Steely Dad

As a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), one gets used to being the minority. It goes with the territory. Over the years, I’ve become quite used to the stares and the comments, the giggles. I’ve also come to grips with the fact that I often get overlooked for such events as “Girls’ Night Out.” This happened quite often with some of the other mom groups with which I used to roll.

But it’s different with the yentas. They actually make an effort to make me feel “accepted” and they really go out of their way. The yentas invite me to their regular dining get-togethers.

It’s strange, though, because whenever they invite me out with the girls, it’s usually done on the same day of the event. I have to say, this must be the most spontaneous group of moms because they are capable of deciding on a location, arranging for babysitters and promoting said party all within a few hours. I’m actually quite impressed because usually if you want someone to attend a party you’re throwing, you ask them with more than a few hours notice, right? Well, you do if attendance is a priority.

Yesterday, however, I was extended an invitation with a generous hour’s notice.

Last night my wife ran into one of the yentas who happened to mention that the group was congregating for dinner and I was welcome to join them. How sincere, don’t you think? Doesn’t this amount to a non-invite? What’s a non-invite? It’s when you invite someone under circumstances that ensure a no-show by the invitee. For example, “Hey, I know you’re having oral surgery tomorrow for that recurring wisdom tooth but we’re having a party that just happens to be scheduled during the exact same hours as you’ll be completely unconscious with loads of anesthesia. Would you like to join us?” That’s a classic non-invite.

I really do appreciate the effort that the yentas make to include me but they must know that I’m on to them and their sneaky ways. It doesn’t take a genius to read into their motivations. One of these days I might just surprise them and accept their generous offer. Then we’ll see just how “inclusive” the yentas are with respect to outsiders, especially ones who don’t sit when they pee.

In all seriousness, though, it is nice of the yentas’ to invite me. As the old adage goes, it’s the non-invite that counts.

Well yesterday the yentas read my most recent blog posting and, long story short, I’m lucky to have made it out of the Den alive. To be sure, I expected a steady trickling of the yentas reading the blog entry and passing it along within the ranks. I figured this would defuse any mass protest from the yentas. In addition, I anticipated that time and other distractions would help make the memory of my posting fade away and defuse the motivation for a group blitzkrieg. However, mine was an error of underestimation, a military blunder, a faulty strategy. To my dismay, one of the yentas actually pulled up the blog on her smart phone and read it aloud to the entire gathering, which was considerable. Did I mention that she did this whilst I was in the Den? I felt like the monster in Frankenstein when the townspeople formed an angry mob, armed with torches and pitchforks, to attack the source of their nightmare. The yentas began to bare their fangs and claws. It was a frightening sight.

There I was, alone, inside the lion’s den, unarmed and unprepared. To say I was scared is a gross understatement. I knew I could not subdue the crowd with brute force. Their numbers were too strong for such an approach. I had to rely on la lengua de plata. It took some pretty savvy diplomatic maneuvers to quell the yentas and avert an attack. Shoot, I should be the Secretary of State.

The yentas cornered me and attempted to force a cease-and-desist order upon my blog, and more specifically, postings about their secret society. I am adamantly opposed to censorship of any type so I calmly but unequivocally explained that I had an obligation to the Steely Dad Nation and that I would not be able to fulfill their unreasonable request. (I have learned that the yentas can sense the slightest bit of fear so it’s best to develop an air, however manufactured, of confidence.) After much debate and negotiation, we came to an understanding: I can continue to write my blogs as well as stories about the Den of Yentas but I do so at my own peril. For you, the reader, I am willing to accept this as an occupational hazard.

Now when you read Steely Dad, understand that I am assuming tremendous risk on my life to bring you the juice. But this is the greatest story that must be told.