Mark KennedyIf you've attended a college football game recently, chances are you've heard a little ditty called "All I Do Is Win."
But if you aren't a fan of rap music - I check that box - you probably haven't listened closely to the lyrics of this anthem to excess by DJ Khaled.
The hook goes like this: "All I do is win, win, win, no matter what. Got money on mind, I can never get enough. And every time I step up in the building, everybody's hands go ... UP!"
When DJ Khaled says "up," you're supposed to put your hands in the air while the music pauses - wait for it - two whole counts. During this homage to freeze tag, you glance around at your friends, nod knowingly and reflect on how cool you are.
Nice.
I'll admit that after you listen to "All I Do Is Win" a couple of times, that catchy chorus worms its way into your brain. As they say on "The Voice" and "American Idol," I've made this song my own. I've changed the hook to: "This makes Daddy's hands go ... UP!"
Stick with me here.
Parents, have you noticed that there is a moment in almost every day when something trips your breaker switch? This happens more with dads, I think, because our bodies come with stress-activated testosterone pumps. Like most dads, I have just one "audio-in" jack. If you jam me with too much urgent audio input at once, it creates a feedback squawk in my brain and my hands shoot up automatically.
I can think of three examples in the past week.
* Case No. 1: Sunday, I was on the way to the Mapco Express store near our house. Somehow the radio got randomly tuned to a station playing "The Girl From Ipanema," which gets my vote for the most annoying song of all time.
Meanwhile, a gas can for the leaf blower turned over inside the car, the seat-belt alarm went off, and my 8-year-old son in the back seat started chanting, "Daddy, your seat belt! Daddy, your seat belt! Daddy, your seat belt!"
This makes Daddy's hands go ... UP!
* Case No. 2: I was walking the dog in the front yard on Saturday night, the coldest night of the year. Just as the dog hunkered down to do his business, my 8-year-old appeared at the front door holding the phone.
His voice was panicked.
"Daddy, it's for you," he said, holding the phone out urgently.
"Tell them to call back," I snapped.
"Daddy, I CAN'T, it's for you. COME GET IT! IT'S FOR YOU!"
I gave the dog and yank, and he looked up at me as if to say: "Dang, dude, can't you see I'm busy here?"
Finally, I made it back to the house and snatched up the phone, only to find it's Sal, the light-bulb salesman guy.
This makes Daddy's hands go ... UP!
(Call me back, Sal, and I promise to make it up to you.)
* Case No. 3: So I decided to take my laptop up the stairs to show my older son an item on the Internet. My computer was balanced perilously on my right hand, and I had a cup of coffee in my right.
Suddenly, I heard my wife shout: "Baby, come quick. Hurry."
Imagining bloodshed, I did a careful pirouette and sprang down the steps two at a time, the computer still balanced on my hand.
"It's the dog," my wife said. "He ran out the back door. I don't know how long he's been gone, or where he is. Hurry. Hurry."
I rush through the back door into the garage, and the dog immediately appears from behind the Toyota. He looks at me with his head cocked, as if to say, "What?"
This, predictably, makes Daddy's hands go ... UP!
Sometimes I yearn for a day when the madness stops - when family chaos is replaced by calm, calamity by tranquility.
Then I remember a story told by a friend about a couple who lost a child to cancer, and what they missed most was the splendid clutter of those harried, crazy days when family life seems both bewildering and wonderful.
Then, in a quiet moment, alone in the bedroom and feeling a little ashamed, I raised my hands again.
And this time I gave thanks.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.