Daddy, Get The Bug

The Adventures of Bug Killer Man

When you hear your daughter and your wife screaming from upstairs you expect the worst. Something has fallen off the bed. Someone has fallen of the bed. Someone’s head has fallen off. This is where your mind goes as a father, to the depths of hell and back all in the time it takes you to run up the stairs.

But when you get there the scene is a rather serene one. Your wife and your daughter are wrapped in each other’s arms, on top of the bed, completely whole. Then you look at their faces. One looks like she has seen a ghost, the other is covering her eyes. I’ll let you decide on which was which. The one with the stare of pure horror is looking at the window. At this point you are expecting to see Michael Meyers waiting outside with a machete, soaked in blood, eyeing your house as his next target.  What else could cause such terror? But there is nothing outside. Just the trees in your front yard and a random person walking their dog.

They see the confusion on your face and finally understand that you don’t see what the problem is. Your daughter finally blurts out, “Daddy, get the bug!”

You finally feel some relief and, though you hate to admit this, annoyance. You look at your wife as if to say, “What, you couldn’t kill it?” Equal rights, equal responsibilities. Sorry sweetheart 😉. There is annoyance because you were busy downstairs, probably cooking dinner while listening to a podcast that was just getting good or rewriting a part of your novel in your head for the thousandth time, and instead you’re now trying to bring your heart rate down to a manageable level.

But the biggest feeling you have is purpose. You are filled with what Batman must feel like every time another piece of shit decides to take over Gotham again. Your daughter is looking at you like you are the only person who is up for the task and…your wife is too. You are the almighty bug killer. The savior of this family. Without you, the entire house would be overrun by errant flies and stink bugs. You are Bug Killer Man (it’s a working title).

The responsibility feels good. You smash the bug with a sandal, your reflexes are other worldly, and even though the bug was half dead and couldn’t fly, you feel like you can do anything this family needs. But once the cheers stop, the fans go on with their day, the glory fades, you remember there are a ton of things that you can’t do for your daughter.

For example…

You can’t teach your daughter anything about cars. You are useless when it comes to automobiles. In fact, you’ve never even bought a car yourself. Every car you’ve ever driven is a hand-me-down. You don’t know the difference between two cylinders and six, you don’t know what RPM is, and if you were tasked with driving a stick you’d be stuck in neutral with the engine spinning out forever. What’s even worse is that it was your wife who taught you how to change a tire. That’s right, your own wife taught you where to put the jack, how to yank it to get the thing up a few inches, how to twist the bolts off the tire, remove it, and reattach a new one. Somehow, this did not make her run for the hills. You are the Bug Killer Man after all. What would she do without you?

You any time there is car trouble.

Another thing you can’t do is teach your little girl how to be a woman. Why? Because you aren’t one yourself. Let’s not pretend that being a woman and a man are the same. For example, you don’t have any hair, which rules out any lessons on how to properly shampoo, condition, and comb a set of curly locks. If you were in charge, her hair would look like Kramer’s from Seinfeld.

Your daughter anytime you try and brush her hair.

Being a woman in this world is a very specific responsibility and her mother will have the lion’s share of teaching the subtle nuances. But where you can be useful, Bug Killer Man, is teaching her the shit not to take from men. You are unique in this perspective because you have doled out your fair amount of shit to women. You are not proud of it. But because you were once an asshole, you can educate on all the warning signs that one is coming.

Because you feel useless in the lessons and ways of womanhood, and your daughter is two and not ready to hear all the way men can hurt her, you’ve decided to teach her how to pee out back. You’ve even been able to teach her this despite the lack of matching parts. Your wife can’t stand this. You can’t help but laugh. And while she squats there giggling her head off and a bee decides to go on the attack, you are the man that steps in front of it, fighting off a foe that moves faster than your eyes can gauge, taking a sting if you have to. You are the Bug Killer Man after all. What would she do without you?

You taking one for the team.

Even though you are superhero in your daughter’s eyes, the most terrifying thing about being dad is that you will not be able to change the nature of the world or the people in it. The world is what it is. A terrifyingly awful place where anything can happen. It is a place filled with malevolence, greed, and so much dreadfulness you can’t even begin to describe it (can you tell I’m on a Cormac McCarthy kick?). But that doesn’t mean there isn’t beauty and goodness too. Your job as a parent is to educate your child on both - to open their eyes to all the good that’s around while also making sure they are equipped to handle the bad. And you can do this, you are Bug Killer Man after all.

So next week’s lesson?

How to kill a bug yourself, kid.

P.S. - When your little girl wants to see the bug after you’ve killed it, you’re doing just fine.

P.P.S. - Okay, maybe not next week’s lesson. You’d like to be Bug Killer Man just a little bit longer.