Being Dad has its rewards, and having money helps. But as the manopausal male sees his children growing beyond his influence, he is grateful that his wife did such a respectable job of parenting. And sometimes his heart swells with gratitude when one of his children sends a text which reads: "Love you, Dad." He wonders why they would love him at all--or if this is just a ploy to squeeze dollars from his insurance policy after he expires.
Being the Dad to older children--now adults--is a tough gig. On the one hand, the manopausal male is thankful that the children are out of the house and now he can concentrate on giving his wife the attention she so desperately craves. He asks her daily if she craves it. She doesn't, of course, and so the male moves on to the important matters such as watching reruns of Gomer Pyle.
Throughout the house there are reminders that the older male is Dad. There are photographs on the wall, vacant bedrooms littered with adolescent awards and trophies, and enormous bills from universities detailing what Dad must pay for a comprehensive campus meal plan that includes fresh salmon and cracked crab legs. Dad writes checks to the Bursar's office even as he gums another peanut butter sandwich and stacks ten pound cans of pork-n-beans inside a bare cupboard.
Soon, of course, the older male will not be called Dad any longer. His children will become independent . . . which was the goal all along . . . and they won't send Twitters any longer. They will move to far away places like Schenectady, and they will take up residence in cal-da-sacs, busying themselves with laundry and lawn care.
But the older male sees this as another rite of passage. He just grays a little more, lifts a little less, and hopes his wife will consider eating at Applebees. Afterwards, in the heat of a passion which they can no longer fulfill, they will watch the final fifteen minutes of Wheel of Fortune and call it a night.
And when the older male says his prayers at closing time, he remembers why he became a Dad.
