You know, this blogging thing used to be a whole lot easier. Back in the day, I'd just pour myself a scotch, sit on the couch, ruminate about my impending fatherhood and crank out a post in about 15 minutes. Of course, there was no pressure to write anything because the only two people on the planet even reading this blog were me and the BossLady (and back then, I'm not even sure SHE was reading it all that much.)
Originally, this site was just supposed to be a place where I could throw down some thoughts, work some shit out and find a community of like-minded men. It was going to be a place where, for posterity's sake, I could track my transition into fatherhood and chronicle the love I have for my daughter. But somewhere along the line, I started just talking about whatever was on my mind. And by opening up other sides of myself, I found an even wider community of people that I could relate to. Some were older, some younger, some with kids, and some without. And as I've said before, I've found it all to be so amazingly cool. And I'm continually surprised at how rewarding I find blogging to be. As most of you know, I love going back and forth with you, checking out your blogs, e-mailing with you and grooving on all the various perspectives we each bring to the table.
But now, I've somehow picked up a wider audience and garnered a small following. And though that was never my intent, you know what's the coolest part of having a wider readership? I get actual hate mail now. That's right, friends. Some people will actually take time out of their own day to sit down and type me a nasty note, telling me what a conceited asshole I am. Some e-mails are just plain idiotic. Several are borderline racist. Not only that, but on a good day, I'll even get some good old-fashioned personal-attack comments on the site as well (that's why, as some of you have noticed, I've been screening the comments before they get posted to the site.)
Do I understand where it comes from? Sure, I guess so. After 37 years here on the planet, I've learned that my cynical demeanor and self-deprecating humor can often rub people the wrong way. Some people dislike me because they think I'm an overconfident son-of-a-bitch. Some people think I'm yuppie scum. And some people just dislike me because I have great hair (want to touch it? I just washed it this morning. Silky, isn't it? Soft too, right?)
I know that my sarcastic sense of humor can turn people against me. But God damn it, if that's the cost of trying to change the world, one post at a time, so be it! I'll just have to learn to live with the consequences. After all, how can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat! (That's a joke, people.)
But in all seriousness, I don't take the hate mail or nasty comments too seriously. After all, they don't know the real me. They only know the persona of MetroDad. I like to think there's more to me than what I share on this blog. I'm not sure whether that's actually true...but I like to think so.
For instance, do you know that when I'm not blogging, I cry? Really, I cry a lot. And I dance. And I sleep in the fetal position. I'm so sensitive that some of my friends call me Wilma. OK, none of that's true. But I'll tell you one thing. There's a lot of pressure in keeping up a blog. Especially one that carries the responsibility of representing fathers in the blogosphere (and now that Summerland has been canceled, I'm carrying the gay demo as well.)
But really, I strain more muscles at home writing this blog than I ever did playing sports. You know why? It's called commitment, baby.
In actuality, I like to think that this site is just a place where I can meet interesting new people from all over the world (and Jersey too!) It's a place where we can hang out, shoot the shit, get into some discussions every once in awhile and have some good laughs together. As my good friend Jason put it recently, a blog is like a house. When you comment on someone else's blog, you're a guest in their house. If you're a guest, mind your manners.
So all you playa haters, anonymous commentors and unwelcome dog turds? I'm not sure what your problem is, but it tastes like chicken. If you don't like me, my blog or the people who come here, feel free to leave.
Like the flight attendants always say to me when I get too drunk on the plane ride back from Vegas, "you don't have to go home, sir, but you got to get the heck up outta here!"
Comments are now open.