“I don’t think people really understand what it’s like to go through life without calves.”

There is white plastic bag on the dining room table and from it I am retrieving four small cardboard boxes filled with takeout Chinese food. Each box has a tabbed closure on its top with the words Thank You printed in a pseudo-Asian font designed to make the eater believe his Moo Shoo is fresh from Beijing rather than the little hole up on First Street, across the strip mall parking lot from the cigar shop and DK’s Donuts. I open the box closest to me and am almost immediately engulfed by a puff of steam that smells at once disgusting and spectacular. Turns out its Mongolian Beef, but I liken the aroma to that of a really nasty fart ripped by really gorgeous woman.

“What are you talking about,” Hot Wife says, ripping a pair of wooden chopsticks from a cellophane package. “You have calves. I love your calves. Which one’s the Dynasty Chicken?”

“Honey, these aren’t calves,” I say, turning my back to her and standing on my tiptoes. “There’s barely anything there. It looks like someone attached a ‘light days’ panty-liner to my shinbone. That’s not what a real calf looks like. The guys I see look like they’ve sewn horse hooves to the backs their shins.”

“Those are professional athletes, Danny. It’s their job to have big calves.”

“No,” I say defiantly. “I’m talking about the people I see at the gym.”

Hot Wife snickers at me. “Danny. Be real. When was the last time you actually saw the inside of a gym?”

One of the things about my wife that really pisses me off is that she never lets me get away with anything. She’s right this time, too. I haven’t been to a gym in months – and the last time I was there was to cancel my membership. Given that I was paying twenty bucks per month and almost never going to the gym, it was the proper move financially.

Hot Wife is vigilant about her own physical health. She holds a degree in nutrition, regularly outworks the instructors in her step aerobics classes, and eats a diet so green and leafy that she may as well be a rabbit. In fact, the Chinese buffet spread out before us was an indulgence the likes if which we see about as often as Haley’s Comet. Conversely, my body is my sewer. I attribute my skinniness entirely to my genetic fingerprint because were I not predisposed to my slight build, my food choices would have long since put me among the growing population of overweight and obese Americans. I am the nutritional equivalent of a 10-year-old boy. I like meals that come with little packets of ketchup, a wrapper that makes the main course look like a present, and the option to upsize my medium-sized Diet Coke to a cup the size of an Iowan grain silo. My notion of what is and is not palatable is so skewed that I think the meal before us looks borderline vegetarian, what with the cut-up pieces of green onion in the chicken fried rice and the big chunks of celery in the Moo Goo Gai Pan and, wait!, is that a rogue shaving of cooked carrot in my egg drop soup?!

The thing is, this isn’t funny to Hot Wife. We’ve been married 13 years and she has tried valiantly over that time to help me (if not force me) to see the potential (if not probable) ramifications of my reckless lifestyle.

“It’s not just about you, Danny,” she told me one day when I came home with a Western Bacon Cheeseburger and an order of fried zucchini so greasy that the brown paper bag it came in was discolored and beginning to disintegrate. “I don’t want our kids to grow up without a father. And I don’t want to lose my husband. But it doesn’t matter how badly I want it because I can’t make you change. It has to come from you.”

It has not yet come from me. Oh, I’ve tried. Almost every time Hot Wife has confronted me with her concerns, I have pledged to work harder. I have promised to start eating better, to give up my $6-per-day Starbucks habit, to work out, to let her help me. And every time I have made such pledges I believed it what I was saying; it has never been about a lack of desire. But here is a humiliating admission: I’m horrible at keeping promises. I have failed. It’s so much easier to be lazy when I look in the mirror and see a skinny dude. How bad can it be if I still weigh 160 pounds? How desperate is the situation when I can take off my shirt and still see my ribcage?

I look across the table and see Hot Wife meticulously picking small bits of chicken out her fried rice, inspecting them, and casting aside the pieces she deems too fatty, too fibrous, or too closely resembling parts of a hen from Chernobyl Farms. She catches me watching her and knows I think she looks ridiculous, but she continues her examination unfazed. I return my attention to my own plate where I have been chasing the same evasive piece of beef around in circles with my chopsticks for at least sixty seconds.

“Come here, fucker,” I say.

“Danny!” Hot Wife says, motioning with her head to our living room where our children are singularly focused on Spongebob Squarepants after a scrumptious dinner of Costco chicken taquitos and edamame. “Watch your mouth!”

This is a dance we do. I say or do something immature or inappropriate, she corrects or chastises me, and I throw her my most playful smile. For the longest time the intended message behind that smile was, “It feels good to be bad. You should try it sometime, hard-ass.” But in recent years my position has morphed, my posture toward her reprimands taking a turn toward self-defense, as if to say, “This is who I am, honey.”

But something is different this time. The look in Hot Wife’s eyes registers not as condescending or controlling, but as disappointment. And as I finally drop one of my chopsticks and spear that elusive morsel with the tip of the other stick, I ask myself subconsciously, “Is that really who I am? Am I really the kind of person who wants to defend cursing in front of his children rather than model decency for them?”

It hits me at that very moment that I’m six months away from my fortieth birthday. I’ve known it was coming and I frankly haven’t cared. I’ve regarded age with great disdain because I’ve never felt my age – and perhaps that is because I have never acted my age. But as that day draws nigh I have begun to examine myself and reconcile it against that number: forty. Something doesn’t jive. There is a deficiency or a disconnect somewhere that can no longer be avoided or ignored in hopes that it will go away by itself, like squealing breaks or a developing zit.

When I was a kid, forty-year-old people were officially old. My parents and their friends were by no means young adults anymore. They were strict and principled and grown up, and I took some measure of comfort in that. Let’s face it: kids need structure. And I had it. There were rules that never changed. There was consistency, which I found terminally inconvenient at the time, but I see now how imperative it was to my development. Now I am the parent and I wonder if my kids are getting that structure and consistency from me. As disappointing and humiliating as it is to admit, when I look at my own behavior as a father I see someone who would rather be a friend and peer to my kids than the adult figure they need me to be. I like to break the rules with them, and I often turn a blind eye when they choose to do so independently. Their mother has endeavored to establish a healthy diet for them, but I’m the one who takes them to McDonald’s when she’s not home. Hot Wife is the adult and I am the saboteur. And beyond filling that role as a parent, I do it to myself, too. I undermine my own health, my own ability to be there for my family, by failing to keep myself fit and well. I need to change, not just for their sake, but also for my own. It is time for me to grow up in body and mind.

“I think I’m going to get myself into shape,” I say.

Hot Wife rolls her eyes. She’s heard that line many times before.

I’m not a superstitious person but I have a regimented routine when it comes to eating fortune cookies: I hold the cookie with both hands, break it apart in the middle, and eat only the half that holds the little fortune inside. In this case it’s the half in my left hand, which I strip of its paper passenger and pop into my mouth. As I chew, I open the small rectangular and look at my fortune. When my kids are around it’s my habit to invent phony messages and pretend that’s what it says on the paper. Something like, “Help! I’m trapped in a fortune cookie factory. Please send help.” But tonight, since the kids are in the other room, I read the real fortune.

It says, “You will take a chance in the near future, and win.”

Comments

You can be both, Danny! Be the responsible disciplinarian with your kids, but never ever lose the kid inside you. You have the amazing opportunity to teach your kids that they can grow to be smart, confident grownups and still play, learn, be curious about the world, and have fun. Be a kid with grownup boundaries! I've always had a grownup personality - even when I was 5 - and have regretted never learning how to goof and be a clown and enjoy myself without always keeping my mind on propriety. You can be both - and a wonderfully balanced father and husband.

Well, she's right. It is all about your committment. But she's a really good role model. And hopefully she won't be too smug when you ask her for guidance.

And I hope you find your calves.

Good luck. Changing yourself is the hardest thing to do.

Calves are overrated.

Isn't this the struggle of most married men with kids? Having kids is almost like the escape clause we create to further delay our own growing up. It's at least easier to join them (if you can't beat them).

I think good parents are probably a fine balance of "hard ass" and "best friend." Your wife needs you to bring balance to the force.

Oh, and other dads are enablers. So don't listen to our advice.

Finally finished Rage.

I found myself identifying with alot of it.

I plan to pass it on to some friends.

Thanks.

Wow. You read the actual fortune and didn't even add "in bed" to the end of it? You really are maturing!

Dude. You're spending $180 a month on coffee and eliminating $20 a month on the gym is a good decision? Get down and give me 50 soldier! Hot Wife should drag you by the calves to her step classes and knock you around a bit. JUST DO IT! You're gonna want to be in shape when they ask you to be on Blogger Dancing with The Stars...

Danny, Danny, Danny. Jibe, not jive. Sheesh. And good luck. I'd like to see you stick around too.

Yeah! Glad to know I'm not the only one counting gray hairs and random zits a few months before the big "Four-Oh". Danny, 40 only comes around once. I think we should celebrate with a big double-bacon-cheese-burger, waddya say?

I couldn't even tell you where the nearest gym is in our town. The last time I went in one the newest equipment was the medicine ball. I need to at least eat better though for the same reasons as you mention. The family might want to keep me around.

Western Bacon Cheeseburger and fried zucchini...OMG...that sounds so good right now! Is that wrong of me? :(

Just please, for the love of all that is still good in this world, please do not get calf implants...please!

Being naturally thin can be a blessing and a curse - the minute you hit 45 every bit of grease and sugar (and beer? no, not the beer...) hit the belly and it's downhill from there. And then try to explain to your kids why you're buying your first pair of athletic shoes. Because I'm not doing anything that doesn't require new shoes.

My husband is the 'fun' one, too. He tells me that parenting is easier when I'm not here (and so he encourages me to go on weekend trips)- but it's because he doesn't hold any rules. Eating out, getting the kids to bed at 10 (maybe)...so when I come back, I have to whip them back into shape. They're driving him crazy and he can't figure out why they aren't listening.

From a woman who has a similar relationship to her husband, let me tell you: while I fully recognize my husband as a man, there are times where I have the strong feeling that I"m supposed to play the mother role with him. This is infuriating. And kinda gross, really. I love his playful side, I really do. I just wish he could balance it with his responsible adult side. It shouldn't be my job to tell him he shouldn't stay up until 1 or 2am playing games; it shouldn't be my job to teach him how to eat well and treat his body with respect. But it falls into my lap. And that pisses me off.

Here's the secret to "commitment": Don't undertake any exercise program unless you can watch cable t.v. while working out. Treadmill. Stationary bike. Anything else is doomed to failure.

I've got the same curse/blessing. I eat JUNK all the time and never have any price to pay. I get wellness testing every year at work and all my numbers say I'm insanely healthy. Blood pressure, cholesterol, BMI, etc etc etc. So for me... I'm going to embrace my workhorse of a digestive system when I can. I have started eating better, mostly because my wife is an insanely great cook. Exercise though? Forget it.

Lot's of talk about food and getting healthy right now. Could this be the topic for the highly anticipated second book? The tale of the average American cheeseburger-eating Jew who goes vegetarian and learns to love the gym. You can call it "How I Ditched the Cow and Found My Calves."

(You're welcome. I just expect to be named on the dedication page.)

May I recommend Dean Karnazes' book "Ultra Marathon Man"? It will change the way you think about your own commitment to physical fitness.

You could always try "peerenting" like what's his butt from Modern Family does. Kidding.

I have been having similar pushes to change as well. I'm noticing that my two year old is picking up my bad habits. I've got a few bad habits that I never want my children to pick up (working too much), and if I don't set the example now, it's going to be a hard battle.

Change is good... it's hard... but it's good. It's good for us and our kids...

Skinny does not equal healthy -- I worry about what the insides of your arteries look like! Make small changes my friend. It will positively affect your mental health as well. Trust me on this one.

i'm going to forward this to my husband. it must be a common thing in a marriage...girl gets on boy about food he eats, girl wants boy to be around for as long as possible. boy does not see ramifications of what he puts in his mouth or how he exercises his body. maybe he will get a good fortune cookie today too. thanks for the post!

Well, life starts at 40. Better start working out and eating a lot- if you want to get that WWE wrestler look. Kudos! Work hard, work fast man.

I am right there with ya- in the "6 months to the big 4-0" part. I am certainly not skinny, "my genetic fingerprint predisposed" me to be "among the growing population of overweight and obese Americans." And it has definitely become time to take stock.
And for your post "eat it",I have been reading "Animal Vegetable Miracle"- you might want to check it out. it doesn't make you want to become a vegetarian. ;) http://www.amazon.com/Animal-Vegetable-Miracle-Year-Food/dp/0060852569/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1258571365&sr=1-1

Two things come to mind after reading your post...

1. Mid life crisis - time to re-evaluate life

2. Weight has nothing to do with heart disease and clogged arteries. My 42 yr. old husband didn't know he had heart disease and type II diabetes until he had a heart attack one day, out of the blue. Nine stents later to open up his arteries and a life time of medications in his future, we both got a big ole' eye opener and made the appropriate diet and lifestyle changes. Difficult, yes, but necessary and in the end good for the whole family, our two young boys included. Don't wait for something bad to happen to make the diet and lifestyle change. Just a suggestion.

Danny-- me too....skinny and loving the carbs and Cola. I imagined I could eat like an American forever. Diabetes type 2 = meds forever. Don't do it! Your body is smarter than you know.

Who wants a cardboard cut-out for a Dad? Don't change - fear it.

Good luck to that. Well, as they say, life begins at 40. Maybe you would consider hitting to the gym as your life? Change is hard but it's about time you put some hard to your life.

Geez.. I'm in the same boat. I'm five months away from the big FOUR... OH! I wandered onto the Facebook the other day to see if I could figure out why these young whipper snappers love it so darn much. I've got to say.. some of the pics of old high school and junior high friends I came across shocked me. I shouted to my bride.. "Holy crap.. is THAT how old I look?"

She knew I was being facetious, AND... I think I've held up pretty well over the years. However, my BMI is too high and I've got genetic cholesterol issues with a family history of heart problems that can't be ignored forever. Basically, my blood isn't getting cleaned properly because my HDL is almost non existent. Long story short.. there's no way I can continue to ignore this for much longer. If I became a vegetarian tomorrow and gave up beer and mojito's, my problem would go away. But heck.. I know myself too well and THAT'S never gonna happen.

So in closing.. I feel ya dawg. I think I'm about to turn a corner, and I can only hope I stick with my resolution to take better care of myself for my own sake, and for my loved ones.
Good luck buddy.

Boy, can I identify with Hot Wife in this missive. Yep. That's me. I'm the "adult," which often makes me the family police officer and/or bad guy. Take your pick. This will come as a shock--it's not fun always insisting on the straight and narrow path. It gets tiresome. But you do it. Because it's not about you, it's about showing the kids the right thing to do. It's a lot easier to have someone backing you up in that role.

Holy shit, is this what my husband is thinking when he's cussing and playing video games and letting the kids watch too much TV while eating doritos and washing it all down with diet coke?

And here I thought he was just deliberately trying to drive me insane. :)

All seriousness, this is one of your best posts in a long time, I think. Powerful stuff. I wish you luck in your attempts to change.