The Zoo

I wear a very wide brim hat, something that just screams Suburban Safari. It’s even got the cool little strings that I can tie down under my chin should I wish to do so. My shirt is a T-shirt today but only because my trusty Hawaiian weekend superdad shirt could not be found. Made out of the finest polyester, it has a distinctive shine to it that makes the ladies knees weak. My shorts are cargo shorts with about 50 different pockets. I have to wear my belt extra tight so my pants don’t sag as those pockets are currently filled with a camera, batteries, some cheerios, a juice box, Little Hoss’s sunglass, a wallet and baby wipes. My shoes—straight fat feet sandals, no socks. I put on the sunglasses, oh yeah baby, can you get enough of this?

That’s how I roll when we go to the zoo.

Superdad had the opportunity to take the family to the zoo this past weekend and I was very excited. I have this vision of our little family. This vision involves doing all the things that I did when I was a kid. At least the things that my wife will let me do. I doubt she will let my daughter ride a scooter on a dirt road with the brother on the handle bars, no helmets, helmets are for sissies.

But the vacation dreams are there. I can’t wait until our first cross country road trip. I can’t wait to pull over the car and tell them that if they don’t behave we are so going to turn around. I can’t wait until we get to go to the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone, The world’s biggest ball of Twine. That is my dream and I can’t wait to make it happen.

But as Little Hoss is only 16 months old, we cant’ do that yet. But we can do the trip to the zoos and this gives superdad a chance to shine. This gives me a chance to put on my super costume.

With the costume comes the diaper bag, which I must say is in no way girlie. It’s as commando as I could find. If someone asks, I call it my demolition bag like I am some sort of Navy Seals Demolition Expert. I just use it for poops. Around the other shoulder comes the video camera, which the essential batman utility belt item that all superdads must carry.

And Little Hoss, where is she? Why, where else would she be but riding high on my shoulders. We are marching to destiny, father and daughter, and we will conquer all who lay in our path. Silly ticket man, my daughter doesn’t need no stinking ticket! She is less than two, she gets in free. Now take your scanner to those who are less worthy!

In my superdad costume I look like nothing short than a pack mule. I know this but I don’t care. I know that I have two primary responsibilities on my daughters first trip to the zoo: 1. Point out what is the huntee and what is the hunter. 2. Carry everything that my daughter and wife put on my back. If I had humps I would be a camel, just without the long tongue and my hump is on the front.

Uncle Bricksalesman decides to put it another way as he sees me gleefully prancing with my daughter on my back.

“I have never met a man more comfortable with the fact that he no longer has to impress anyone or ever date again.”

You got that right, bub. I no longer have to wear tight pants showing my awesome package or shirts that make my arms look huge while at the same time hiding my gut. I don’t have to go to clubs and use a dark mascara pencil to color in some fake hair. I no longer have hide the fat feet.

And talking to that pretty girl now? No problem. Because I am actually not after a damn thing. Whether she likes me or not is totally irreverent. I don’t care. If she thinks I am cute or not no longer matters because inside my own head I think they always find me cute. But I don’t stick around long enough to actually ask them. There is no longer any nervousness to ask them out and the probable rejection that ensues. I just assume that if I was single, they would be all over this Adonis.

It’s all because of my wife. My wife is greatness. I know that I write her in these blogs as the antagonist, maybe the challenge that I have to overcome. But hey, every story needs a hurdle and so she becomes mine. She babies me. I know it and love it. When I’m sick, she makes me soup. She makes me go to the doctor. I haven’t bought a stitch of clothing for myself if 12 years. I just say “Honey, I need pants.” The next day, like magic, I have pants. I have no idea where the money comes from, I think that she may be dealing coke on the side. But the point is, as long as she’s happy, I’m good to go.

Nothing makes my wife happier than seeing me in full on Superdad Mode. So let’s go to the zoo.

First we see the Rhino. I point out to my daughter that this thing isn’t much fatter than out dog. She disagrees, but what does she know. She dismounts me and jumps on the ground. She runs straight to the gate to get a better look. I then realize that these cages are more to keep the animals in and less to keep the people out.

We’ve all heard of the story of the dumbass that jumps in the cage with the lions and gets mauled. No one feels sorry for this guy, he got what he deserved. But should my daughter decide to make a bolt for it and land in their with the 2 ton Rhino, well, that might make me look bad. Could I take down a Rhino if need be? I mean, would he be intimidated by my superdad costume? Would he immediately lay on his side and let me pet his belly? I am sure that is what my daughter thinks as this is the only experience that she has had with animals, in the form of the Fat Belly Newt, our dog.

So I pick her back up and she protests, but superdad is all powerful. I also decide that at this moment, I could take a Rhino down. I would go for his knees. That’s 4 years of football playing for you, hit a knee when the opponent is bigger. I’m sure he would fold like a sack of potatoes. It’s my Safari Hat, it makes me to cool to be harmed.

Next we head to the petting zoo part, which I must say, confuses me. This confuses me that people pay to pet a goat or chase a chicken. This is because I grew up with these things so let me let you know some things. First, chickens are fucking mean. There it is, they are mean little bastards that will peck the crap out of you. Of course at the time I discovered this I was holding a hatchet and it was my job to cut some heads off so we could eat them. But they are mean.

And pigs, come on man, who wants to pet a pig. Hands down, the stinkest creatures on this earth. We had about 5 pigs when I was a kid. Yes, they are good for riding, but they are filthy. So who wants to pet them.

Everyone apparently, including my daughter. But with her short stubby arms she can’t reach. We hossmen are built low to the ground, not much on wingspan. So I hoist her up so she can get some good touching time in. There is a part of me that reverts to my old redneck ways and considers maybe making some sausage with Mr. Big here. We went to the Zoo with the District Attorney in my town, that friendship has got to be good for something. I haven’t asked her to get me out of a DWI or a indecent exposure yet. So I figure I’ve got atleast one good favor to ask, say perhaps, to look the other way while I get my hatchet back out.

Just as I am thinking this I notice another Mom looking at me in my full superdad gear. Yep, I can see it her eyes. Do women want that club going full haired guy? Nope, they want superdad that can commit and takes his daughter to the zoo.

I don’t have to ask, I know what she is thinking.