small town once hired a famous landscape architect to plan a park for
them. He agreed as long as he had complete control and as long as the
plans could be kept sealed until his death. He set out planning the
park and worked with a large crew to create it. The park was quite
lovely, and the townspeople really enjoyed it. In the center of it,
though, stood a small tree of a variety no one had ever
seen. The famous landscape architect had come in at night with one
crew member and planted it. Over the years, the tree grew, and it got
quite ugly. It's foliage grew out in a lumpy, uneven pattern.
Landscapers who did such a nice job tending every other plant in the
park could never quite reign in this one tree. The townspeople were
very curious as to what kind of tree it was, but the landscape architect
would not reply to their letters of inquiry except once to say "you
will find out upon my death". They tolerated the tree and the mystery
for a few more years until news of the landscape architect's death
appeared in the newspaper. They hurried to the town historical society
and unsealed the park plans. Spreading a large map out on a table, they
located the center of the park and saw this notation where the tree now
stood: Nappy Yew Here!
The name of this blog is a political statement about fatherhood. Regardless of the progress toward gender equality that has occurred over the last several decades, one stereotype persists and may be getting worse: moms are good parents and dads are incompetent boobs who sometimes babysit. Poppycock, I say. Or an excuse for dads who would like to be viewed as numskulls so that they don't have to parent their kids. Dads are parents too, and I know some who are very good at it.
I'm neither a stay-at-home dad nor do I work full time. I work part time, and I'm the primary parent for the foreseeable future. The primary competent parent, I hope it is not presumptuous to say.