“My Father Is A Good Man…But He Is Unfit To Lead,” by a 7-Year-Old

My father is a good man. 

 

His domestic policy work has been outstanding: against all odds, he was able to negotiate an extra half-hour of TV time on school nights, against fierce opposition from my mother. Not to mention Taco Tuesday. 

 

His work outside the home has also won praise. He took me to a water park once with a HUGE slide called “The Cobra.” The sign said, “Must be 8 Or Older” (I am only 7), but my dad said to the Slide Guy, “Yup, he’s 8,” then he winked at me. I winked back at him. The ride was EPIC!

 

But that was 2023…and this is now. 

 

At a restaurant last week, we all held our breath as my dad debated what to eat for like, ninety minutes. When the waiter came back for the fifth time, my dad asked him, in a voice that was hoarse and thin, “Do you have chili here?” (*We were at The Chili Shack.) 

 

I am not questioning my father’s character. Or heart. Or willingness to let me do dangerous stuff that we lie about to my mom. I am questioning his fitness to lead. 

 

My father has failed to change with the times. Recently he vetoed a string of exciting new ideas—ideas whose time has come, like later bedtimes, milkshakes for dinner, and ninja stars.

 

It is time, however uncomfortable it may be, to take stock. 

 

My father is increasingly disoriented.

 

One morning at breakfast, my sister and I heard a scream. My dad ran out of the bathroom, spitting and wiping his tongue with a towel. 

 

“I just brushed my teeth with my back-acne medication!” (I guess the tubes look the same?) “Uck, it tastes like battery acid!” (How he knows what battery acid tastes is also concerning.) 

 

“Well, go brush your teeth for real, to get the taste out,” said my mom, her eyes full of pity.

 

My dad ran back into the bathroom. Five seconds later, he screamed and ran back out. 

 

“I DID IT AGAIN!” 

My dad tripped on his own bathrobe, pulling it off, then fell, naked, to the floor. He asked my mom for help up (I guess he hurt his knee real bad), but by now she was lost in thought, staring at a fitness magazine with the guy who plays Thor on the cover, shirtless. 

 

Even my mother has her doubts.

 

That same day, while my dad was at the knee doctor, I sat my mother down for a hard talk.

 

“Mom…do you think dad still has what it takes to lead this family?”

 

She burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

 

Between snorts, she said, “What makes you think…your father…is ‘leader’…of this family?”

 

“Well…when Dad’s driving and gets us lost, and you tell him to stop and ask for directions but he refuses, you always say: ‘You’re the boss!’ or, ‘I guess you’re the genius around here!”

 

And that is how I learned what “sarcasm” is.

 

My father cannot win the fight against time.

 

Look, we all love my dad. But this is not the my dad of 3 years ago, who chased that family of mice out of our grill, saving the 4th of July barbecue. This is not the my dad of 2 years ago, who successfully Heimliched our dog after she ate my sister’s 3-D Magna-Tiles. 

 

This is the my dad of 2024. 

 

He is 42 or 43 now (I forget) and, like anyone of that age, he can only really function for a few hours a day. Waving off concerns, my dad cites “work stress,” or “too many passwords to remember,” or, confusingly, “allergies.” But what he’s really allergic to…is The Truth. 

 

Is it fair to point these things out? It has to be. This is about age, and also competency, and also farting, which he does a lot, and in public. (*We were asked not to return to The Chili Shack.)

 

We would be doing ourselves a disservice not to consider other candidates. Yes, my mother is the obvious choice, but her polling among me and my sister is mixed—some like that she’s tough on crime, others find it aggressive (depending on who got in trouble). Plus, my mom’s also super old (39). What this family needs is somebody young. Somebody with fresh ideas. Somebody who knows how to brush their teeth properly. So, I would like to formally announce:

 

I am running to be the new leader of this family. 

 

And I promise, after my father teaches us one last valuable lesson— selflessness—by stepping down for the greater good, he will hold a place of honor in my new regime. And one day in the future, when we go back to ride “The Cobra” for old time’s sake, and the sign says, “Must Be 65 Or Younger,” I’ll tell the Slide Guy he’s 64 (even if he’s 66), and then I’ll wink at him… 

 

…and the old man will wink right back at me.  

 

And I’ll be the one cheering the very loudest, if he makes it to the bottom alive.