Major Havoc woke up this morning complaining that Captain Chaos went into his room last night and stole his Buzz Lightyear action figure. 

“It was Shadow Captain,” he told me. 

“Shadow Link” and “Shadow Mario” are evil twins of the main characters “Link” and “Mario” in the Zelda and Mario video games that we have.  Link must fight and defeat his shadow self, and Mario must fight and defeat his shadow self, in order to advance through their respective games.  Apparently, my daughter has a shadow self, and said shadow enjoys playing with her older brother’s toys without first asking for permission. 

“Yeah,” he continued, a serious expression on his face.  “This house is getting pretty scary!” 

The Captain’s evil shadow escaping to play with Disney toys was not the scariest part of this week.  Scary was the Captain launching herself across the room at the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center in Hutchinson, Kansas, because I would not allow her to play on a staircase.   General Mayhem was participating in the closing ceremonies for his Mars Academy weekend, and the Boss was watching.  I took the Major and the Captain down stairs into the museum to look around.  The museum is an extremely well produced look at the history of rocketry and space exploration, at least the part of it that I briefly saw before Captain Chaos dove head-first into the corner of a display holding a full-size mock-up of Chuck Yeager’s “Glamorous Glennis,” the Bell X-1 aircraft that he flew when he became the first man to break the sound barrier. She hit the display hard enough to give herself a bloody nose and split the skin over her right nostril.  If she had hit the display any harder she would have broken her nose and the cut would have required stitches.  Instead, she produced just enough blood, snot, and tears to make it look like she was in a bar room brawl.   She followed her first instincts when I picked her off the floor, that being to wipe her face on my shoulder.  As the blood and snot continued to flow she wiped it off of her face, curiously considering the red map that she was playing with, before wiping it all over both her shirt and mine.  I returned up stairs to find the Boss. 

“Is that blood?” she asked.  

“I need your help.”

“She looks like she was in a bar fight.”

We were in our last set of clean clothes, so father and daughter spent the rest of the day caked with dried blood while the girl complained that she “hurka my nose.” 

Yep, your nose will hurk when you dive into a museum display. 

The rest of our clothes smelled like camp fire.  This was because the four of us camped at Cheney Lake State Park while the General enjoyed the luxurious accommodations at space camp.  Camping is not, as is well known here at Arby’s Archives, my first choice of things to do.  This weekend was no different, as we camped through near-continuous 35 mph straight line winds that made maintaining a campfire rather difficult.  The tent rocked and danced all night long due to the wind.  The kids slept well.  The Boss and I lay awake, wondering whether or not we were going to visit OZ. 

The most interesting moment of this week came when the Boss woke me up this morning and handed me a telephone.  The producer of the 710 AM Chris Stigall Radio Show called to tell me that I won the Father’s Day contest.  They put me on the air with Chris Stigall before I had my first cup of coffee.  I was coherent.  I think.  

The contest was the “The Who's Your Daddy Father's Day Giveaway.”  It required contestants to “Tell us why you or the dad in your life deserves two rounds of golf at Deer Creek, fine cigars from Cigar and Tabac, "The Executive" gift pack of quality meats from Rancher's Gourmet, a $200 Steak Gift Set from Ranchers Gourmet at 135th & Metcalf or ranchersgourmet.com and a Cobb Grill. To register click HERE.”  (http://www.710kcmo.com/)

I won with an entry that is typical of what you read here regularly.  In fact, most of it you have read before.   It was fun to write, fun to have read on the air (they were laughing as they read it) and has the added benefit of a prize that contains BEEF.  The Boss told me when we were dating, “If you buy me beef I will follow you anywhere.”   I’m hoping that my favorite golf partner will be able to join me for a round before she deploys. 

I wrote:

A long, long time ago, I had a golf game.  I had a career, too.  That was before I had children.  I gave it all up to become the man I am today, a 43-year-old full time, stay-at-home, home schooling father of three children: General Mayhem, Major Havoc, and Captain Chaos.  It occurred to me recently that at age 43 General George Washington took control of the Continental Army.  At age 43, John F. Kennedy told this nation to “ask not what the country could do for you.”  At age 43 you’re likely to find me carrying my daughter’s princess wand in public after two ounces of molded plastic becomes too heavy for her to carry.  It’s quite the sight to see, all 6’2”/240 pounds of me running through the mall, princes wand in hand, chasing after the kids.  Women smile politely.  Men avert their eyes.   I know that my man card can be revoked for this. 

It’s not uncommon for my children to follow me through the house, one room behind, un-cleaning.  In between teaching lessons to my fifth grader, I perform all of the household duties, only to discover that previously organized rooms have been unpacked by the Major and the Captain.  One of Captain Chaos’ favorite pastimes is to add as many toys as she can to our aquarium.  Her record is 12 colored pencils, five wooden stringing beads, 2 View Master Discs and a Pez Dispenser.  I frequently find the goldfish cowering in the corner of the tank.  Life with the Captain has been an unending string of doctor’s appointments, therapist visits, and medicinal schedules.  When she was four months old she suffered a heart attack and a stroke due an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.  We’ve worked hard to bring her through her recovery, but I still have to remind myself that when she acts like a normal four year old and draws on my freshly painted living room walls with a purple crayon, I should be grateful.  I prayed for this.  I scrub the walls and chalk it up to successful therapy. 

In July my wife deploys to Iraq for a five month tour as a civilian Operations Research Analyst for the US Army.  I get to do this dad –thing without the break of having my spouse return home in the evening.  On a tough day she arrives at home to find me talking to myself in the corner of the kitchen.  “Having a parent-teacher conference?” she asks.  Her biggest fear is that I will finish each day that she is gone by diving into a 40 ounce bottle of Old English 800, which you can still find at the local distillery for a buck forty, complete with the mandatory brown paper bag.  It’s tempting. 

Do I deserve to win two rounds of golf and the other assorted prizes in this contest?  I don’t know.   I haven’t golfed in so long I might be dangerous on the golf course.  I’ll be the one yelling “Watch you ankles!” instead of “Four!” when I tee-off, for all of the worm burners I’m certain to hit.   There may be fathers who do more for their children, who lead more interesting lives, who have more to offer their children.  I do know that my days are both chaotic and fulfilling, and I wouldn’t have them any other way.