The O-town Scene

Two Single Dads Bedtime wars: won by mix tape We’ve been having an up and down couple of weeks, Little Raul and me. It’s like that sometimes with the tykes – they make you burst with pride one minute and make you wonder where you put the number for the local child trafficking service the next. His almost 5-year-old self has been excel- ling at almost legibly writing his name and reciting the alphabet with the glee of someone who’s memorized something for the first time. He’s perfected the hug, and has a sharp observational eye that leaves me envious. But bedtime has been the battleground lately. One night I spent — I shist* you not — two hours trying to convince him that count- ing sheep works, even if you can only get to 20 before you have to start over. I tried every method I know to keep him from wandering into my bedroom every 30 seconds (seriously, every 30 seconds). I reasoned with him (we had a “big boy-to-grown up” chat, after he reminded me I didn’t really qualify as a big boy), we dis- cussed his fears (pur- port- edly of dark, even his nightlight than day), I took privileges. I took the though is brighter away cherished away toys. I nearly took away Halloween. He took away my sanity. Finally, he passed out. Daddy always wins, but it was an empty victory. I lay there in my own bed trying to figure out why he was adamant about getting up, and why punishment was so ineffective. Exhausted as I was — physically, emotionally, spiritually — I finally came to the conclusion that Little Raul wanted little more than somebody’s full attention, even if that attention was entirely negative. The many quadrants of his family have a lot going on right now, and it seems entirely likely that he was feeling left out at best and neglected at worst. Of course, noth- ing had really changed about our routine, but it suddenly seemed obvious that his needs had shifted, at least for the time being. The next day he went to preschool, and I went to the day job as usual. After we were done with our daily grind, we both set about repairing the damage our fight from the night before had caused. We hunted elusive jack- o-lantern-perfect pumpkins. We had dinner at — gasp! — the dinner table. He helped out around the house in order to earn back the toys he’d lost with his bad behavior the night before. With some time to kill before the dreaded bedtime (TV and “computer games” were out of the question, owing to punishments laid down the night before), we decided to make a mixtape. You see, Little Raul lists his when-I-grow- up occupations as “Rock Star” first and “Space Man” a distant second. We scanned through gigabytes of music of all genres. Most songs were met with his scorn. They weren’t “rockin’” enough. When he found something he liked, he would leap off my lap and we’d have an improvised dance party. Someday he’ll probably have a revelation when he realizes Bad Religion’s “1,000 More Fools” has more to it than a searing riff, and for the moment I’ll tell myself he’s not internalizing the line “one thousand more fools are being born, every frackin’* day!”. I’m a firm believer in the healing power of music — of rock and roll particularly. But as we slid tracks from Fela Kuti, AC/DC, and Justin Townes Earle onto our 90-minute cassette, I couldn’t help but understand that it’s the shared experience that really soothes the soul. That evening it wasn’t about sweaty fists in the air or cheap beer. It was about 45 pounds of growing boy on my knee, bounc- ing to the beat and pleading “Daddy! More rock and roll please!” I was only too happy to oblige. —Raul O’Toole Raul O’Toole and Mickey Chavez are single dads raising young children in the Oneonta area. * Expletives have been changed to words related to rocks and geology. Because geologists make the bed rock. Oct. 28, 2010 O-Town Scene 5 O-town Scene’s STREET TEAM catches every issue Flip through online at www.otownscene.com

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