A year and a half ago I met some distant relatives who lived in Vegas. They loved it. They got to see great shows, and it was always sunny, and they had a pool in the back, and the city was always expanding, and they even loved their corrupt mayor. My pregnant wife and I looked at each other and thought the same thing... "But is it a place to raise a baby?"
We don't live there now, but that's not because of the sin-full Vegas; it has more to do with inertia that keeps us in our beloved, but always insane Baltimore. All it takes is one crazy winter and we'll be gone, forever suntanning, forever winning on Blackjack (for the college fund, obviously).
Vegas Dad, writing in iVegas Family, has other things on his mind. Once he manages to ignore people like me who can't help but ask, "But is it a place for children?" he frees himself to ask the real questions we all ask, and proves the universal nature of this fatherhood business.
And I'm not just talking about To Cut, or Not to Cut. I'm talking about our role, about our need to define ourselves as the best fathers history has created at the same time we try to preserve our individuality and our space. Should we get a Master's Degree? Or were they all correct in saying our lives were officially over?
Things aren't that different in Vegas, after all.