I almost never tell my parents about my dating life. Mostly because when I do, they don't believe me. A while back I offhandedly mentioned that I met someone at a bar and we spent nearly an hour talking about meat and guns, and my folks accused me of lying.
Maybe it was because they think that no two Brooklynites would ever talk about meat and guns, but more likely they refuse to believe that I would be brave enough to talk to anyone in a bar. Here's the thing though, she was the one to break the ice.
Needless to say, I'm curious to see how my parents would write my dating bio. I'm leaning towards, "This isn't real. None of this is real."
Eh, I guess that could work.
Growing up as a Muslim-Albanian family with very patriarchal ideas on the way a family is supposed to operate, my idea of what a father should be was a very "man's man" one.
He brings home the bacon, laughs maybe five times a year, and was really into Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorcese movies. Oh, and a Marlboro Red had to be perpetually hanging out the side of his mouth.
Fast forward years later and here I am, dadding it up, and I'm not that, like, at all. The manliest thing I probably do is hit the gym, bro, and not shave my chest hair. Other than that though, I'm nothing like the former generation of "guy's guys" that raised me. Which I'm totally cool with, because I'm already learning special hair braids to try out on my daughter once she gets older. Because her old man might be a North Jersey meathead, but he's going to be a meathead who doesn't mind having tea parties and getting his nails painted with his little girl.