A few months ago my wife said that her relatives might find me a bit less completely incomprehensible if I stopped speaking in cartoonishly exaggerated, long-winded metaphor. I said that’s kind of how I roll. She said “you don’t roll” and I explained that it’s a metaphor, let me tell you all about it.
It’s frankly amazing that she puts up with me at all, but all of that leads up to this: about four months in after Maya was born, a colleague at the office asked me what it was like being a new dad, and since I like telling ridiculous stories, I told him this one.
You’re at the edge of a long, narrow highway, looking at a car accident; there’s the remains of a fancy red sports car by the side of the road, twisted and smoking. A man nearby is dressed in a nice sport coat and a collared shirt, looking either wistful or shaken as he stares past the wreckage into the middle distance. A police officer is there coldly surveying the scene, trying to work out what’s happened; he’s talking to a disheveled-looking hillbilly who’s clearly in shock, with a Larry-and-his-brother-Darryl-and-his-other-brother-Darryl voice saying “I don’t understand… it all happened so fast.”
That’s what being a new dad is like.