Thursday, Oct. 01, 2009

Commentary: Swine flu hits home: Daddy clueless

FORT MILL -- So, there we were in the pediatrician's office.

The youngest daughter with the 103 temperature, eyes wet, barely able to sit up. And her heroic father — after the physician's prods and the pokes, the looking in the ears — waiting for the test results.

Not a spelling test, but a test you hope your kid fails.

The swine flu test.

Done by swabbing the nostrils. Just like the bad kid in the second grade who picks his nose with his pencil.

“Stop it, Daddy,” my kid said.

During the wait, I took those blue doctor gloves they wear and blew up two of them like balloons. Made a turkey out of one, gobbled around the room, played volleyball over the exam table with the other.

Spiked it.

“You're supposed to be a grown-up,” the kid said.

I looked up from a serve of glove/ball. “I most certainly am grown up. Watch this!”

And I smashed a slam in time for the doctor to come in and roll her eyes.

“Usually, it's the kids we have to ask to calm down,” she said.

Shamed, I sat down.

Then she gave the kid one of those rectangular masks, just like you have seen from over-reacting goofs in places such as Mexico City and Tokyo. The ones people like me have laughed at for months over the supposed swine flu.

Well, now my kid had just tested positive for that flu and had to wear the mask. She is a beauty, and her father is a pig.

I pleaded with the doctor, “Make me wear the mask. She's just a kid!”

No more snickering over swine flu — H1N1 they call it, so people don't feel so bad about having it.

I popped the glove/balloons and took the sick daughter out in the hall. The mask said to all who could see: “Flu!”

Might as well just say I am the guy who doesn't wash his hands, lets his kids get sick.

I aimed to fix that.

We fled for home. And from there it just got worse. Not the kid — me.

Almost all people who get swine flu just get sick. The doctor said it would be best to keep the kid home all week. That meant me home all week.

The sick kid had little appetite, so I offered up Cream of Wheat. I tried to follow the directions on the box.

“Daddy, is Cream of Wheat supposed to be all hard and lumpy?” asked the wonderful kid.

I gave Captain Crunch instead.

She took a nap, I washed sheets and blankets, sprayed the house, cleaned. She slept like a rock.

Then, The Brunette — the boss, the wife — got home from work and took over.

She needed no buck privates. Mothers in sickness are generals. Fathers are enlisted slobs or draftees.

I was dispatched to the pharmacy to get prescriptions and was given no more responsibility than pulling my head in from the car window before I closed it. I almost failed at that.

Tuesday, Day Two, was worse.

I went to the store for juice and walked past the fruits and vegetables to get the nutrient-rich chocolate-covered doughnuts known for their recuperative powers for children. No rotten father, I bought candy, too.

Back at home, dishes and cups piled up like lava from a volcano.

“Chocolate milk is good for sickness; have you ever seen a sick brown cow?” I asked the kid.

The general came home and said to me, “Swine flu nothing, you're the pig!”

On Wednesday, the middle school called to say my middle daughter had a fever and must come home.

I picked her up, with the younger kid in tow, and off we went to the doctor's office again. They made both kids put on those masks right there at reception. We had to sit in a separate waiting area.

“Flu!” screamed the masks.

Finally she was seen, got the “test.”

No flu or strep throat for her. Sick yes, but not the swine flu.

The kids put on their masks and we marched out. From a basket, I grabbed a sticker reserved for toddlers.

Wait — I took two.

This swine flu, it sure is tough — on clueless fathers.

We got home. The middle one had little appetite but asked for oatmeal. The heroic father cranked up the microwave, served it up.

“Daddy, is oatmeal supposed to be hard and lumpy?” asked the kid.

Thankfully, there's chocolate doughnuts.

Andrew Dys — 803-329-4065

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