I like Jim Gaffigan; he's a likeable man. I have laughed every time I've heard his Hot Pockets routine, but when my husband says, "Who? Who's Jim Gaffigan?", and I try to do the Hahhht Pahhhckets jingle, he has no clue who I mean, and he definitely doesn't get the joke. "You had to be there," I reply, and I'm glad he didn't listen to Dad is Fat with me: even though Gaffigan -- the seasoned and accomplished stand-up comedian -- narrates the book himself, it's one long (actually quite short) experience of, "I guess you had to be there."
Gaffigan refers to each segment as an essay and that's apt -- these aren't stories or stand-up "bits" but short and straightforward expositions on child and parenting themes. He tackles subjects like home birth, meal times, play times, and sleep times with his five young kids, and each segment is completely linear; these aren't story arcs but straight lines that often end with a joke coming out of left field. In the segment describing his own gruff and alcoholic father (this brutish, selfish, controlling Hulk Hogan), Gaffigan concludes:
By today’s standards, my dad wouldn’t be considered the greatest dad, and I’m sure his dad wouldn’t be considered the greatest dad either. I’m sure my grandfather’s dad would be considered an even worse dad. It probably goes all the way back to cavemen fathers just eating their children. What I’m trying to say is, dads are getting better. Either that or we are all slowly being turned into women. At least that’s what my gynecologist thinks.That each segment is so short, generally ending with a punchline, made for a disjointed and choppy listening experience, and even worse: Gaffigan is a terrible narrator (which I found so incredible for someone who is a professional public speaker). But that's it for the negative, because I still like Jim Gaffigan; I probably like him even more now.
Along with his wife and writing partner, Jeannie, Gaffigan is raising five children under eight in a two bedroom walkup apartment in the Bowery. Even though that's exponentially more work than my two children in a suburban house made for me, he really doesn't talk about anything outside my own experience: putting toddlers to bed is like negotiating with terrorists for all of us. I kept nodding my head and saying, "Yep, that's what it's like to take kids to a restaurant or to the park or to Disneyworld", but I wasn't laughing, saying, "Oh, Jim, you nailed that". There are certainly funny bits (often self-aware, followed by comments like "cute sentence, eh?" or "thank you, I'll be here all book"), but more than anything, Dad is Fat feels like a love letter to Gaffigan's kids. The Gaffigan home must be an absolute zoo, but never does this book complain. It takes a deft touch to talk about the endless sleep deprivation of parenting without hopelessness or resentment and it's obvious that Jim Gaffigan adores his family -- he only gets defensive when people ask him and his wife if they're "done yet" (Why do you ask? Are you paying their college tuition?).
Dad is Fat is not laugh out loud funny -- no jokes linger that I could share with my husband to bring him onto Team Gaffigan -- but it is sweet.
People treat having a kid as somehow retiring from success. Quitting. Have you seen a baby? They’re pretty cute. Loving them is pretty easy. Smiling babies should actually be categorized by the pharmaceutical industry as a powerful antidepressant. Being happy is really the definition of success, isn’t it?It makes me want to meet the Gaffigans, to wish them continued happiness. It also makes me wish that I had had more than my two precious kiddos. In my imagination anyway.
And also, how sweet is this?
And after listening to the book and thinking about it for this review, I watched Gaffigan's Mr. Universe comedy special on Netflix -- it had some of the same observations about parenting (except funnier because they weren't just awkwardly read) and confirmed to me that he IS a likeable guy. My only complaint: Now that I enjoyed his book and special for free, I haven't contributed to Gaffigan's quest to move on up out of that two bedroom apartment with his family. So yeah, thanks Jim, for making me feel guilty about that.
