Fatherly Duties...

It's odd that when growing up, one hardly has an inkling of just how much a father does to keep a house and family running. So now that I have my own house and family, it is a near constant feeling of dawning realization of just how much dads do. This is not to say that moms never do these things. I think it is more a case of if there is a dad around, these jobs more often than not fall on him. Hence, I am now billed with having to do what I affectionately call Fatherly Duties.

These jobs around the house are hardly of boasting quality. The first task, and the one that brings me back to the idea of Fatherly Duties nearly every time, is the emptying of the litterbox. This is also, I think one of the lowest jobs a person can do. It's the job where, if extra terrestrials were watching, the obvious conclusion would be that I am not the master of this particular domicile. While it is probably true on other levels, I am still not a fan of thinking it in this way.

There are, of course, the maintenance and handyman type of things that abound from owning one's own house, too. Frames need to be nailed back into place, electrical circuits need to be monitored (or in this house's case, figured out just where they go, since what would be logical is not often the fact), furniture to be set up and/or moved, etc. I am also the designated mower of lawns and maintainer of yards. Nothing was decreed in as such, and of course I was not elected to this post, I simply do these things.

I actually like to maintain my house, and recently did enough cleaning of my garage to give me the hope of parking in there during this decade. But mostly what really falls on me to do is the unfortunate things. I've had to take care of a good many dead birds on my doorstep. And the truly unfortunate falls on me as well.

This morning, I was woken up by a knock on the door. Now, normally it is Austin waking up and coming to get me to basically yell in my ear that he's going to the bathroom now. Today, however, it was our roommate Emily. I opened up the door when she said 'It's Tyrone...' She explained that she saw him a couple blocks away in the street. My heart stopped for a moment, but I more or less froze. She felt so bad, so I hugged her as I thought of how I was going to take care of this while my boy was still sleeping in the next room.

I asked her to just stay at the house while I went and gathered up a box and a plastic bag and prepared to head out to collect my poor cat. It's easier to hold down the emotions choking me when I have a job to do. My mind was racing as I tried to think of how I would break it all to my poor boy and my wife. We're Fryers, so even the dumbest of our little animals is a part of our families. Austin is Tyrone's big brother. This duty falls on me. I'm the father.

I opened up the door to the garage to fetch a shovel, and from the dark came a meow and Tyrone flew into the house as if nothing was going on (because he's cat; nothing's going on for him). He was in the garage as he usually is after following Michelle out and getting trapped in there when the doors shut. Emily and I both gasped in sweet relief.

I dodged the awful today. I can't believe the luck I have in life sometimes. I do not shirk my duties, however. I live to take care of my family, no matter how terrible the things I must do are. I'm the commander of the submarine, and the responsibility to make us move without sinking is mine.