The national media spotlight has not been particularly kind to dads this year. At times, in fact, it’s been downright harsh. As a member of this demographic, I feel it’s my duty to raise a voice against the onslaught of bad press fathers have been getting lately. This may come as a surprise to some, but most of us are actually sane, competent parents committed to the well-being of our kids, happy to do what’s right for our family even if it means donning a big, floppy hat, squeezing our butts into a chair built for Lilliputians and sipping imaginary tea from a Winnie the Pooh cup with our four-year-old rather than plopping into the La-Z-Boy to watch the Bucs display new and innovative ways to go three and out.
  Based solely on recent headlines, you might be tempted to conclude all fathers are deranged, media-seeking egomaniacs hell bent on exploiting their offspring to further their own slimy agendas. Sure, there’s the occasional favorable story, but even then the tone of the coverage varies from pleasant surprise to outright astonishment, as if public displays of good fathering were akin to discovering an island full of dodo birds or a formula to convert pizza crusts into swine flu vaccines.
  Case in point: Steve Monforto. Remember him? He’s the Philadelphia Phillies fan who caught a foul ball, handed it to his three-year-old daughter and watched in bemused chagrin as she promptly tossed it back onto the field. The country seemed stunned when his eyes didn’t turn into spinning pinwheels of rage, steam did not come shooting out of his ears with the sound of blowing train whistles and his scalp remained firmly attached to the top of his head instead of flipping into the air like a flicked bottle cap. Adding to the nation’s bewilderment was Monforto’s confounding behavior immediately following the incident: he gave his daughter a hug. A hug! From the hype surrounding this incident we can only infer that such an egregious display of tolerance is a bizarre aberration, an exception to the rule. Any “normal” father would have hurled his tot onto the field to retrieve the precious keepsake. What kind of sports fan is he?
  Unfortunately, Steve’s shining example isn’t enough to offset the blitz of unflattering impressions provided almost daily by the likes of Alec “How Dare You Not Be Home When I Call” Baldwin, Jon “I Love My Kids So Much I Moved A State Away From Them” Gosselin and now – hurray! – Richard “Help! My Sanity Slipped Its Tether And Floated Away” Heene, a.k.a. Balloon Boy’s Dad, to reaffirm our suspicions that fathers, as a whole, are jerks.
  Thanks guys!
  It’s not enough modern dads have to fight the stereotypes of incompetent boobs blundering their way through diaper changes, house cleaning and meal preparation (all of which somehow involve the prodigious use of duct tape and caulking guns). Now we have to allay concerns that our kid’s birthday party isn’t just an elaborate hoax to muster publicity for a reality series. At school sporting events we have to endure the watchful scrutiny of security personnel ready to tackle and taze any overzealous lout looking for an excuse to beat the living tar out of a ref for making a “bad” call against his future all-star.
  I’m not claiming every dad is a Steve Monforto. I’m sure there are plenty of guys who would have blown a gasket after their toddler threw away a foul ball. But don’t let the occasional UFO-shaped helium balloon fool you. There are far more dads like Monforto that there are like Richard Heene. And that is something we all need to recognize.
  Although in the spirit of full disclosure I have to admit a certain grudging respect for Heene’s ingenuity. Not everybody could create a national farce using little more than Mylar and duct tape. Duct tape manufactures, however, have somehow managed to avoid any bad press.
  Good for them.