I Spoke at Dad 2.0 Summit and All I Got Was This Lousy Wrap-Up Post

It’s two days since the Dad 2.0 Summit, and my voice has returned.

So has our power.

You may recall that several pre-conference conspiracies almost prevented my attending last year’s event. This year, I experienced only one.

It came with a crash and thud at 3 a.m.

A tree across the road snapped during 60 mile-an-hour winds, taking down power lines in front of our driveway.

That shouldn’t be an issue now that we have a standby generator, but we live on a cul-de-sac. I had awesome visions of  convincing a MedeVac helicopter pilot to rescue this delirious dad blogger and get him to LaGuardia on time.

However, once I saw my path was clear, I knew what had to be done. I showered, dressed, and abandoned my wife and kids to get my tuchus the hell out of there before Earthquake-Tsunami-Snow-pocalypse struck.

You may now feel free to tear up my “Father of the Year” application.

Despite a serious lack of sleep and knotted intestines, my reading of the sacred text known as “Bra Shopping with Daddy” went very well.

So I’ve been told.

It’s all a bright white light and a stack of notes now. I do remember feeling strangely at ease once I got through the first page. As I later learned through the many kind words and Tweets of those who witnessed it, I apparently wasn’t as stiff as I thought I’d be.

And yes, that is what she said. ::rim shot::

I attribute my failure to flop to burning my nervous energy with jumping jacks behind the projection screens right before going on (much to the amusement of the woman running the AV equipment) while simultaneously chomping a block of Bazooka into smithereens.

In retrospect, maybe I should have had MedeVac on standby.

“So, any one here have kids?”

Not to say I didn’t have some seemingly prophetic moments of impending   doom.

The morning of my appearance I – for the first time in 25 years of ironing clothes – scorched the sleeve of my shirt. My Love’s blouses, all the time, but my shirts ...

Later, I noticed that in between talks on the main stage, the PA system played “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Nothing like a little pro-suicide heavy metal before a public appearance.

Video now with more cowbell!

After the third time I heard the tune, no kidding, I took it as a sign. Not to off myself to avoid metaphorically dying on stage, but as I sign that I was home.

See, Blue Oyster Cult’s guitarist, Buck Dharma, lived in my town while I was growing up in the ‘80s. His kids went to school with one of my best friend’s sisters. If I have learned anything about who am I, it is that my life is a confluence of arcane connections, obscure facts and random chance.

And I’m down with that.

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If you want more conference details and observations, visit me and the DadCentric boys on that site for our Dad 2.0 Summit wrap-up.

However, know this: the event was more than speeches and presentations and sponsor-paid shoe shines from blonde Latvian women with legs that went on until three weeks from Sunday. (BTW, the latter was as unnerving for the married soul as it was pleasurable for the leather soles.)

It was about people. Specifically, it was about fathers and those who support us and our efforts to stop being marginalized as parents while serving as role models for our children and others around us. I can honestly say I didn’t meet a bad banana in the bunch. Several nuts, yes, but no bad bananas.

I don’t want to name names for fear of leaving anyone out, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one person, Carter Gaddis of DadScribe, because as he put it I have officially made more appearances in his dad blog than his own kids.

That and I almost had the bejeezus scared out of me by being called on to be a last-minute pinch hitter for him in his reading spot two hours before my own. The organizer hadn’t noticed Carter was all of two seats to my left.

In retrospect, I could have done it on the fly. I had started working on that Bazooka a good 20 minutes beforehand.

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One more thing …

As I mentioned on the Always Home and Uncool Facebook page (click, like, tip your waitress appropriately), I did have enough voice left after my reading and yapping all day to join my fellow conference goers for karaoke.

There is a reason I’m not in this.

Sadly, it was also more than enough voice to completely demolish “My Sharona” by The Knack, one of the first band’s Li’l Diva ever saw in concert.

Not exactly the peak of The Knack’s career:
A Toyota dealership in Grapevine, Texas, in 2001

“Twelve years down the road, I’m going to get on stage
and sing the worst version of your biggest hit song. Ever.
But don’t worry, Mr. Fieger.
By then, you’ll have already been dead three years.”

A short video of my performance exists.

I’m so sorry … but here it is: http://vine.co/v/b1v5uTrqrmp

Daring greatly, my receding hairline.

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Lectern photo: Thanks to Jeff Bogle.
Ballroom photo: Thanks to Ben aka ‘SuperDadBlogger’
Karaoke video: Thanks to Amy ‘The Bitchin’ Wife’ Windsor
My singing video: Curses to Adam Keats