Dean

I’ve named my workweek alter ego Dean. Sean and Dean are two very different people. When I’m Sean, I’m generally caring, seeking out ways I can be helpful as a husband and a dad. The other night, when Megh fell asleep nursing our youngest without brushing her teeth, and woke up saying her mouth felt dirty, I jumped out of bed, brought her a toothbrush, a cup full of water, and an empty one for her to spit into. The baby stayed asleep, Megh kept her pearly whites pearly, and I slipped back under the covers feeling like a goddam hero. 

Dean is different. When I’m Dean, I feel as if all those moments that Sean would appreciate as golden—making dinner with the kids, listening to their adventure stories, reviewing their latest instalment of skeleman, skelebird, and skeledog—are all moments to move through, rather than cherish. To Dean, those moments are checklist moments, nothing more than things he knows good dads are supposed to do. Sometimes, Dean doesn’t do any of those things. He just eats his dinner, sets his uniform out for the next day, and goes to bed, leaving Megh to do everything else, knowing full well it is unfair and selfish.

I’ve been more Dean than Sean recently and despise how routine it has become.

-be cool and care