The exhausted dad: Small talk about small people

For the past 11 years, I haven’t spent much time away from my kids. Apart from occasional dates nights and the exceedingly rare overnight, most of my time in public came shackled to at least one of my four children. At home, sleep is the only true respite, where I can dream about a life without children… or at least until one of them startles me awake at 3 a.m.

I expected this as a stay-at-home dad, and, for the most part, I enjoyed the hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours and hours I spent with them over the past decade.

Now, with all four kids in full-time school for the first time and me back in academia, I find myself out in the Wild, without my kids, conversing regularly with adults. Well, mostly young adults, but that technically qualifies, right?

You’d think I’d be more than eager to talk to other people. Nope. Turns out, I’m even more introverted than ever, and speaking to other grown humans, at times, makes my skin crawl.

Back in the before times, I leaned on movies and pop culture as discussion points with people, because everybody consumes pop culture, and I always felt confident with my knowledge base. Talking with younger adults about movies these days quickly shifts into one of two topics: Television shows and superhero movies. No judgment, but I’m not exactly prioritizing my schedule to see “Black Atom” or watch the new “Game of Thrones” show. But, hey, do you want to talk about that new Cate Blanchett joint? Did you think “Triangle of Sadness” was a disappointment compared to “Force Majeure?” No? OK.

So, without movies as a fallback, I only now seem capable of talking about my kids, even when it’s completely unnecessary to mention them. Just a warning to other non-traditional students out there: Single people in their 20s don’t care at all about what your kids ate for hot lunch yesterday.

Consider the following real responses I inexplicably uttered to grown adults recently:

Grown adult: “This orange I bought isn’t very good.”

Me: “Ooh. My kids love Cuties!”

Grown adult: “I think it’s going to rain. I should probably put the top back on my car before class.”

Me: “Ooh, my 5-year-old thinks convertibles are the worst cars in the world!”

Grown adult: “What did you think about that quiz?”

Me: “I didn’t do very well, probably because of my KIDS!”

Kids, kids, kids. Change the (expletive deleted) record, man.

I’m actively trying not to mention them in most instances. I’m in my head thinking, “Don’t talk about your daughter’s first middle school dance.” Or “Don’t mention that your kindergartner is better at making friends than you are.”

Sure, I’ve met some other adults with children. But I don’t want to talk to them because they’ll just talk about their kids. The whole point is to not talk about kids!

Do you know what’s more comfortable to me than talking to adults about adult things? Talking to my kids about the weird things that happen to them at school.

“Wait, Evan and Jessica are going to the dance together? What does that even mean in 6th grade?”

“Jason called you a baby on the playground?! What did you do? What did you say? Did you walk away? Did you call him a baby? Was this because you didn’t want to go on the swing with him? Because you tell him it’s your choice if do or do not want to go on a swing. Nobody should be forced to go on a swing. It’s your body and your personal decision, and, frankly, Jason is a big baby if he doesn’t want to respect other people’s choices.”

And then I’ll complain to them about the adults that bother me throughout the day:

Me, explaining to my 7-year-old daughter: “Did I tell you about this guy who asked me if I had a parking pass? Like, No. 1, mind your own business, guy! I don’t see a parking security badge on your shirt. No. 2, I do have a parking pass. I paid for one just like everybody else, and I’m fully entitled to park wherever I want in this lot. And third, that’s a charging station spot, where I’m charging my car, and I don’t actually need a parking pass to use that spot, even though I have a pass to park in the lot anyway. Like, get out my face, nerd!”

Eventually, I’ll be more comfortable talking with adults… maybe when my children grow up. Even then, if they have kids of their own, I might stop talking to them outright and become a person who only knows how to talk to or about his grandchildren. Seems fine.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student and parent to four kids, ages 5-11. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.