So, what is a Deadbeat Dad? It’s a state of mind, of suspended adolescence, rather, the inability to recognize the importance and responsibility that fatherhood was supposed to bestow. But it’s really more than that. In today’s child-centric, Baby Mozart universe, where our whole lives have been oriented around the supreme happiness of our little geniuses, being a Deadbeat Dad is a profoundly political act, a protest of the highest order, a statement of fact: “No, actually, I won’t get my act together.”
It’s a tough stance, and not for the faint of heart, as being a Deadbeat Dad is a little like being a bull rider. At some point, that 600-pound bull (no, I’m not calling your wife fat, I’m just making a point) is going to throw you off and gore you with its horns—i.e. words like “marriage counseling” and “trial separation.” See, then you’ve gone too far.
The key is balance, my friend, the ability to dance mid-air, to continue to do what you please without awaking the giant. Over the next few months I’m going to be giving you, dear reader, a road map to Deadbeatness. The how, what and where of being a full-time freak along with being a full-time parent. These are not mutually exclusive things in my world. Along the way, like Fight Club, you may find fellow travelers, but it’s usually a lonely road. Being a Deadbeat Dad is not easy. No one sets out to be the weirdest guy at the school picnic, or tries to take it two or seven steps too far at the Father’s Day barbecue. Hey, we’re just wired that way.
Just because you have a child doesn’t mean you should stop smoking pot.
Never mind what she says. Marijuana will be pretty much all you have left.
You will need to have a steady supply on hand at all times. Because the other thing you can’t have is a pot dealer in your house unless you are a pot dealer, and in that case we should totally hang out. Get it from the dude in the mailroom or from your friends. Here are some other general guidelines:
Can you really still smoke pot?
Here’s the thing: It’s not like you’re going to be hot-boxing it in the living room. Your wife or partner probably doesn’t share your enthusiasm for the sticky icky. She may try to say something like, “I changed my life for this child and you can’t stop smoking pot for five minutes!?” The answer is that you are a better, more attentive parent (and partner, for that matter) after a little toke. And that is the operative term: “little.”
Use a one-hitter
If you still have a bong in the house, get rid of it; the same goes for any type of ridiculous high-tech vaporizer. You need to have the nonchalant behavior of a man who can take 
Don’t drive stoned
The one thing you need to steer clear of is the car. Driving stoned is stressful enough. Strap two screaming children in the vehicle and you’re likely to freak out. Stay in your yard or, even better, the garage and work on some vague project that your wife’s been nagging you about for ages that weed has suddenly made interesting.
Get as high as possible before any recital or school performance
Marijuana is also a must for any school performance. Your child will make your heart swell with pride, but he/she is only on the stage for three minutes and you have to sit through another 90 minutes of someone else’s children, and that sucks. You can’t leave. But you can “go for a walk,” and by walk I mean get stoned in the parking lot and come back to your seat.
Move to Los Angeles
Everybody smokes pot in L.A. The shit is legal with a prescription. You can walk into a dispensary and walk out with an ounce of high-grade Kush that they give to terminal cancer patients, and get so high you have a nervous breakdown. You can even charge it to your credit card. If you visit, you can generally find a few establishments that will even give you a prescription from an on-site doctor. I got one to cure my “tremors.” A more generalized “anxiety disorder” will also suffice. Believe me, a full day standing in line at Disneyland will get you there quickly. The problem is that after your week in L.A. you have to go back to wherever the fuck you came from, and you must face the decision of what to do with all that high-grade ganja. And the one thing you’re not supposed to do is fly with the stuff.
Kids make great drug mules
Traveling with small children is a fucking nightmare. So stop with the looks. You think I want to wrestle for three hours with a chimpanzee who’s screaming in my ear and smearing strained pears on my best T-shirt? Yeah, dude, I fucking love it. I’m having a hoot. So stick your head back in your Rolling Stone and blow me. (Sorry, I digress.) The one upside is
Before you leave for the airport, you’ll want to take the extra can of powdered baby formula and dig out a few scoops and replace them with your stash. You will then place the can of formula at the bottom of the bag, underneath the extra clothes, burp cloths and other kid crap. If you’re carrying a bit more than will fit in a can of formula, try folding your ounce in a clean diaper and putting that diaper in a clear plastic bag, as if it’s been soiled. Add other “soiled” diapers as well. Trust me, no human being is ever going to look in that plastic bag, not even your anal-retentive wife.
Finally, for a quick stash, just stuff the thing right in their pants and carry them through the metal detector. Once you’re through, offer to take junior to change his diaper. This sudden burst of responsibility will so endear your wife to you that you may earn some sexual favors. Don’t worry, you still have that three-hour flight ahead of you. Make sure the bag is well sealed. Toddlers tend to shit and piss their pants quite frequently, so unless you like smoking feces take care to bundle that sucker up with extra tape.
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