Well, if you are my age, you didn't hear those stories, because they didn't happen. When my brother and I were born, my Pop was at the bar treating everyone to double Brandy Alexanders! (He had treated everyone to Brandy Alexanders when our older brother was born, so the doubles seemed like a good idea with twins and all. Clever right? Where do you think I got it?)
I'm not sure I will ever go to a bar again.
As for changing diapers. I have talked to several men my Dad's age and older, and none of them ever changed a diaper. My Mom told me a story about the one time my Pop changed my brother's diaper.
She had gone out to do some shopping, and Dad had agreed to stay home and watch my bro. A short time later, my mother returned from the store. She entered the apartment they were living in, and saw no sign of father and child. She did see the bouncy chair big bro had been sitting in. In his place was a unfastened diaper, full of poo.
My mother found my Dad and bro in the next room. Turns out, Pop had discovered the turd on board and deciding that he had a choice. He could leave my crying brother and wait for Mom to return and listen to him cry and smell his poopy pants. Or he could change him.
So, he undid the diaper and lifted the boy up and away from the stained cloth. Then without wiping him off, he put him down into a fresh diaper. He pinned it up and was done with it. Father and child happy again.
He didn't remove the dirty diaper from the chair. He didn't wash out the turds. He didn't put the whole thing in the toilet. He didn't even bring the side together to hide the fecal matter from the light of day. Then he left the room to get away from the smell. After that virgin attempt, he never changed another one.
No matter how bad a job I did at something, my wife wouldn't decide that it wasn't worth it for me to do it. She would tell me I was an idiot and that I should pay better attention and do it right the next time. And I would.
Men used to have it so easy.
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