Ben Tanzer - Lost in Space: A Fathers Journey There and Back Again

Praise for Lost in Space

Ben Tanzer explodes the myths of fatherhood and reassembles the pieces into something altogether more precious and fascinating: the ugly, gorgeous, shameful, miraculous, transformative truth. This book is both funny and heartbreaking.

Jillian Lauren, New York Times bestselling author of Some Girls: My Life in a Harem

In Lost in Space , Tanzer manages to be both heartbreaking and funny, producing a book of beauty and truth about the complexity, the fear, pain, and primal love that being a parent entails. Tanzer raises the bar with this memoir, insisting that writers be truly honest, not make excuses for their feelings, to stare deep inside themselves, and still be entertaining, if not enlightening.

Paula Bomer, author of Nine Months and Baby

Ben Tanzer has that ever elusive elixir, that ability to be both funny and poignant simultaneously. These essays have that requisite gallows humor about being a parent, but there's tenderness oozing from the page, too, a kind of trickling empathy.

Joshua Mohr, author of Fight Song, Termite Parade, Some Things That Meant the World to Me and Damascus

They said it couldnt be done. They said, nobody dunks on Bill Cosby in the basketball court of dad-lit. And then Ben Tanzers Lost in Space arrived. Funnier, more honest and a million times more relevant than the writing of JELL-Os favorite son, this tight little collection cuts to the soul of fathering children like nothing else.

Patrick Wensink, author of Broken Piano for President

Ben Tanzers Lost in Space will have you vacillating between laughter and despair, all the while reveling in the beauty of his razor-sharp prose and candid, witty observations on fatherhood, sleep deprivation, Patrick Ewing, and family life. Buy this book, yo. And prepare to be astonished.

Jennifer Banash, author of White Lines and Silent Alarm

For the boys, yo.

Contents

I Need

I need sleep, long and deep and full of dreams about love, sex, pizza, Patrick Ewing, and Caddyshack . In these dreams I will be so happy, smart, funny, and full of esprit de corps that interns will float by my office in low-cut blouses begging to hear my innermost thoughts on Game of Thrones . I will not worry about bills or love handles, and I will not think about my children, not for even one moment, yo. If they happen to make an appearance they will say excuse me, yes, and please, eat over the table using actual utensils, and not constantly bang their heads or mysteriously find their hands around the necks of one another.

Most importantly, they will go to bed when its bedtime, after weve read together and nuzzled, and said our goodnights. They will just go to sleep, and if for some inexplicable reason they do not, they will still stay in bed. They wont wander around the house like extras from The Walking Dead in various states of duress, mumbling about how they cannot fall asleep, or how they heard something, and how I must have heard it too, you heard it, right? before asking me, so could you just lie with me for a little bit? Nor will they come to my side of the bed during the middle of the night after Ive already been asleep for hours, and loom over me, barely breathing, and ask, "I cannot sleep and what do you think about that? I think I need sleep, motherfucker. Long and deep and full of dreams about Patrick Ewing, Caddyshack , and interns in low-cut blouses.

I also need to be able to control the weather. Thats huge. My boys, well, my sons Myles, age eleven, and Noah, age eight, that is, not my testicles, dont like the wind. Rain is okay, if lacking in wind, and clearly identified by the Weather Channel as anything not related and/or somehow connected to a monsoon, typhoon, tsunami, cyclone, tornado, sharknado, hurricane, tropical storm, or twister. Also, there cannot be any lightning, because that will not fly. Snow is always fine, even a blizzard, though not a blizzard that is especially windy, thats not cool. Neither can said snow be mixed with lightning, so no thundersnow sadly, or that weird thing when the skies turn green.

I suppose what I really need to be able to do is control the wind. And what I really need to become is the X-Men character Storm. You might know her as the superhero portrayed by Halle Berry in the movies. And yes, I need Halle Berry as well, though merely because she can provide me with pointers. Wind means lack of control, chaos, and instability, none of which the boys are totally able to roll with. But when you live in Chicago, you cant easily leave the house, or spend much time outside at all. So, I really need these powers, and Halle Berry, and if someone could give them to me, I can also see how they would come in handy at those times when we are flying and we get stuck on a tarmac for weather-related reasons and are forced to consume all of the snacks, read all of the books, play with all of the toys, and watch all of the videos before we even take-off. Frankly, that sucks and I definitely dont need that.

I do need to learn how to say, Are you okay? more often. I learned this in family therapy. Apparently, when a child of mine and I are in the midst of what is otherwise a minor misunderstanding about what constitutes picking up ones toys, doing homework, taking a shower, brushing ones teeth, turning off the television, clearing the table, moving the laundry, talking respectfully, and using I phrases, and said child inadvertently trips over a toy or pile of laundry, slips in the bathroom, bumps into a closet door, bangs their head on a doorknob, cuts their finger, toe, elbow, knee, or ear, gets a headache, stomachache, or spontaneously combusts, my tendency is not to respond with, Are you okay? but something less empathic, and possibly in a voice not deemed sufficiently low, which I am told is not cool, and something I really need to do, which I will, promise.

Further, I need to be less fearful. I do not worry that my children will be kind and decent people at some still-to-be-determined point in their development, or that I cant be a father to boys as some of my friends have expressed to me because their fathers were not the role models they needed. But thats because these are rational fears, and I apparently can manage fears that fall into that category. Its the irrational fears that I need help with. And what are those fears? Im glad you asked. In no particular order they are: childhood Leukemia; falling porches at crowded parties; stampedes in night clubs; gun violence, or any violence really, but especially gun violence; abductions: human, alien, or otherwise; plane crashes; drowning; broken necks; being run over by drunk drivers, or people texting, or any types of car accidents; plummeting from hotel or high-rise apartment decks; falling off of a cruise ship; sexual abuse, or any abuse frankly; brain damage; HIV/AIDS; drug overdoses; alcoholism; anorexia; bulimia; Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder; and cutting. All of which I need to chill the fuck out about. I know. But I cant.

Which might mean I need a vacation. Well, I do need a vacation, but lets be clear, that doesnt mean going to Michigan and renting a cottage with my wife and children, which I love doing, I do, or a hotel room in Madison or Milwaukee, Thanksgiving trips to Philadelphia, or Bar Mitzvahs on Long Island. It also doesnt mean going anywhere at all, if our children are with us, cool or otherwise, be that Thailand, Costa Rica, Peru, Spain, or Mexico. And this is not to say that I have deserted my dreams of hiking rim-to-rim across the Grand Canyon, walking out to Machu Picchu at sunrise, or triumphantly climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro with them, because I need to do all of that. Just as I need to see Barcelona, Rome, and Paris again, but with them, and through their eyes. But a vacation with them is not a vacation. Im not at work, which is beautiful, and were out of the apartment, which is also beautiful, but were still together, which means children will be fighting, not sleeping, and there will be arguments. There will also be joy, a lot of it, but I will be on edge regardless, and what I need is for my wife Debbie and I to be somewhere where we are not putting children to bed, figuring out what children can eat, what they will find entertaining, or awaiting small bodies to loom over me at night like expectant vultures. I just need to sleep and run and read and Debbie sans children. I need it. Okay? Cool.