STI: I'm still cool, Daddy cool

Mar 5, 2004

Fatherhood

I'm still cool, Daddy cool

by Paul Zach

 

WHEN my son was born in 2000, I still clung to the last vestiges of almost a half century of bachelorhood.

 

One of them was a classic 1973 MGB GT. It had one of those Mickey Mouse-sized back seats. Still, there was enough space to wedge a baby bassinet into it with Sean firmly anchored inside.

 

Little did I realise that infants grow faster than Alice did after taking a bite out of the 'eat me' cookie.

 

Less than a year later, Sean traded in his bassinet for a 7-series-size Graco car seat, and I traded in my beloved vintage sports car for a two-year-old Mitsubishi Lancer.

 

It doesn't look like much. But at least it's functional.

 

After chasing a three-year-old around with a bowl of Cheerios for a half-hour each morning, you can corner him in the Lancer's back seat.

 

It has enough elbow room to allow you to shovel a last spoonful or two into his mouth enroute to school, six minutes before he's supposed to be there.

 

My wardrobe has also gone through a severe makeover.

 

Once I dressed to kill: It was linen shirts and slacks and Italian loafers, for work and play.

 

Soon after my son's birth I added a new fashion accessory - a red and plaid Baby Bjorn, a kind of front-end backpack.

 

It clashed with my old clothes. But at least the Baby Bjorn proved to be practical when fitted with baby Sean; they covered my expanding waistline.

 

To my surprise, the combination was also more of a babe magnet than my old MGB. Young women of an age that had not smiled my way for at least a year or two turned their heads again.

 

I smiled back and they came running; they couldn't keep their hands off Sean.

 

Today, the Baby Bjorn has been put into mothballs, along with most of my wardrobe.

 

Not only are the bulk of the new clothes that come into the house these days for Sean, they are classier than Dad's.

 

Take his school outfit.

 

It starts with natty blue-and-white Chatsworth Kindergarten polo shirt and navy blue shorts. It ends with Thomas The Tank Engine socks, Bob The Builder underwear, and Kavat shoes from France.

 

By contrast, the shorts and T-shirts I wear when I drop him off look like I slept in them. In fact, I rarely have time to change into anything else since becoming a Dad.

 

Another area that's undergone a fatherhood facelift is my living space.

 

The best way to describe the way I used to furnish it was as a cross between an Indonesian museum and Art Deco bachelor pad.

 

Antique Sumba ikats, puas from Kalimantan, paintings of Balinese temple scenes and masks from Solo hung on the walls.

 

Woodcarvings from Nias, drums from Irian Jaya and puppets from Yogyakarta peeked from every corner and shelf.

 

These mingled with audio visual equipment and shelves lined with hundreds of DVDs, LDs, CDs and books.

 

Now it looks like my interior decorator is Dr Seuss, working in a contemporary Lego style.

 

Wall-hangings range from a collection of Snoopy in his many disguises to a puppet Sean made from a popsicle stick in school and depictions of the alphabet in various artistic styles.

 

Big Bird, Elmo, Spongebob and almost every fish and turtle from Finding Nemo peek out from every corner and shelf. A Bugs Bunny mask hangs from a lamp.

 

DVDs of Ikiru and The Rules Of The Game and books like Go Down Moses and I Claudius take a back shelf to movies like Dumbo and Swiss Family Robinson and books like The Cat In The Hat.

 

Rarely does an evening go by when I get home from a hard night at work and sink into my old rattan sofa to relax, only to jump up again when I feel a Hot Wheels car stab me in the butt.

 

I pick up the car and place it on top of the pile of maybe 132 other assorted Hot Wheels, Tomy and Matchbox vehicles on my old matching rattan coffee table.

 

Then I sit down again and ponder.

 

Would I give this all up for the lifestyle of a bachelor again? No way.