Back before our son Max was born, my wife Barbara had a great idea.

"Why don't you take notes and write a book about being a stay-at-home dad?"

At the time, my novel was getting spurned by agent after agent, and anyway, non-fiction is a much easier sell than fiction. Besides, unless you write a big bestseller (my latest fiction effort has no chance at that), writing something vaguely closer to the truth pays better, too.

So I copiously took notes during the first six weeks of Max's life. Mostly about the things he did and what I thought about them. Truly dull observations, to be honest. Then I kinda slacked off. He's a cool kid, but I just don't have the energy to keep up that kind of effort. And anyway, my book would have to have some sort of slant to it and not just be a recitation of "my kid's so damn cute" stories.

One possible angle is the discrimination against stay-at-home dads that is supposedly prevalent in society. I've read stories in newspapers and magazines about how the outside world does terrible things to such men. I kept waiting for such in incident to happen. And it did.

Back in April Barbara, Max and I took in a Durham Bulls baseball game. As I was standing in line for a beer with Max asleep in his Baby Bjorn (that front-loading backpack that is just about everywhere--if you pay attention to such things), a woman ran up to me and just about screamed "Get that baby's head up! You'll break his neck!"

See, Max likes to sleep in the Bjorn by turning his head to the side. He was a little more slumped over than usual. He was not in danger of breaking his neck, even if he jerked it suddenly as babies are wont to do. But his position would look somewhat freaky to those without a kid (or at least, those without a kid who likes to sleep in somewhat contorted positions), and I obliged her by pulling his head up a bit.

This would seem like an open-and-shut case for "woman doesn't think a man can take care of a baby," but it just isn't so. Barbara has gotten even more insistent instructions from other women when she's been out alone with Max. A great many middle-aged women seem to have a strong need to tell strangers what to do with their babies. I can understand that. The psychology involved is obvious.

Past that little incident, though, all I have are good stories.

A couple weeks ago, I needed to pick up a small quantity of beer. Barbara was off somewhere and I had Max. I packed him into his car seat and headed to Sam's Quik Shop, which is a combination car wash, gas station, convenience store and top shelf wine and beer emporium. This fine establishment sits smack dab between Duke's East and West Campuses, which is about as perfect a location for such an enterprise as I can imagine.

After a lengthy perusal of the coolers, I selected three six-packs and carried them (and Max, once again in his Bjorn) to the counter. The clerks at Sam's are your usual convenience store types. T-shirts, tattoos, lots of facial hair, etc. Friendly enough if you prove to them you know your beer, but not necessarily immediately approachable. After I'd paid, I was getting ready to take my haul out the door when the clerk offered to carry the six-packs to my car. I let him.

It was great. The guy even used Max's diaper bag as a stabilizer to make sure that the beer didn't tumble over on the floor in the back seat. All I had to do was plop Max back in his car seat and go home.

If that's discrimination, bring it on!

I'm not saying I won't run into people (men and women) who will say condescending things to me like "That baby needs his mama" when he cries in public. Or that some mothers will edge away from me when I take Max to the park. The sight of a grown man playing with a small child unnerves some folks, and I can't do anything about that. If people want to live in fear and ignorance, that's their problem.

It seems to me that what a lot of folks call "discrimination" is simply people acting without trying to be nice, rather than the hateful actions that truly do harm. Hey, there's no rule that says people have to be nice. I'm generally inclined to give other folks the benefit of the doubt, even when they're less than civil to me. Now, if someone actively acts against me because I'm a dad with child instead of a mom with child (say, I'm not allowed in a family changing room, and Max needs his butt buffed pronto), then you can be sure that I'll be braying my fool head off.

Otherwise, I'm completely content to hang out with my son and watch the world go by. The book can wait.

Jon Worley's wife went back to work last week, and so he was home alone with Max. No untoward incidents occurred.