I, Professor Pumpernickel, Chief Socialsciencology Researcher at the American University of America, Guam, have spent the past year alongside my faithful unpaid grad assistants scouring these United States for a codex of sorts—a Rosetta Stone that might decode for us the most cryptic of scripts, the most undercutting of utterances: those curiously curt words barked at us by our fathers.
Unfortunately, the last known copy of that 1902 classic, The Man’s Guide to Manning, appears to have burned up in a Springfield, MO, garage in the late 90s after a tragic turkey deep fryer accident.
But during our investigation, my students and I discovered that as we interrogated America’s fathers with our crude approximation of their base language, we began to glean a sliver of meaning from their guttural howls. Like any Professor desperate to achieve that sweet, sweet tenure, I immediately reframed failure as success and pivoted to this new line of enquiry. I posed as a new homeowner looking for lawn care advice, while my students acted the part of young people dipping their toes into the waters of Libertarianism. Words truly fail to capture the outpouring of interest we received from the fathers of America. We fed transcripts of these conversations into my trusty AI helper, HAAL, and are prepared to share initial discoveries. Peruse below three basic questions asked during our field interviews, each with three responses decoded by HAAL:
1. How are you Dad?
Response One: Fine
Translation: Life is pain, have I told you that? Forty-Seven years I worked keeping America’s lights on. My spine is a seized chain. Now the guy I voted for because he said he wouldn’t let the Mexicans take from me the job I’d already retired from just cut my Medicare. So yeah, I’m FINE.
Response Two: Good
Translation: I’m just generally good. Good in the most generic way possible. No, Sport, there’s absolutely nothing that comes to mind that I’d care to elaborate on—unless!—shoot, lost the thought…
Response Three: Doing great
Translation: OH MY GOD! Your mother finished the Change three weeks ago and is coming at me like an alley cat in heat! I finally understand why they call it the beast with two backs. I’m raw-dawgin’ nightly and she’s begging for seconds. Drop by for unannounced visits at your own peril!
2. What did you think of that [insert organized sportsball team] game last night?
Response One: They looked like shit.
Translation: What are those egghead owners thinking? They gotta can that hall-of-fame coach already. Me and Pete Holdson were talking—you remember Pete, he and I coached your middle school team together—well, Pete and I figure we could turn the team around in a month. Wanna to know the secret? Fundamentals. After all, we took you kids to the seventh-grade all-county intramural quarterfinals purely on what? Fundamentals, that’s goddamn right!
Response Two: It was a nice match.
Translation: Honestly, I’ve never much cared for the sportsball, but the proto-masculine chains of this society lash me to that Lazy Boy recliner every Sunday afternoon so I can bandy about with my boss come Monday and retain my favorable position in middle management. What gets me through those long hours is the alliterative verse epic poem I’ve been composing in my head. It’s about this dude in the far future who helps this king defeat a monster that has been terrorizing the cosmic kingdom. Then the monster’s mommy comes and dude kicks her butt too. No, Smart Aleck, it’s not just Beowulf in space. The dude has a laser sword and can move stuff with his mind—totally different thing.
Response Three: What a game!
Translation: Jesusss—did you see when that guy got hit so hard that his helmet popped off and they had to cart him off the field? I heard he fractured two vertebrae—two whole vertebrae! That modern gladiatorial contest gets your old man fired up like a shot of testosterone straight to the balls. Then your mother gave me a smutty look over all the coffee table appetizers and I popped up with a little helmet of my own hehe!
3. Where are you taking Mom for your anniversary?
Response One: Shit, has it been a year already?
Translation: Has it been a year already? Shit.
Response Two: Two words: Outback Steakhouse
Translation: I know it’s boring but your Mother genuinely loves those Bloomin’ Onions. We’ll probably spit an app, entree, and dessert then go home and watch a b-list slasher flick like we did on our first date. No, Bucko, it ain’t sexy but it is love.
Response Three: Two Words: Vegas Baby!
Translation: Your Mom got us tickets to a swingers’ convention! She wants to become a Hotwife—that’s a wife that gets plowed by other men. If I watch the act (100% going to) that’s called cucking. Who says you can’t teach an old dawg new tricks?! [panting noises] I’m learning so much this year! If I keep up all this cardio, I’ve probably got at least thirty or forty more, so don’t go banking on a major inheritance. Remember, I warned you about that liberal arts degree!
Needless to say, our translation work is an exciting and evolving new science. After selling the grad students’ plasma for several months, we have secured funding to return to the field. I plan to pose as a civilian with strong opinions on obscure military history, while the students become young woodworkers desperate to learn the joys of crafting with their hands. I believe with this additional data we will finally crack the tough and bitter nut that is Father wide open.
But for now, I hope this initial sample will help the children of America take a first step towards bridging the chasm erected by their fathers, and maybe too, help them come to see their parents as fully formed, sexual beings that boned those selfsame children into existence.
—P.P.
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Colin Ware is a writer and carpenter hailing from Morgantown, WV, who has returned to school after more than a decade away. Colin can be reached at colinwarewrites@gmail.com.