I was actually happy and proud when my husband stumbled in at three in the morning. He had bruises and bad breath. It was like Andy B.C (Before Child, duh).
“How was it?” I asked.
“It was awesome.”
He had gone, with three other dads, to see NOFX. The dads came to our house for pre-concert beer, debating if they should take the minivan or the Mercedes. Which would be less offensive at a punk show? They went with the Mercedes.
“It’s going to be all guys like you anyway,” I said. Turns out I was right.
“Everyone was over thirty,” Andy said. “Or at least a lot were. I was in the mosh pit the whole time.”
“They still call it the mosh pit?”
“I don’t know. I got worked. My socks are drenched.”
“You know how they have, like, stripper pole aerobics? Maybe they should have mosh pit toning or something. You know, for dads.”
I imagine all the dads skanking to the oldies.
“It was funny–in the pit (the pit:>) everyone was beating each other up, but when someone fell down everyone would help them up. I was helping people up all night. We’re old.”
“That’s the sign of old age–when you help people up in the pit.”
“Awesome.”
“I’m glad you went,” I said. I remember the last punk show he went to–Anti-Flag, I think. His friend spent the whole time texting the opposing council. So punk rock. But it’s good when guys can go out and be bromantic. I remember when I was young I hated when he went out without me. I’d get paranoid and lonely, but he’s not as cool anymore so there’s less to worry about. I know he will no longer be at a bar and slice his hand open on a glass by trying to perform some kind of magic trick. I know he won’t jump through a camp fire and singe his entire leg. Those days are over now.
“Did you go out after?” I asked.
“We were planning on getting a few beers, but everyone just wanted water.”
See.
Plus the more they go out, the more hall passes moms get. Like last week’s wine “tasting” at Kalapawai. That was awesome, even though when we got back we found the dads drinking beer while our unfed daughter’s were zoned out in front of Disney and our sons were in Tinkerbell dresses.
Anyway, moms and dads need their nights out. I think it’s a way of not only seeing your friends, but seeing your self, your old self, that is–you’re bringing her into your new, good-parent life, what with the casseroles, time-outs and antibacterial wipes. It’s a way of keeping in touch with the person you once were. We all have that list of youthful antics: drinking, jail (just one night), promiscuous yucky sex, stealing, flashing, having keg parties in your nice suburban home while your Dad’s trying to run for Governor, you know the drill. While hopefully all these things are now as distant as Mount Kaikomagatake, you don’t want to turn your back on the people you’ve outgrown.
So don’t be a snob. Say hello to your old friend.
Oi.

You May Also Enjoy:
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Vagina
Happy Father’s Day, Beavis
Weekend in Vignettes
Why Can’t Men Say, “Ow”