The Man of the House

One of my earliest memories of my childhood - and I mean early, my sister was not even born yet - was one where my Dad was packing for a business trip.  He kneeled down to me, looked me in the eye, and told me that he would be gone a couple of days.  As such, it was my job to be "the man of the house" until he got home.

I remember when he said it how it struck me.  What a daunting yet important responsibility for me.  Even at the age of 4 or 5, I desperately wanted to be up for the task, and to be counted upon to take care of things for the family.

Now I know Dad had no intention of putting a little kid in charge of things.  His only intention was to put something into my head which might make me behave for a couple of hours and provide my Mom with some much needed relief.  But that fleeting little conversation has stuck with me for over 40 years now.  I still think about it more than I'd like to admit.

Perhaps that's the reason that for my entire life, everything I've ever truly cared about I ended up leading.  Perhaps that's the kernel that eats at me to do a little more or work a little harder.  Perhaps that's the thing that has yoked me to always being "responsible." 

Maybe, ever since my Dad tasked me with it, I'm just always trying to be "the man of the house."