Stay-at-home dad is master of the trash
One in a series of occasional articles on stay-at-home dads.
When you're a stay-at-home dad, trash day is a very important day. It's a day of purpose and joy. I feel like I have a job when I'm dragging the trash barrels out of the garage and carrying them to the sidewalk. I wave to the neighbors. Then I pull out the blue recycling bins and feed them with cans and bottles. I'll recycle anything. No one can outdo me on recycling day. Can hunters come from all around for a look.
I love to throw stuff out too, lots of it. I'll walk back into the house and proudly tell my wife, ``You wouldn't believe what I just threw out. If you had to pay for that, it would've cost you 75 bucks."
``That's great," she says, knowing how important trash day is to my mental health.
Some trash days I go for the gold, like the time I eyed my son's red Radio Flyer wagon. I bought it at a yard sale four years ago, 10 bucks. It's a sacred cow that can't be thrown out. The wagon doesn't even move. Its wheels are rusted and locked. I know the feeling. It's been sitting outside ever since I bought it. Once I stood on top of the wagon while trying to pull down a hanging toy from the limb of our tree. I broke right through the floor. My 5-year-old son, Rory, was very upset, so we replaced the floor with a piece of plywood. It was a good father and son project. I swear I didn't curse.
Rory would be very mad if he found out that good old Dad had tossed out his wagon. Believe me, he'd find out. He remembers everything. ``Dad you're fired, 10 times," he would say. Rory ``fires" me often. He's still going on about the hundred-piece plastic kitchen set I threw out two years ago. My sister sent it up from Florida with a chuckle. It might be time to send her kids down a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of Mount Rushmore.
``Dad do you know where my kitchen set is?" he asked.
``I think it's in the garage," I lied, not having the guts to tell him it was thrown out during another one of my trash day frenzies.
``Are you sure, Dad?"
``It might be in the attic."
``Are you sure?"
I tried to distract him with ice cream, but it didn't work. It never works. I decided there's no way I can throw out his wagon. I'll be answering questions about it for eternity. And it was our first project together. Now, I'm the one getting sentimental. OK, it's time to get tough. I'll sneak it out under the cover of darkness when he goes to college.
There are trash days when I switch roles from trash chucker to trash picker. One day while pushing my 2-year-old daughter, Natasha, in the baby carriage and with Rory trailing on his tricycle, we came across a wooden coat rack standing tall among the trash. It stood about five feet with four brass hooks. Coincidentally, my friend was looking for an old coat rack, and he said the antique shops were asking too much money. So here was my chance to make a buck while minding the kids. I pulled the coat rack out of the trash thinking how the heck am I going to get this back to the house. I'd look foolish carrying this thing all the way to the coffee shop and back. So after some deliberation, we decided to place it on our friend Karen's porch and pick it up on our way back.
On our way home we plucked the coat stand from the porch, and we kept walking. We were halfway across the street when this guy came barreling down the road in his car. So I whipped the coat stand around and pointed it at the car as if I was in a medieval jousting match with this large hunk of metal and its nefarious occupant. The car stopped while I glared and pointed the coat stand at it. The driver must've thought I was mad. I laughed and mercifully ended the standoff, and, with the most dignity I could muster, I proceeded toward the curb with my little ducklings.
It was worth it. I traded the coat rack and an old firefighter's helmet for a fancy coffee machine. One small victory for the stay-at-home dad.
Sean Devlin lives in Beverly. His 2002 novel, ``Above the Gutter," was a finalist in the HarperCollins National Bestseller Contest. 
