I love it when they call me Big Papa

Before Little Man was born there were some decisions that we had to make as a couple and as individuals. These were not earth-shattering, life-altering, monumental decisions, but ones that had to be made nonetheless. These decisions were not things like will we let him play with toy guns or will we instill the usage of “Mam” and “Sir.” Those decisions can be taught later when the child is a little older and able to “get” the concepts better.

One such decision was what Little Man was going to call me. With my cultural and ethnic knowledge there were only a few to choose from for this momentous moniker. There is, to my knowledge, Dad, Daddy, Father, or Papa. Dad didn’t work for me. This seemed a bit too old for a young child to use when referring to me. Daddy felt too common. I am nothing if not un-common. Father would have worked if I were Darth Vader or this were the 1800’s, but otherwise it is too formal and stilted.

The lovely Wifey decided that she wanted to go by Mama and not Mommy or Mother, so I went with Papa, the typical paring with Mama. But I did not choose “Papa” just because it went well with “Mama.” I chose Papa because it has a more intimate feeling to it. I chose Papa because I wanted to hear a little voice calling me Papa. To me Papas are supposed to be fun and silly men with deep resonate voices, men who smile often and laugh easily. They love their little ones and like to scoop them up in their outstretched arms. They let contented babies sleep on their chest, and smile warmly when their 2 year old wants their sandwich. So I chose Papa.

There is another side to Papa that I hadn’t really considered until after Little Man came into our life. There is also Papa Bear. Papa Bear does not come out much but when he does he is swift, firm, and sometimes brutal. Wifey saw Papa Bear once when a boy threw a ball at Little Man’s head in the young kids’ area of COSI (Kid's museum type place in Columbus). Papa Bear has also had to intercede on his boy’s behalf at a playground’s sand box due to the limited amount of shovels and buckets present. There have been at most a handful of appearances for Papa Bear. All of them have been swift, all of them decisive, and all of them have been rather effective

Turns out that Papa Bear also wants to protect Wifey too. Wifey was dealt with dismissively by someone she is supposed to work with, and Papa Bear is not happy. No Papa Bear is not happy at all. No one laughs dismissively at Wifey without Papa Bear emerging. Unfortunately Papa Bear is powerless in this position and therefore Papa Bear must merely post about his frustration.

Papa Bear could also be blowing things out of proportion (actually I am sure of this since Wifey is not still spitting mad) because he is rather biased and protective where Wifey and Little Man are concerned.

To recap:
My left calf feels like tenderized meat today
The second day after exercising is always the worst
Yesterday was Little Man’s last day of pre-school
That makes me sad
He really liked it a whole bunch
Sometimes I sit and think
Sometimes I just sit
No really
I do not have enough work shirts for the upcoming summertime
People make fun of me for my collection of history of math books
There are soooo many better reasons to make fun
Math history books are too easy
Work for it people
Papa Bear also likes to talk about himself in third person
I have decided that instead of having a balanced diet, I will instead take supplements
Fish oil, magnesium, B-complex, multi-vitamin, glucosamine…
I am not sure what is for dinner tonight, but I hope it is not in tablet form like the rest of my nutrients