Dad Magic

I am a firm believer in Dad Magic. Until you realize your dad is fallible around the age of 14, he should be the source of coins behind the ears, Webber grill explosions, dead on impersonations of German sports car clients and juggling kittens.

Last Sunday, I had a full on Dad Magic moment.

Steve and Pam and Rory had to attend Christening classes, so rather than force Finn to sit in a quiet church, which is only fun for a few hours, they dropped him off at our house armed with a back pack full of Star Wars toys.

Diana was busily cleaning our house, so I took Finn and Elijah down to my Man Room in the basement. If you haven’t visited my Man Room, consider yourself free of mold, spores and fungus. I turned on Pixar’s “Cars” really loud hoping it would distract the two of them since I am woefully unequipped to handle two children under the age of 4.

Before the opening credits started, both Eli and Finn were bored out of their minds and were on the verge of mischief. I say “on the verge” because I have never witnessed Finn do so much as forget to say “please.” Eli, on the other hand is well versed in the mischief arts.

In a desperate attempt to occupy the two boys, I grabbed my guitar off the wall, which has served as decoration since Eli’s birth. I painfully fingered a C chord and strummed the horribly out of tune Guild.

It was as if I discovered fire. Both boys were stunned. I played them possibly the worst rendition of Jeff Tweedy’s “Pecan Pie” in the world, followed by a hideous version of Wilco’s “I’m the Man Who Loves You.” Dogs in Wisconsin were howling in terror.

But the boys looked at me as if I was Jimi Hendrix mixed with Jimmy Page mixed with Allen Collins (I am free as a bird now…).

It was only when my hand cramped at the start of song number 3 that I realized I had not long to go before I was found out as the guitar fraud I am. But for a moment I almost heard Finn request “Stairway to Heaven.”