I had a weird experience the other day, one that made me feel better about the ways of the world. I took something of a razzing from one of the fathers on the street at our annual kiddie Halloween party. I mentioned that I'd shlepped across Northern Virginia to go to an all-dads playgroup the previous week, and my neighbor's imagination seemed to run wild. "Were they," he paused, "really weird?" The answer, not surprisingly, was no -- no more weird that any half-dozen guys at a soccer game or your local bar. My neighbor wasn't convinced. I told him I might go back -- it was an interesting group of guys. "You're not serious, are you?" he said.

Two days later, his wife became stranded at the grocery store, so I gave her a ride home. I mentioned that her husband had given me a hard time about the at-home dad thing. She was sympathetic. "I don't know what the medical term is, but he's really jealous. If he could do anything, he'd be at home, taking care of his son."

There it was, hassling out of envy. I hadn't seen much of that. I assumed I'd get funny looks -- the kind the green-haired punks get from the yuppies -- but I wasn't ready for jealousy. I rather like it.