with an ice cold glass of lemonade.

Book preview

The adventure continues!

This book picks up where the first book ended. Part 2 covers a longer time span because of my schedule with my sons as dictated by the Maricopa Family court, in their supreme wisdom. I have my sons every Wednesday night and three out of four weekends a month, until the summer comes and then my ex-wife and I switch schedules and she has them on Wednesdays and weekends. It’s a simple schedule until you have to explain it to someone. . .

This book covers the evolution of the single dad. I start out with a recliner, office desk, tv, stereo, dresser, bed and two end tables. We eat off the floor, literally, moving up to plastic tub lids for tables, tv trays and then a dining room table. Somewhere along the way, we lose our prehensile tales, start walking upright and using tools. Almost as if it were intelligently designed that way.

Part of the evolutionary journey involves my getting back out on the dating scene and a few of the mishaps along the way. Thanks to the sage dating advice I received from my nine year old son, I was able to successfully reel in and catch a girlfriend. I suspect that she did the actual work of letting me catch her, but that’s a topic for another time.

As a single dad, I get to wear multiple hats as I become a chauffeur, chef, teacher, manager, psychologist, confidant and big stuffed toy for my two sons. Not only do I get to teach them about life along the way, but I learn from them, also. It’s gratifying to know that I can counter my worse impulses that were taught to me by my father and replace them with more positive examples from the other adults in my life as I was growing up. It’s my way of helping my sons grow to be young men that I can be proud of and I’m seeing that happen in the ways they choose to conduct themselves.

We’ve made the long climb together and all too soon, it’ll be time to watch them leave the nest and go out on their own. Part of me can’t wait to see what they do with their chance to succeed, while the other part is already mourning the day they’re gone.

The Daddy Diaries 2 – Stuck in Rush Hour on the Road Less Traveled

Introduction

Because We Care - Saturday, March 24, 2007

Generations (Are These MY Kids?) - Friday, May 25, 2007

Boys Will Be Boys - Monday, June 11, 2007

Glad to be Back - Monday, June 18, 2007

Photos from Childhood, Part 1 - Thursday, June 21, 2007

Photos from Childhood, Part 2 - Friday, June 22, 2007

Photos from Childhood, Part 3 - Monday, June 25, 2007

Photos from Childhood, Part 4 - Thursday, June 28, 2007

Photos from Childhood, Part 5 - Friday, June 29, 2007

Take My Dad. . .Please! Part 1 - Friday, August 10, 2007

Take My Dad. . .Please! Part 2 - Monday, June 27, 2007

One Year Update, Tuesday - September 4, 2007

The Magic of Alternative Medicine - Monday, September 24, 2007

Christmas Follies - Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Life's Lessons Learned - Thursday, January 10, 2008

Non-Stick, My Ass! - Saturday, January 12, 2008

Inappropriate Moments - Sunday, January 13, 2008

Of Rental Cars and Purchases - Wednesday, January 16, 2008

The Coolest Dad in the World - Thursday, January 17, 2008

Rites of Passage - Sunday, January 20, 2008

The Deal is Done - Sunday, January 27, 2008

The Magic of Seduction (Oh Tell Me More!) - Friday, February 1, 2008

The Human Lightning Rod -- Tuesday, February 5, 2008

A Historical Perspective - Wednesday, February 6, 2008

I'm No Doctor, But. . . - Friday, February 8, 2008

Traffic School - Sunday, February 10, 2008

His Greatest Fear - Saturday, February 16, 2008

Snapshots from Saturday - Sunday, February 17, 2008

The English Language - Saturday, February 23, 2008

Happy Birthday! (Part 1) - Saturday, March 1, 2008

I Need a Break - Saturday, March 8, 2008

Happy Easter! - Monday, March 24, 2008

Happy Birthday! (Part 2) - Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Movie Night - Saturday, April 19, 2008

A Report from Behind Enemy Lines - Wednesday, April 23, 2008

The Buddy System Explained - Saturday, April 26, 2008

Child Therapy - Saturday, May 3, 2008

Hand Me My Jaw, Please - Saturday, May 17, 2008

Prelude to Summer - Sunday, May 25, 2008

Aaaah, Finally! - Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Road Trip! - Friday, May 30, 2008

Crash and Burn - Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Little Things - Wednesday, July 16, 2008

On Love and Sex - Sunday, July 27, 2008

When the Revolution Comes. . . - Tuesday, September 2, 2008

A Weekend of Over Stimulation - Saturday, September 20, 2008

A Work in Progress - Sunday, September 21, 2008

Attack of the Fun Nazi - Saturday, September 27, 2008

Kill 'em All, for God's Sake! - Wednesday, October 8, 2008

'Tis the Season - Saturday, October 11, 2008

The Dream is Still Alive - Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Reality Sets In - Sunday, November 16, 2008

Stupidity is an EOE - Friday, November 21, 2008

Younger Brother Syndrome - Saturday, November 22, 2008

A Trip Down Memory Lane - Thursday, November 27, 2008

Converting the Infidels - Thursday, December 18, 2008

Cleaning Up My Act - Friday, December 19, 2008

Welcome to the Big Leagues - Sunday, January 11, 2009

The Doctor is In (Laughter is the Best Medicine) - Thursday, February 19, 2009

Hockey Night - Sunday, February 22, 2009

A Father's Pride - Friday, March 6, 2009

Friday the 13th - Sunday, March 15, 2009

Play Ball! - Saturday, April 25, 2009

Happy Mother's Day - Sunday, May 10, 2009

Hitting the Trifecta! - Thursday, May 14, 2009

Between the Quicksand and the Kool-Aid - Thursday, May 28, 2009

If it Quacks Like a Doc. . . - Saturday, May 6, 2009

Reaping the Harvest - Saturday, June 20, 2009

There is No Right Answer - Saturday, July 11, 2009

The Saga of Crazy Bill and Bill the Cat, Part 1 - Bill the Cat - Sunday, July 19, 2009

What I Did on My Summer Vacation - Sunday, August 1, 2009

The Saga of Crazy Bill and Bill the Cat, Part 2 - Crazy Bill - Sunday, August 9, 2009

The End of Summer - Saturday, August 14, 2009

Be Careful What You Wish For - Sunday, August 31, 2009

The Wonders of Technology - Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Surrounded by Goofballs -- Thursday, October 22, 2009

The New World Order - Saturday, November 14, 2009

The Cold War Heats Up (Pt. 1 Hammer of the Ye-Gods) -- Friday, November 20, 2009

The Cold War Heats Up (Pt. 2, The Rebels Attack) -- Monday, November 23, 2009

The Cold War Heats Up (Pt. 3, Dealing with the Fallout) -- Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Questioning Santa -- Thursday, December 31, 2009

Merry Christmases - Sunday, January 1, 2010

Fast Forward - Sunday, November 8, 2015

Because We Care - Saturday, March 24, 2007

My mom sent a care package the other day via Federal Express. It was a pretty good-sized box, but extremely light. The little notice the delivery man left on the door stated that the parcel had been left on the back patio. Since I live in a one bedroom apartment that must mean that he left it on the front patio, since my back wall abuts the apartment on the other side of the building and any possible patio space would have to be squeezed in between the drywall and the studs supporting it. I understand that these are pre-printed forms, but there is a space on the form for the deliveryman to specify exactly where he left the package. It's one of my many beefs about Fed-Ex and the other delivery companies.

I had my sons with me as I inspected the patio, and the box was indeed out there, sitting at an angle on the edge of the concrete patio and the large, white gravel that was there from a previous tenant. Since it was obvious that the box had been dropped back there, I hoped and prayed there was nothing fragile inside. Mom had been sending me packages with pictures of the boys when they were younger and knickknacks that had belong to my grandmother. Often, the knickknacks were glass or ceramic and I had mental images of whatever was in the box being reduced to shards and razor sharp splinters. I picked up the box and brought it inside and my sons crowded around me as I gently cut the layers of packing tape and opened the flaps.

The first thing I saw was a newspaper section dealing with penguins. Tommy is going through a penguin phase right now, due in part to the multitude of animated summer movies dealing with the subject. His eyes lit up as I pulled the newspaper section out of the box. I gave him the newspaper and he promptly started coloring the pages, taking great care to stay within the lines, since it was a subject he cared about. The next thing I found, after carefully digging through all the Styrofoam packing was a plaster cast of my older son's hand superimposed on a casting of mine. Carol had made it for Mother's Day and sent it to my mom as a present. Tommy had been just over a year old when it was made, and I was surprised at how small his hand was when compared to mine. Because Mom is getting ready to move across the country soon, she has been paring down her possessions and sending me a lot of the stuff my ex-wife gave her over the years when we were still married. I always take time to go through the photos and study them; the memories they bring up of happier times makes me nostalgic for when the boys were still that small.

Timmy was heartbroken that there wasn't anything in the box specifically for him. Tommy was reading about and coloring penguins and I had pictures and mementos to keep me occupied, but what could I do to include him in on the Opening Of The Package? In the manner of dads everywhere, I did the only thing I could think of. With great ceremony and pomp, I presented him with a sizable box full of Styrofoam packing. He took the box from me with a considerable lack of enthusiasm and was noticeably disappointed for about a half hour. After looking through the photos, I was cooking supper and I could hear him laughing in the living room. I peeked around the corner and found him pouring the packing from the box into an empty Tinker Toys canister and back again. He would pick up anything that fell on the floor and add it to the contents of the box so it could be poured back into the other container.

In the course of his experiments with the different ways of playing with Styrofoam peanuts, Timmy found stacks of old photos that Mom had packed around the sides of the box. I hadn't noticed them when I was feeling around the inside of the box making sure nothing else was in there; I had thought the photos were part of the sides of the box. Some of the photos were of my sons and more than a few were of me, dating back to my childhood. Timmy brought the pictures to me and asked me about them. I showed the photos to my boys and explained who all the people were. I tried to cover my embarrassment at the early- and mid-70s fashions that were on display in the fading color photos. When I showed them which one I was, I got an interesting reaction from the boys.

That can't be you, Daddy, said my older son, you're bald!

I laughed at his reaction and said, I wasn't always bald. I used to have hair like you! One day, you'll look like this, too.

I don't think my sons believed me entirely. They know when I make outlandish statements like that, I'm usually kidding them. I don't take it personally, however, because my dad told me the same thing and I didn't believe him either. It's the Father's Curse and it's just as potent as the Mother's Curse, which states, Someday I hope you have kids just like yourself! It's usually spoken in anger and frustration and it actually works. I consider these care packages handed down from generation to generation, or the gift that just keeps giving.

Generations (Are These MY Kids?) - Friday, May 25, 2007

So the summer is beginning and we're starting a new schedule, which comes with a dilemma.

I'm now the full time parent and what are you going to do with two little whirlwinds while you're cooped up in a one bedroom apartment in 110 degree weather? I know it's a similar, but opposite problem for people in colder climates, but I still have to come up with a solution. We were shopping in Target, where I was looking for necessities like a hammer, nails, CD racks and various other items, all the while trying to sort out the problem of what to do with my sons for the summer. While we're at the section where the cd racks are, my sons wander off to check out the DVDs, which are located ever-so-conveniently in the next aisle. I hate shopping and when I'm out, I don't have much patience for browsing through the stores. I like to go in, get what I need and get out as quickly as possible. I tell the boys to put the videos down, worried about how much abuse my poor little piece of plastic is going to receive already, when I realize that I need something to amuse them.

With a heavy sigh to myself, I push the fully laden cart into the next aisle and see what they've been perusing. They seem torn between a Loony Tunes boxed set and some horrible Anime discs of cartoons designed to sell toys. I know, I sound like a typical grumpy dad. It takes me a grand total of two seconds to make the decision for them -- we're getting the Loony Tunes set. Now, the only real exposure these kids have had to Loony Tunes is seeing the video for Space Jam and the horrible dreck Warner Brothers has churned out in making the beloved characters of my childhood into Super Crime Fighting Heroes in the future. I make a parental decision that it's time for them to have some culture in their lives.

We get home, we unload the car and then I unwrap the DVDs and put all of them in the player and hit the play button. I find myself reliving my childhood, as I recite lines from the cartoons and flash back to my grandma's house in the '60's. Once again, I'm sitting on the floor in front of the TV, watching cartoons on a Saturday afternoon. I used to watch these old cartoons over and over and never once got tired of them. Even now, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I like these old cartoons much better than the latest fad in animation.

Tommy sits with his eyes glued to the screen, laughing at the high jinks of Bugs and Daffy and Porky Pig. He soaks in the hilarity and silliness and acts out the scenes afterward, with near perfect recall. He's almost as good as the real thing. His younger brother, who frequently flies off into bouts of silliness is a whole 'nother story. He just doesn't seem to get it.

Daddy? he asks, turning to face me.

Yes? I answer, my eyes glued to the screen.

How did he get another anvil when he just dropped one right over there? Why doesn't the coyote ever catch the road runner? Why is he running all the fire out of his rocket shoes? How does the rabbit make the shaver come out of the basket with that horn?

And the questions don't stop until we turn the TV off. How do you explain cartoon slapstick to a six year old? Every time I've ever tried to explain a joke, it winds up not being nearly as funny as when I first said it, such as the time I told him I've cut this board three times and it's still too short! He didn't understand why I kept cutting the board if it was already too short and I had to explain that that was where the joke was. I eventually have to tell him, Just watch the cartoon. They don't have to make sense, they're supposed to be silly!

Oh, he replies and turns back to the television. Once Timmy accepts the explanation, then he starts enjoying the cartoons, but that doesn't mean I'm out of the woods. Even then, there is that danger sign that starts off each conversation. Daddy? he asks again, turning his big, blue eyes to me.

I try not to flinch now when I hear that question and pray that I'll have the answer to whatever he's asking. How do you explain to a six year old that these are exercises in silliness and not tied to reality at all? I finally tell him again, in exasperation, that these are cartoons and they're supposed to be silly. He's over thinking them and should just sit back and enjoy the antics of the animals on the screen. That explanation, or at least the frustration in my voice, seems to stop all his questions, at least temporarily. He seems to enjoy the cartoons more once he realizes that he doesn't have to analyze every single thing in them. For someone who has no problem being creative and silly, he just doesn't get it. He has no problem with animals talking or the situations, but he doesn't understand about anvils and rocket sneakers. I feel like Foghorn Leghorn trying to explain things to the baby chicken hawk. He even gets me stuttering like the old rooster after a bit.

And the funny thing is, he understands what's going on in the cartoons, he just wants to know more. Like when we're on the way to day care at 6:30 in the morning and I'm navigating rush hour traffic on the freeway at seventy miles per hour and I hear the little voice from the back seat.

Daddy?My eyeballs twitch as I try to navigate through traffic.

Yes son?

How does a star become a Red Giant?

Do I respond with a smart ass answer that will sail over his head, or give him what little science I can remember from those film strips in grade school and junior high? I go with the film strips and hope that my public school education doesn't fail me. I always tell him everything I know on a subject and when he's drained me of all information, I promise to look it up for him when we get home.

The first thing he asks when we get home that night is, Daddy? Can you ask the computer about quicksand? I think it's funny that he thinks that the computer knows everything. It's as funny as when he used to get mad at the television for showing us commercials for medications and products we clearly had no use for.

The best question he ever came up with was right before bedtime one night. We were reading an adventure book and it mentioned the Mark of Cain. I stopped the story and started to explain about Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve and the Bible when I was stopped by that little voice again.

Daddy?

Twitch. Yes?

What's the Bible?

Boys Will Be Boys - Monday, June 11, 2007

So it's another Sunday night and we're headed back home from Carol's house. I've got one of the local jazz stations on the radio so we can listen to part of their six hours blues program they play every Sunday night. The boys have had a fun weekend with their mother and we're all relaxed and ready for the week. The boys tell me about the fun they had, watching cartoons until their eyes bugged out of their heads and playing with their friends.

They also told me about playing with Mommy's Toys. I had a humorous mental image for a moment of the boys digging through her dresser and finding something they shouldn't have and the look on Carol's face when she walked in on them. Then I remembered the last four years of my marriage and knew that wasn't the scenario that had happened, but it still didn't prevent me from laughing. It took me another moment to figure out what toys the boys were talking about, but I finally remembered that Carol had gone to her Mother's house for a week to clear out her old possessions. She had told the boys she was going on a week-long business trip to the other side of the state. I don't know how she reconciled the two stories with the boys, but it's not my business, so I didn't ask.

I fill the boys in on what I had been up to that weekend, which consisted mainly of hanging pictures on the walls. After being in my apartment for nine months, I took another step in making it look and feel like a home. One of the factors in this decision was another care package from Mom. She sent me two paintings that she didn't want to move across the country, one of which hung in the living room of our old house for years.

This picture is an oil painting from my Grandma Kemp's brother, which he did especially for our family when we moved from a five room tar paper shack into a bigger house that Dad and my other grandpa had built themselves. The painting hung on the wood paneled wall that fronted my older brother's bedroom and also was above the drop off to the basement. I still don't know what ladder they used to put it up or take it down, because I never saw a ladder that tall anywhere around our house or up at the farm.

The second painting Mom sent is one she purchased at a local art festival. It's an abstract water color in a light wood frame, which oddly enough complements one she gave me several years ago that's much smaller. The smaller one, to me anyway, looks like a far off river island shrouded in a winter mist. Timmy saw something completely different, describing an animal with two glowing eyes. I looked at the picture again this morning, and could see the same thing. I guess it's all in the eyes of the beholder.

The two watercolors are matched up with a surreal lithograph that I helped a friend print while we were both in college. I learned a lot about art from him and have even found ways to appreciate and use what he taught me over the years. He was going through a subliminal art phase at the time in addition to his interest in surrealism, so he hid lots of images throughout the picture. One in particular gave us both a good late night laugh. After we were done with the printing run, I asked him who the person was in the background.

What person? he asked.

The one with the bushy mustache, I replied.

That's Freud.

"No, no, on the other side.

He looked at me strangely. Look again," he said.

I did, and in the place I had seen the profile of a man with a large, craggy, fleshy nose and bushy mustache, I was now seeing a muscular young man with a woman's head in his lap. I started laughing and pointed out what I had been seeing, which caused my friend to start laughing too. He had no idea that anyone would see anything but what he wanted them to see.

Once again, it just proves that it's all in your perspective when you look at things. Oh, and my boys? After spending five whole minutes marveling at the paintings and other artwork. . .spent the rest of the night playing with the packing crate they came in.

Glad to be Back - Monday, June 18, 2007

For those of you who don't know the down and dirty details of Madison Avenue's latest brainstorm in the Phone Wars, let me inform you of a little secret they won't tell you until it's too late. The latest idea is what they call VoIP, or Voice Over Internet Protocol, which means you talk to people using your Internet connection and save lots of money. I recently switched my phone service from Qwest and AT&T to Vonage, figuring to cut my phone bill by over half because I believed the advertising. I know, I know. The switch over itself went smoothly and outside of having to translate the woman's thick Philipino accent, I had no problems dealing with the telephone customer service. When it arrived, I installed the equipment myself and with a minimum amount of experimenting and tweaking had phone service. I made a couple of phone calls and outside of the volume being a bit louder than I was comfortable with, the system worked as advertised. Everything was cool and fantastic and I was patting myself on the back for a job well done until the following Wednesday evening when I couldn't get online.

I unplugged and replugged cords, reset both my modem and the Vonage equipment, all to no avail. I called Vonage on my prepaid cell phone, burning up valuable minutes trying to get through to a customer service representative. After dealing with an inanely happy automated recording for over five minutes, I hung up in frustration because the bitch as much as told me it was the modem supplied by the phone company that was at fault. I counted to ten and then started counting to a hundred, but it didn't help.

I called Qwest and spent another thirty minutes of time that I'll never get back, trying to reset my modem over the phone. The end result of the phone call is that I'm getting a new CD with the latest software for my modem because obviously the one they sent me a year ago that still works like a charm is a piece of crap.

At four in the morning on Thursday, I got up and dealt with the insanely happy automaton at Vonage again before finally getting a live person in India. I explained I was running low on minutes, but he insisted on verifying my identity five different ways before he would admit I was me and that I had a right to call about my phone service. I was boiling by this time and my frustration was compounded by the fact that I was trying not to yell and wake up my boys who were asleep in the next room. The end result of the phone call was that when I found out that when Qwest switched my phone service over to Vonage, they cancelled my Internet service because that was part of the package. Since Vonage is a VoIP service, all your calls go through your modem and are in essence, considered to be local calls. In order for this to work, you need to have a land line that actually works and when you switch phone service providers, the old company automatically shuts off their access to your phone line.

I spent two hours at work on Thursday dealing with the people at Qwest, getting a land line established for my computer so I can have Internet access and then restoring my local and long distance with them. To make it up to me, Qwest is giving me three months of local and long distance service for free. The line for my Internet was restored today, my regular phone service will be restored by the end of the week. Supposedly. I refuse to accept any more bland assurances from either phone company until I see it come true.

As for the rest of the week, it turned out to be surprisingly good. On Friday I picked up the boys from day care and Tommy gave me something he bought from the classroom store with money he earned by getting his homework done on time and good behavior in class. It's a little purple rubber bracelet that says Best Friends on it. Ultimately, it will go into the dresser drawer in which I store all such mementos. He'll probably find it fifty years from now when he's going through my belongings and wonder what it is and why I kept it.

Leading up to this week, however, I had been telling the boys that we were going to have cooking classes in which we would bake cookies and make candy to give away as Christmas presents. I know it's a little early in the year for this sort of thing, but my time with them is limited and I need to do what I can when I have the opportunity. I told them that my mom had taught me how to cook by making candy and cookies and so that was how they were going to learn, too. Saturday morning, I was ready to start pulling ingredients out of the cupboard when I realized that all the recipes I needed were safely stored in my recipe box. . .online. No problem, we'll just hop in the car, drive down to the library, get a card, go online and print out the recipes. While we're out, we'll stop off at the mall, hit the kitchen supply store and, and, and. . .The library didn't open until one in the afternoon, so a change of plans is called for. We hit the mall and discovered, contrary to the security guard's sworn word, that there aren't two cooking stores on opposite sides of the mall. In fact, there's less than one