Another Typical Suburban Dad
Prior to that morning, I had been optimistic about the move. When my fiancé, Adrien, had informed me of the emergency at his legal office, I was a little distraught. Well, a lot distraught. But after some heavy apologizing and promises to amend, I tried to focus on the bright side. This was our first step towards our life together, our starter home in the town of St. Joseph. Even if Adrien could not arrive until later, I could still get some work done. And as I pulled into the lovely neighborhood with our two-bedroom apartment stacked neatly in the truck, I felt a glimmer of hope.
That glimmer however was soon washed away by the biblical floods of sweat. Turns out that graphic design nerds were not built for this manual labor. My apparently malnourished frame had me gasping for breath after the fifth round of boxes, and I began to wonder why I had not hired a moving crew to assist me. I was moments away from giving up when a knock came from the propped-open door.
At the entrance stood who appeared to be (to my exhausted mind) God himself, if I believed in such a thing. The middle-aged man filled the entire doorway, his musculature illuminated by the light from outside. His features highlighted the definition of American masculine beauty. With a friendly, rumbling chuckle, he introduced himself as my new neighbor. My hand was nearly crushed in our shake, my introduction of “Da-mi-en” coming out in three separate breaths. After explaining my hopeless situation, my tee shirt and khaki shorts drenched, he offered to lend a hand. Obviously, I did not turn the silver fox down.
Box after box slowly piled through the doorway and I quickly learned my new neighbor was quite the chatterbox. Throughout the entire procession, he took it upon himself to discuss just about everything, acquainting me with his fatherly, robust tone. I was out of breath and too focused on the task at hand to add anything, so I continued with the monotonous work and tuned into what he was saying, as he suggested. Apparently, my new neighbor had helped many people move before, asserting it was easier for people to simply prioritize one task, concentrate on the sound of his voice, and follow his instructions.
The new neighbor took it upon himself to educate me about St. Joseph, explaining the town was named after the patron saint of fathers. He asked me questions every now and then, to which I could reply with a simple shake or nod of the head, but if I gave an incorrect answer he would correct me and show me my error. When he asked if I worked out, I had responded negatively, but the new neighbor believed I was being humble. In fact, he stated my 6’2 muscular build was almost identical to his. His manner was so confident that it felt easier to agree than contradict.
We eventually began bringing in the furniture. I was surprised to find the work less cumbersome, as if my new neighbor’s conversation had reinvigorated me. Just like your passion in the Lord, he had chuckled, to which I at first shook to but gradually began to nod. My new neighbor mentioned he had recognized a fellow follower of Christ by the golden cross hanging between my pecs. He then asked if I wanted to know what else he observed, and after I made no response, he continued. My broad, hardened shoulders meant piggybacking was a regular in my household. My thick, flat feet displayed my sense of dominance and authority. And the meaty manhood swinging between my tree trunk legs credited to my raising of offspring. My new neighbor pulled down my shorts and his own to compare, our babymakers like twins.
I did not move as I heard a young man's voice from outside shout out my name, announcing he had been released early from work. My new neighbor smiled before turning to me and asking who the man was. I informed him that it was my fiancé Adrien, yet I could not summon up any amount of excitement or general emotion for his arrival. The new neighbor’s face tightened, insisting I begin unpacking boxes around the house as he spoke with the man outside. I adhered to his orders, my natural musk filling the home like an animal claiming its territory. I heard my new neighbor’s familiar fatherly tone from outside, its warm, relaxing nature affirming that my fiancé was in good company. My new neighbor was such an honorable man, explaining all of St. Joseph to Adrien and how he was going to fit in.
Every now and then I caught a glimpse of the conversation from the window. My new neighbor was able to remind the fiancé that he was an old-fashioned type. He could tell Adrien honored tradition based on the formal slacks, dress shirt, tie, and loafers he was dressed in. I would have added that the tight pomade was a sign too, but I knew better than to interrupt my new neighbor. Even as I watched the two pull down their respective briefs to regard their matching members, to which my new neighbor concluded that because of this the man was heterosexual.
Eventually, my new neighbor and the stranger entered through the front door, surveying the progress. My mind became slightly dislodged once more, my authority ebbing away as the natural alpha, my new neighbor, took control of the situation. He introduced the stranger as Adam, the legal counsel for our local church. Adam nodded in a stuporous manner, offering me a firm handshake. Before I had the opportunity to reply, my new neighbor graciously provided my name. Daniel, but Dan for short, and “Dan the Man to the youngins!” My confirmation was listless.
Standing there in the doorway, my new neighbor carried the rest of the conversation solely by himself. A murmur slipped past my lips about the moving process, when I had met my new neighbor, and that I was to be sharing the house with my fiancé, who was to arrive soon, but my new neighbor cut in sharply. He recalled that I had previously said I was to live here with my young wife and two strapping sons. It took a moment for me to register, a countering idea desperately trying to break free, but the train of thought rapidly shut down. My new neighbor seemed charmed as I dumbly agreed with him, noting that the thought of my family caused my manhood to throb.
With that, my new neighbor continued his dialogue, the sun slowly beginning its long descent outside. Adam and I never once bothered to correct my new neighbor. Adam had been dating a woman steadily for almost two years now. My two sons' names were Caleb and Joshua. Adam and I nodded in agreement with every point of data our new neighbor presented. Occasionally, we would turn to each other to offer confirmation of an odd detail, like Adam hosting a mandatory weekly Bible study at his office and car restoration being both my career and passion project. The more my new neighbor spoke on these events, the more blissful I found myself.
Our conversation finally concluded with the sound of my truck pulling into the driveway. A feminine, yet motherly tone rang out from the cab, causing my eyes and beliefs to straighten out and narrow. Two boisterously boyish voices followed, and I soon found my left hand kneading my pouch. My new neighbor pointed this out to Adam, noting how the silver band helped churn my breeder serum. To Dan, my new neighbor said, nothing else matters than being a proper head of his family and another typical suburban dad of the neighborhood. The cloud that had softened my mind suddenly lifted, and with an invigorated, prideful joy, I agreed.
