Second Place

I am a fortunate man. The other day I was sitting at a restaurant eating dinner with my family. Another father walked in with his family, a family much like mine. He was obviously proud of his wife and children, yet I couldn't help but pity the man, for I knew at that moment he was dealing with every man's worst nightmare. The man, the proud father in front of me, had to have been struggling with feelings of inadequacy. He had to have felt defeated as his eyes glanced past our table. I tried to avoid eye contact with him since I knew it would only worsen his pain.

I looked at my own two daughters and pride swelled up inside my heart. You see, I knew what only I know: the truth. My daughters alone are the cutest little girls in the world. This poor man probably had difficulty ordering his meal knowing that he was firmly planted in second place, the place of torment. For a moment, I thought I saw his hand tremble as he attempted to insert a bite of his dinner roll into his mouth, but being the strong father that he was, he quickly regained his composure.

I imagine that up to this point in his life, he had assumed that he alone held the title of first place. Perhaps he felt just as the New England Patriots must have felt as the waning seconds of Super Bowl XLII shattered their hopes of an undefeated season. As I reveled in my victory, my mind envisioned a cooler of Gatorade soaking my head. Suddenly I was startled back to the reality of the moment by a trickle of water pouring onto my lap. I looked at my perfectly beautiful one-year-old daughter and saw the spilled cup in front of her and thought, "That's my girl. Even you know we won!"

It is true that not every father can hold the title of first place, although I do understand why so many other men feel that they are deserving.They are trying to deal with their own feelings of inadequacy stemming from childhood trauma. Fortunately for me, my childhood was trauma-free, so I know that I am not simply projecting my feelings onto my daughters, but that I am indeed the actual winner of this important contest.

To further solidify my place as the victor, I glanced over at my five-year-old son. He raised his eyes from the book that had absorbed him for the last hour and smiled at me. "I'm on page 76," he said. I don't normally condone reading during dinner, however, since we had just visited the library on the way to the restaurant, I made an exception. I looked at Mr. Number 2 and then at his son. Oh, the shame he must have felt when he realized that my son alone is the smartest kid in the world. Suffering in second place for the second time in one evening was more than he could bear. He stood and walked toward the men's room. I was sure he was doing all he could to hold back the tears until he was alone in a stall. I thought about following him and offering him congratulations on a game well played, but I decided that men prefer to be alone in their agony.

A few minutes later, he returned, his face washed, revealing no hint of his turmoil. "Now that is a real man," I thought to myself. "Way to pull yourself together and do what you have to do," I felt like saying to him. With a steady hand he raised his glass to his lips and drank. What control. This man's family would never know that they had been defeated. He kept his dignity in tact and took his loss the way a real man should.

As we got up to leave, I patted him on the shoulder and said, "We're thinking about having another one. Maybe you should too."

He looked back up at me and replied, "May the best man win."