which is worse?

My walls are still uncovered. My living room still needs furniture. I have clothes waiting to be folded, and my sink is full of dishes. And rather than getting off my lazy butt to do something about it, I sit in my recliner and type. With the dangerous progression of my mind, it was only a matter of time before I was led to a more depressing question. Which is worse: to be lazy, or to know that I can be, because nobody depends on me not to be?

It's an interesting theory for my laziness. Everywhere I've worked, I've gained a reputation for working hard. While at Picasso's and Main Street, I had to convince others not to feel bad while I did all of the dishes. I enjoyed it. And I'm pretty sure that I would enjoy doing anyone else's dishes as well.

My own kitchen has a different effect. My sink is full of dishes that I dirtied. Half of them are storage containers, since cooking for myself always leaves leftovers. My dishes are one giant reminder that I dine alone, and I despise them.

Since I'm the only one that has to look at my dirty dishes, it makes it that much easier to justify leaving them. If a livelihood flowed from within these walls, I would certainly scrub, wipe, and sweep, if only to share the space with those that expected it of me.

I feel a great loss in being the man who has never known the love of his own children. I know that parenting is the toughest kind of work, but as many disinterested fathers as there are in this country, you'd think I would be given the opportunity?

Last Sunday, one of the kids at work was reading a book when I arrived. I calmly told her that she had 15 minutes, and she would have to try and sleep since it was a school night. When her time was up, she cooperated with my request. Five minutes later, I checked on her unexpectedly, and she hurriedly threw the book on the end table, knowing that she was caught in the act.

This time, I asked her for the book, which she gave up with a little teenage attitude. As she slipped into the bathroom before retiring, my co-worker looked at me and mocked: "But daaaaaad!"

Truth is, I never enjoy getting after the girls. However, despite my co-worker's teasing, I do relish the idea of being a father. I was given this weekend off, and while I do not desire to be at work, I wish I could put my own kids to bed. People talk about the maternal instinct, and men are often portrayed as followers, only going along with the parenting plan because its part of the deal. Well, there's nothing motherly about my parenting style, but I know that I'm overdue for fatherhood.