THE GUY

THE GUY'S WEEK

There are few things in the world more satisfying than watching a football game with your son. Just two guys, hanging out, being guys, using their forearms as napkins and the couch as a giant coaster.

Of course, as is the case when you have a young son, naptime will often disrupt the testosterone-induced nirvana. Fortunately, my son was tired, too, so he was willing to go to his room for a while.

Yes, my son and I had lots of time together this past week, as my wife and daughter skipped town for a week for better offers. My wife went to a wedding in Alabama on New Year's, while my 4-year-old daughter went to shoot a reality show called "Pre-K House." Or she went to stay with her grandparents in Florida. I can't really remember.

So Parker and I were bachelors for the week. Just guys. Eating pizza from the box for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bedtime stories? Sports Illustrated. Morning TV? Nothing but Sportscenter. Pants? So very optional.

Now, before you get concerned (and by "you" I mean "my wife"), rest assured that he wasn't trapped in some primal existence. For one thing, he was at my parents' house when I was at work. And I go to great efforts to make sure that my son is taken care of and that he gets everything he needs. For example, after pizza, I would often give him fruit snacks, which contain the word "fruit," meaning they are good for you.

And while Parker surely enjoyed his daddy-bonding time, it is safe to say that he missed his sister and mother. Most mornings, when we would head into the room to get dressed, he would poke his head in his sister's room, shrug his shoulders and say, "Ah-yee?" which is how a 21-month old says "Allie."

I would respond, "No, Allie is at Gran's house," hoping he would not get upset at this. Generally, he would squeal with glee, sprint into her room and proceed to play with everything in her room. It was pretty much an open pass to play with things that normally resulted in a sister-imposed pink belly.

But there were times when he missed her, as well as his mother. One morning, he woke up calling, "Mommy!" from his crib. When I went into the room, he stomped his foot and shook his head, and emphatically said, "Mommy. Mommy."

I explained to him that Mommy was not here, and that he would have to deal with me. "Come on, Parker, and I'll make you a special breakfast," I said. I am pretty sure he knew it was pizza, but he was cool with it.

On New Year's Eve, Parker and I decided to settle in for some afternoon football, watching the Music City Bowl between Alabama and Minnesota. I don't recall the outcome. And I would prefer you not recall it for me.

Saturday, Parker and I decided to have a guy's day out on the town, since it is generally considered bad form to have a guy's night with someone with a 7 p.m. bedtime. Parker and I went to "brr wack wacks," which anyone knows means give bread to the ducks. Parker had a big time strolling around the duck pond, screaming "WACK WACK!!!!" at the ducks and then hurling an entire slice of bread into the water.

At one point in our stroll, we turned a corner of a path and found ourselves standing very close to a red-tailed hawk that was sitting there enjoying its lunch. Now, I don't know when the last time you were a couple of feet away from a big squirrel-mauling bird, but when those suckers spread out their wings, they appear WAY bigger than a small child. Of all of the things I don't want to explain to my wife, near the top of the list is "He was taken by a hawk." Yes, I know that a hawk is not going to take a child off. But there are some things that you don't want to roll the dice with, so we backed away slowly, Parker peering around my leg and screaming "WACK WACK!!!" An ornithologist he isn't.

When my wife and daughter returned on Sunday, we were happy to be a reunited family once again, and my wife was pleased to hear that I had not let our son get eaten by a bird. And while we enjoyed our time together, we both prefer to have a full household. For one thing, pizza gets old after five days.