I’m sitting on this splintering wooden bench while the sun beats down on my thinning hair, and I am losing my goddamn mind. Around me, these twenty-something mothers are chirping like birds, handing out organic slices of something that looks like cardboard. Their toddlers are little saints. They share. They swap buckets. They say "please" in those tiny, high-pitched voices that make me want to scream. My daughter? She’s currently face-down in the woodchips because I told her she couldn't eat a pebble. Just one pebble. And now she's vibrating with a rage I usually only see in people waiting for their social security checks to clear. I look at these other dads. They’ve got their fancy strollers and their "active" wear. I’ve got lower back pain and a stain on my shirt that I’m pretty sure is apple juice but could be spit-up from six hours ago. I’m seventy years old. I should be on a boat or at least sitting in a library where people are REQUIRED to be quiet. Instead, I’m the primary caregiver for a three-year-old whirlwind who thinks "no" is a personal declaration of war. Every time she shrieks, I see the looks. The pity. The "oh, look at the old man who can't control his kid" side-eye. Go ahead. Stare. I’ve lived through three recessions, a war, and a divorce; your judgment doesn't touch me. But then the doubt creeps in. Maybe it’s not her. Maybe it’s me. I’m tired. I’m so incredibly tired. Yesterday, I let her have the cookies before dinner because I just couldn't listen to the whining for one more second. Today, I tried to be the "disciplinarian." I used my "serious" voice. She laughed in my face. Then she threw a plastic shovel at a golden retriever. I’m inconsistent. I’m soft. I’m a pushover because I don’t have the energy to be a wall. I’m a screen door in a hurricane. I see these other kids handing over their toys like little philanthropists and I wonder if I’ve already ruined her because I’m too old to care about the rules. It’s the inconsistency that kills me. One minute I’m the firm patriarch, the next I’m bribing her with stickers just so I can sit down for five minutes without her trying to scale the kitchen counter.