Just Bragging!

I remember after becoming a new dad, how every little phase seemed to be the greatest.

First, just holding my newborn and feeling his little body rise up and down as he slept on my chest was miraculous (well, I guess it still is.)

Various stages in his development—smiling, walking, learning to fetch me a beer—all elicited this same, “This stage is just the best” response from me.

So you think I would have learned by now.

Last night my son read his first book all by himself (never mind that he is now 37.)

Tired of reading him more Pokemon books (cartoon cock fighting if you aren’t familiar with it), I grabbed something a little more "calming."  

When we turned to the title page, he read it aloud. I wondered if that was from memory or from actually reading, but either way, it sparked an idea.

“Why don’t you read it to me?” I asked.  He’s been playing and sounding with words for some time with varying degrees of success.

He grabbed the book, took a deep breath and sounded “To-day…”

And just like that, he was off.

I will shamelessly admit that I am proud of my son often for the most trivial of thing—like taking his plate in to the kitchen after a meal, or wiping up the blood without being told after he’s flattened his little brother again—but I have never, ever seen him more proud of himself.

With each turning page, his grin got bigger and bigger.  By the end of the book, he was beaming so that I thought he would burst.

My inner response: “This stage is just the best!”

His outer response: “I’m really proud of myself, daddy!”

Oh, and what was the book that he read? 

Today, I Will Fly

You certainly will, my love. You certainly will.

A Sacred Moment

It is as sacred a moment as any father and son can share.   It rivals the first game of catch, the first tree house, or even the first beer ….and it was with giddy anticipation that I shared this moment with my 6 year old son.

“Connor,” I said, barely able to hold it in, “pull my finger.”

The ensuing flatulence which shook the foundation of my home brought an equally loud clap of laughter from my son.  Behind the laugher I could see him trying to figure out if he was somehow responsible for what had just happened.   But mainly he was giggling so uncontrollably because, well, let’s face it, farts are funny.

These are the sorts of “dad activities” which have elicited groans and looks (or sniffs?) of derision since human kind has had fingers.   This sort of activity is often frowned upon as being both base and crass—which it probably is.  But it is also warm, funny, endearing, silly and in a very obtuse sort of way, loving.  It is time spent with my child where he comes away feeling like he is the centre of my attention. 

Unless you are robbing banks or beating up old people, don’t let anyone’s pre conceived ideas of what “quality time” is for you and your child.  Want to wrestle with your four year old daughter?   Want to teach your son how to dial a stranger and ask them if their refrigerator is running?  Knock yourself out.  Your child will love it, and you, forever. 

Letting Go

When I was a kid, every year on my birthday my mom would make me promise that I wouldn't have another birthday for an entire year.  First I thought she was trying to be funny. Later, I thought she was nuts.  Now I get it.

I was growing up way too fast.

Those very thoughts were going through my mind as my just-yesterday-he-was-a-baby son and I walked up to his new school for the first day of kindergarten.  It seems like only moments since this little newborn was nestled into his sleep-deprived father's arms.  Today, we were starting school.

As we marched toward the covered play area to scan the class lists, I felt a little hand slip inside mine and give me a squeeze. As the cacophany of pre-pubescent voices grew louder, the little hand squeezed tighter. Eventually, we found his name on the list, stood in the appropriate line, and awaited his teacher to usher us into the class room.

Despite the cliche moment which was charged with such emotion, calmness prevailed.

Until it was time to let go.

As Connor's new teacher guided us to the classroom, the tears began to well up...in my eyes. As we reached the doorway to his latest life's adventure, that same little hand slipped out of mine, reached around my neck for a big hug, and then was gone.

As much as anything, parenthood is successive stages of letting go:  the independence that comes with first steps, the day you discover you are no longer needed to give pushes on the swings, the first day of school.

I'm convinced the best parents are the ones who can let go--who celebrate the moments of growth and independence as their child comes of age.

I'm just not so sure I fit into that category yet.

Congratulations! It's a Kidney Stone!

“You know,” said the paramedic as I was writhing on the floor of the ambulance, “they say that kidney stones are the closest pain to childbirth."

“Yeah,” I gasped, “but at least my wife got five minutes between one minute contractions…plus we got a baby in the end.”

Frankly, I think it is largely men who give the “kidney stones are like childbirth” line (I’d love to hear from any stone-passing moms out there) but without starting a gender war, if childbirth is only a fraction of the pain of passing a stone, my already heroic wife deserves another medal.  I can honestly say that having kidney stones was the only time in my life I begged a paramedic to bash me upside the head with an oxygen tank and then run me over with an ambulance.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I was in complete awe of my wife when she gave birth: no pain medication and no epidurals. But now I have even more respect and admiration for her, if that is possible.

And for the record, I am totally revoking any utterance I ever made like, “Oh honey, if I could go through this childbirth for you, I would. I really would.”

I'm not one for traditional gender roles, but I'm happy to leave childbirth to women.

The Other "L" Word

Remember dating? Remember the early courtships—the excitement, the titillation and eventually the feeling that you were really falling for someone? I can recall a lot of those relationships. And I can recollect the anxiety around whether to use the “L” word or not.

I am the first to admit I grew up in a house where we threw the term, “I love you” around like cheap confetti. I’ve never really had a hard time saying those words. In fact, I was actually accused once for saying it too often. Now I realize that perhaps I’m outside of the norm when it comes to men and expressing feelings, but I think most of us can relate to the trepidation around leaving yourself vulnerable by proclaiming, “I love you” for the first time.

So what often came out instead?

“I love spending time with you” or “I love being your boyfriend.”

What potentially sounded like a fear of commitment to a girlfriend is music to the ears of your child.

I get that there are men out there who still aren’t comfortable with, “I love you.” They often tell stories about their own father like, “He never really told me, but I knew he loved me.” Frankly, I think that is code for, “Damn it, why couldn’t he have told me he loved me?” That is totally natural. We all want to be loved, whether we are good with our feelings or not.

Of course, I encourage all fathers to say “I love you” as often as they can to their children. More importantly, I urge them to back up those words with actions.

But I think there is immense value in saying, “I love being your daddy.”

The other day, my wife and sons came home from a friend’s house and my oldest was pretending to be asleep. “Oh, you’ll have to carry him in daddy,” my wife co-conspired.

With his eyes closed and the hint of a smirk on his face, I lifted him out of his car seat. His arms lay limply around my neck as I carried him in to the house.

“It’s too bad he’s asleep, I was going to see if he wanted to play some Wii.” I said, trying to call his bluff. He didn’t budge.

“I guess I’ll have to eat his dessert” I teased.

Nothing.

I turned to carry him up the stairs, and whispered in his ear, “I love being your daddy.”

Involuntarily, his body began to squeeze mine. I was getting a giant bear hug and my son couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, momma, I think he might be waking up,” I said. At which point he went limp again.

“I love you” is a beautiful thing. But on some level, it’s what’s expected of parents. “Of course you love me, I’m your kid.” On a most basic level, child-parent love is as much a product of biology as anything else.

But “I love being your daddy” in many ways can be even more powerful. It almost implies there is a choice in the matter. It’s a value statement. And just like we all want to be loved, we all want to be valued, too.

To Love Your Spouse Is To Love Your Kids

One of the complaints I’ve heard from some men when it comes to marriage is that their wives always put the children first. Sometimes, those comments have come from men who don’t have the maturity to recognize that priorities change once you have a family and who can’t seem to cope with not being the centre of the universe anymore. Sometimes, however, these comments can come from a thoughtful, fully engaged father and husband who is frustrated at his wife’s inability to leave the kids for longer than an hour or two. “I’d love to take her away for a romantic getaway, but in the four years we’ve been parents, she hasn’t let us leave the kids overnight with the grandparents even once!”

I am a full believer that the best thing that couples can do for their kids is to keep their own relationship healthy and strong. Not only does it help maintain a loving and secure environment in which the kids can thrive, it sets the example for what they should expect from a healthy relationship when they reach adulthood.

In no means, however, is this lament of “always putting the kids first” uniquely uttered by fathers.

I should know. I'm guilty of doing it with my own kids.

I do it for two main reasons. First, I adore being a father more than just about anything in the world. Loving them is as easy as falling off a truck. Second, it’s much simpler when there is spousal stress to spend time with two little boys who can find no fault with you than with a partner who has grounds to find many.

I'm guilty not so much in terms of being unable to let the kids out of my sight, or dropping everything on the spot to attend to every whim: I do it more on an emotional level. My kids often get the lion’s share of my love, patience and attention in the day and frankly, my wife deserves better.


Now, I am not going to fall into that destructive, tired old stereotype of long-suffering-yet-patient-wife-tolerates-inept-yet-well-meaning husband. That crap still gets played time and time again as a bad punch line and does nothing but widen some of the “traditional” gender role divides which can cause a relationship and a family a great deal of strain.

I will say, however, that my wife is remarkably patient. She has seemingly limitless patience with our children and she has demonstrated the patience of Job with me. She has shown unwavering faith in me and my business, not only when others must have questioned my sanity, but even when my pursuit of it threatened the financial well being of our family.

She has loved me unconditionally through two major bouts of depression and was somehow capable of finding something loveable in me when I was near-useless as a husband. She loved me when I was at my most vulnerable and naked, and for that, I will never have the words to express my gratitude.

She loves me even when I succumb to my own personal albatross -- verbally lashing out at those I love when I perceive their comments reflect a disappointment in me. It is an ugly side of me which has long outstripped its use, but can still return in the form of a sharp tongue and a dismissive tone. It strikes with lightening speed and then disappears, leaving me with a giant mess and an enormous sense of remorse for having hurt my best friend.

But my wife also brings out the best in me. She never fails to encourage me to be my best, simply by tell me what an amazing father I am. She inspires my sense of integrity by applauding rather than cringing when I stand up in very public ways to rail against injustice. And her laughter, and even her groans (here I will admit to her putting up with me with gentle, good humour) at my sense of humour and out-and-out silliness remind me that life should be filled with joy and gratitude.

On this Valentine’s Day, I want the world to know what an amazing woman I’ve married. She has her faults as I have mine, and at times our first wedding dance to “Lost Together” by Blue Rodeo has seemed more like prophecy than love song. But marrying her was still the best thing I’ve ever done.

I know my sons think so, too.

Me vs. Wii

Sorry for my lack of regular posts of late. I am now balancing solo at home parenting (as my wife has gone back to work) with a working dad project for my company “Bettermen Solutions.” At any rate, I know holidays can be very trying, but I hope everyone had a happy one. As some wise person once said, “If you think you are enlightened, try visiting your family.”

The challenges for me this Christmas stemmed from the same source of many of my joys: mainly, my four-year old, Connor.

Christmas doesn’t get much more magical than when you are four—old enough to “get it” and young enough to believe whole heartedly. Not surprisingly, the verbal lists of “I want, I want, I want” began sometime after Hallowe’en and seemed to grow longer by the day.

I didn’t want to quash his pure joy, but I also didn’t want the season to be about greed and “give-me.” One potential solution came to me during one of our bedtime routines.

Some nights, instead of a book, we have “Once Upon a Time”. This is when I make up some story where Connor is the protagonist. It usually involves adventures, dinosaurs and/or Batman and Robin. On this night, it involved Santa and some sorry and destitute children.

It is worth mentioning that Connor’s greatest wish this season was for a Wii. The immensity of his desire had little to do with the monetary value and everything to do with fun. In his mind a Wii cost the same as a chocolate bar, so holding this Wii so dear was solely based on Connor’s love of playing it this past summer with his older cousins. My wife and I have both wanted to put off video games for as long as possible, but saw some merit in having an indoor sweat inducing activity on a nasty winter’s day. We finally agreed and the grandparents generously offered to chip in for one from Santa.

So as we were getting into bed for once upon a time, I started to make up a story. It involved one excited little boy writing a long list of things he wanted from Santa for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, a sound asleep Connor was awakened by a tap on the window. It was St. Nick, and he wanted to take Connor on a little adventure.

“Will you come with me?” Santa asked.

"I have to ask my mom and dad first,” my son replied (no fears that he’ll ever be abducted by a man in a Santa Claus outfit!)

So off they went. Santa whisked Connor up into the sky, drawn by his familiar reindeer with snow whistling all around. At one point, Santa pulled up to a broken down little home and asked Connor to peek inside. Connor saw a little boy, asleep, with no presents, or even a Christmas tree. At that moment, Santa pulled a Darth Vader light saber out of his bag.

“Connor,” I began to ask in Santa’s voice, “What should I do with this light saber?”

“Give it to me,” my son whispered under his breath.

“I can understand why you would want it, Connor. But you are blessed with so many toys and this little boy will wake up tomorrow with nothing. Now, what do you think I should do?”

“Oh, alright,” he relented. “Give it to him.”

Over and over, the same scenario played out: Santa stops at the home of an impoverished child, pulls out a gift, and asks what he should do with it. Now the really cruel part was that each present Santa pulled out of his bag was one that Connor had asked for. It was bordering on torturous for him as he gave away toy after toy that he so coveted. It was becoming unbearable for Connor, but Santa still had one house left.

At the home of the last penniless child, Santa pulled a brand new Wii out of his bag. Before I could even ask the question, Connor’s face twisted up like some captured and tormented spy at his breaking point, “Not the Wii!” he groaned in a sort of anguished guttural whisper.

To his credit, he still managed to give it up.

The story ended with Connor waking up on Christmas morning with a whole pile of presents, and a note:

“Dear Connor,

Always remember that Christmas is about the giving.

Love,

Santa.”

Bulletproofing our Kids

Recently, I blogged about my 4 year-old’s first case of heart break. It had to do with the departure of his best friend, Louis, as he left daycare to start kindergarten. I was amazed by my son’s level of both understanding and acceptance, fully imbued with genuine sadness.

Connor and Louis had their first post-break-up play date a while back. As we waived goodbye to Louis while pulling out of his driveway, Connor began to weep and wail like a Southern Baptist at a revival …so much for acceptance.

What I loved about the day, however, was how the two boys reunited like long lost soul mates. Connor hopped up and down with excitement as Louis bounced up the sidewalk to our house. The two hugged with such vigor and genuine delight. Then, like all best buddies, they played and talked like they’d never been apart.

This time, however, there was something new to their play routine.

In the middle of playing wolf-hikers or any one of their other made up games, Connor would suddenly proclaim, “I love you, Louis.” Louis would reply, “I love you too, Connor.” Over the course of the day, this exchange took place numerous times, sometimes initiated by Connor, sometimes by Louis. Each time it was said very matter-of-factly.

Needless to say, both my wife and I were on the verge of tears each time we heard this. It was another beautiful example of how our children are still so unspoiled at that age.

I pray he never loses that ease with which he told his dearest friend, “I love you.” My heart already breaks for the first time someone makes fun of him or teases him for expressing himself so purely. But just maybe, as I try to build his self esteem by reinforcing that he is most loved and valued just for being him, those future barbs will bounce of him like bullets off of Superman.

I can always hope.

Fathers and Sons…and Fathers Again.

I’ve never met a man who hasn’t been profoundly affected by his own father (though I’ve met many who’ve never recognized it). I am no different.

As I write this entry, I am sailing across the Strait of Georgia from Vancouver to Vancouver Island; my father is having anything from a triple to a quintuple bypass tomorrow morning in Victoria.

I’m long past the age where my parents are starting to appear mortal. Between my parents (and their various spouses) there have been hip transplants, cancers, surgeries and several strokes. It isn’t like I’ve never pondered the prospect of losing one or both of my parents.

I don’t anticipate anything going wrong with my dads operation tomorrow, but still, I can’t help but be reflective. My father is a good man, who like the rest of us, has had his fair share of struggles. He was on the wrong end of two divorces, seemed to have more career setbacks than successes, and saw way less of his four children than he would have liked. He has his passions, too: for Joseph Campbell, Carl Jung and New Physics. For several years he has been working on a book which he feels can change the world. I admire his ambition.

I have regrets in my relationship with my father as I know he has with me. Most revolve around the time (or lack thereof) we spent together. And when we were with each other my father often seemed lost in thought. My dad would always find time to throw a ball or play a game of chess if I asked him, but he was never one to seek that engagement with me.

It’s no surprise then that as a father I seek out unsolicited activity time with my boys and am committed to being fully present to them when we are together. Even when I’m working, I find ways to have them work along with me. It’s no coincidence that my business revolves around helping absent, workaholic dads better connect with their kids.

In many ways, the mistakes our fathers made can be the greatest gifts they ever gave us. This isn’t to beat up on fathers by any means. This is borne from a sense of optimism that fathers and men are slowly evolving, and that awareness is the next step in that process. I certainly hope my sons will one day be able to learn from my countless parenting gaffes and become better fathers as a result. I want to know that my scaring errors won’t be in vain. Don’t we all?

I know my father feels very deeply that there are no accidents—that everything happens for a reason. As he goes over the tally sheet I hope he takes great comfort in knowing that I am a better father for having him as a father.

This past June, he sent me a Father’s Day card. In it he wrote, “You are the best dad I’ve ever known.”

It would appear he recognizes that his mistakes were not in vain.

Best Way to Improve a Working Mom’s Work Life Balance? Advocate for Men’s Work Life Balance.

I posted this on my Bettemen Solutions blog (my business where I help companies improve employee retention and productivity by addressing the unique work life balance changes faced by men.)  However, I think it is applicable for this forum, too. 

I came across what I see as destructive press regarding work life balance. Ironically, it was advocating for work life balance, but by its content, unwittingly reinforcing the standard paradigm.

It came from a UK Magazine called “Netmums” which advocates for working mothers. It is entitled “Employers ‘should give flexible benefits to mums.’” It goes on to say that “Flexible benefits are an especially good fit for busy working moms.” The inference in that last statement is that with all the extra responsibilities mom has as child raiser, home maker and career woman, she needs more flexibility than dad.

Now I’ve never argued that men and women share the domestic workload 50/50. I have argued, however, that if we want to move closer to an equal workload, we must deviate from the ridiculous idea that certain genders are better suited for specific roles.

The best thing a working mom can do for her own work life balance is to advocate for men’s work life balance. I know that sounds like a sexist comment so hear me out. We have women to thank for the strides that have been made in the last 40 years when it comes to workplace flexibility and leave policy. They have fought and lobbied to be recognized as moms and career women. Men, in spite of suffering from work life imbalance more than women (according to several bodies of research) aren’t likely to rally and advocate the way women did (and do). Likewise, men won’t start taking advantage of those hard fought policy victories by women in until they stop perceiving that doing so will be detrimental to their careers, and by extension, jeopardizing the well being of the families they work so hard to support. As long as the term “work life balance” is synonymous with “mommy overload”, we can continue to expect her to look after the house and kids. And the less we do to change attitudes in the workplace that the best thing a man can do for his family is get ahead in his career, men will continue, not only to burn out at a higher rate than women, but make more and more work for mom at home.

In short, work life balance is unlikely to improve for working moms until it improves for working dads. (We still live in a patriarchal society. Once a problem becomes a white male problem, we start to do something about it.) As long as we stay rooted in the old paradigm, men, women their families and their employers will all continue to pay the price.

The Renewal of a Father (and the Death of Customer Service)

I’m sitting in the Calgary Airport as I write this. I have a four hour stop-over on my way home from the at home dads convention and despite having room on earlier flights, Air Canada wanted to charge me $75 when I requested they put me on an earlier plane--seventy-five dollars for an act which costs them nothing. Glad to see customer service is alive and well.

Anyway, I’m not going to allow abysmal airline policy ruin my terrific mood. I had such a fantastic weekend with the at home dads. We had two fabulous keynote speakers: psychologist, Dr. Bowers from the famous Boys Town facility and the incomparable trailblazer and author of rebeldad.com, Brian Reid. Dr. Bowers shared some valuable insights into the way our children think and offered some great parenting strategies; Brian got us up to speed on the various ways census and others try and refine the definition of an at home dad. This is why you can find verifying reports on the number of American AHDs, ranging from 158,000 to four million.

The weekend was great for so many reasons: hearing the way other men parent their kids, shooting the manure about everything and anything, and simply being with a group of like minded men who truly “get it” when it comes to being a parent.

I thought often about the life of an at home dad vs. the life of a loving, caring father who is working 60 hours a week. In my workshops with working dads, they so often feel torn between wanting to spend way more time with their kids and providing for them by working such long hours. I realized that these men get out of the rat race cold turkey. Once they are at home full time, their roles are much more clearly defined. These men, unlike the working dads I meet, aren’t torn at all. When they transition back into the workforce (as most usually do) I trust these men will carry the torch of fatherhood to their respective workplaces, and help raise the profile the woefully neglected needs of the working father.

The other thing I loved about this weekend is that it solidified my own philosophy in raising my sons—namely that they grow up knowing that they are loved unconditionally. That doesn’t mean they get hugs and kisses for setting the sofa on fire, it just means that they know they are loved just for being themselves-- just for being born. That way, they don’t spend a lifetime looking backwards wondering, “What do I need to do to get the love and approval of my dad?” They already have it---in spades.

Volcanoes, Self-Esteem and Travel tips for Dads

You are looking at a photo of Mt. Rainer from my flight from Vancouver to Omaha for the 15th Annual At Home Dads convention. I’ve seen Mt. Rainer a million times, so why take a photo today? Read on.

I think almost universally among fathers, what we’d like to give our children is more time. I can say almost unequivocally, that is what our children want from us more than anything else. I’ve yet to meet anyone who said, “You know, the problem with my dad was that he spent too much time with me.”

In my corporate workshops for dads, I spend a great deal of time helping dads overcome the challenges of being busy to ensure that their child still gets the message that they are important. Some of the tips I give to traveling dads include skyping from the road, recording a bedtime story before you go away, putting pins in a map to mark where you are going (a good way to teach geography, too) or even setting up a little treasure hunt where dad can give the first clue from the road. Yesterday, my son inadvertently helped me come up with another.

When I told my four year-old son the other day that I was going away on a plane trip today, he asked if he could come with me.

“I’m sorry love, it’s just a trip for daddies. We are going to all get together and tell each other about how much we love being dads.”

“Please?” he begged. “I want to see all the things you are going to see.”

“Right” it hit me, “I’m going to take pictures of what I’m doing and email them to you every night.”

I know I’m shaped by my own experiences of having a father who lived 500 miles away, but I think it’s safe to say that children, especially younger ones, don’t understand it when dad says he has to get to some work first before he can play, or that he’s leaving town for another business trip. The danger in this scenario is that if it repeats, children can wind up feeling like a second priority.

It doesn’t take much effort to let them know they are always first and foremost in your mind. “I know you love volcanoes so here is a picture of one from the airplane. I saw it and it made me think of you,” might not seem like much, but it will mean the world to my little boy.

The Power of Traditional Gender Roles

I had an essay air on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's radio program, "The Sunday Edition."  It was originally scheduled to air on Father's Day, but wound up getting bumped.   If you want to listen to it, it's in the last five minutes of hour two.

If you wish to avoid the effort, I'm posting the essay below.  It deals with my own struggles in battling what can be the powerful forces of traditional gender roles.  I'm not saying this is true of everyone, but I think it is true of a very significant number of us--men and women--mothers and fathers.

This essay alarmed my family a great deal.  Please know that I don't need to talked off a ledge or anything. The depression has long since lifted and has turned to inspiration. It is this experience which was the motivation behind creating my company, Bettermen Solutions where I show businesses how they can thrive by learning to champion fatherhood.

Everything happens for a reason.

-----------------

I’ve never been one to care about money. I’ve toiled as a freelancer in one form or another since my early twenties and I’ve always preferred the question, “What sorts of experiences are you having?” over “What sort of experience do you have?” Earning more than I needed to survive was simply an indulgence.


Until I became a father.

It was shortly before getting married that I first began to feel the responsibility. “You have to start earning more money,” said a friend of my fianceé. “That’s what husbands are supposed to do.” I was taken aback by her antiquated comment. Nonetheless, I recognized that raising a family meant a new financial reality.

I began to focus more on building a “career” and not just having a series of jobs. I was still determined to do what I loved to do; I just had to find a way to earn a decent living doing it.

"Honey, I’m pregnant!”

“Congratulations, you got the job!”

I found out I was going to be a father and that I had landed a dream job in the same week. Everything was falling into place. We could now start planning renovations on the little tear down we’d bought, and my ascendancy to adulthood would be complete.

When my son was born, my heart opened in ways I never knew possible. I worked hard at being a good father. I resented any comments that smacked of gender superiority when it came to parenting. I was just as at home knee-deep in dirty diapers as any mother has ever been.

I loved my new job, but I also envied my wife for getting to spend all day with our son. It was always assumed she would take the parental leave. Not only because I was much newer in my career but because like the many women who earn 70 cents for every man dollar, my wife earned less than I did. With the added cost of a new baby and renovations going well over budget, I was grateful that the work I loved could provide security for my family.

And, then, it was a year later.

“You’re fired!”
The news devastated me. I felt like a complete failure.

I hid my pain like a good alcoholic can hide his drinking.

“What a great experience it was,” I grinned when people sympathized. “Totally worth it.”

I tried to find the bright side and convey it to others. “I get to spend more time with my son,” I’d boast. “And I’m looking forward to supporting my wife now that she’s back at work.”

Little did they know that, on most days, my wife came home to a messy house, an empty fridge and a shell of a man.

She valiantly tried to hide her mounting frustration with my ineptitude, but that only made me feel smaller. I knew I was disappointing her. I was depressed and withdrawn. The incredible shrinking husband. I was lost.

Time spent with my son was my only sanctuary. But even that would come crashing down. “Sure, he loves me now,” I’d say to myself, “but what would he think of me if he really knew I was a failure?” I felt like a fraud… like some glad-handing shuckster trying to pedal snake oil to my own son.

I used to feel so virtuous. I’d walk through the door after work and offer to start cooking dinner. On weekend mornings, I’d strap my son in the Snuggli while my wife was snug in bed, getting some well-deserved sleep.

But it’s easy to be virtuous when you are making eighty five thousand a year.

Was that it? Was this all about money?

I was taken aback by my own reaction. Me? Involved father and husband reduced to catatonic bystander when it came to work around the house. Me? The man who was not ashamed to leap about in a giant flour sack for $8 an hour only a few years earlier was feeling totally powerless for not making any money.

In my mind, I wasn’t a failure for losing a job. I was a failure because I was no longer able to fulfill the primary function that people still expect from fathers. Without that role, I felt useless to my family. I was left to flounder in the dark…emasculated…impotent. Maybe my wife’s old-school friend’s way of thinking was more pervasive than I thought. Men really are first and foremost regarded as financial providers.

Now you can disagree with me…and I can tell you to piss off. Lord knows that’s what I wanted to say to a few women to whom I made the grievous error of opening up.

When I talked about how my depression stemmed from failing to live up to society’s expectations of the male breadwinner, I don’t know what I was expecting. But I sure as hell wasn’t looking for abuse.

“Put your club down and act like a man”

“Cry me a river. Try being a woman – you have to earn the money AND do everything else!”

The feminists who told me to quit my whining failed to see the irony: we are fighting the same battle. Remember that 70 cents per dollar? It tells me my place is at the office, bringing home the bacon, just as much as it tells a woman her place is at home. The cultural forces that still want to define women by their mothering skills are symbiotic with those which make a man judge himself by his salary. It’s all part of the same equation, isn’t it? Or I am I just delusional?

Prior to losing my job, I had known there were still forces at work promoting adherence to outmoded gender roles. I just thought I was above that.

I was wrong.

Even now… . Even now, after identifying the power of traditional expectations. Even now, when I am hell bent on showing my two boys a different idea of being a man. Even now, when I work with men grappling with their own money-driven demons …I struggle.

You could say I’m struggling with money.

I like to say, I’m struggling for change.

This photo has nothing to do with my blog post...

...I posted it because I love it. That's my now 9 month old son, Nathan.

I've did a guest blog today over at daddyshome.org.  Among other things, daddy's home is the organization behind the At Home Dad's Convention coming up in Omaha in just a few weeks (to which I'm going!!!Woot!)

Heartbroken at Four and a Half

I didn’t ever think that my son would first experience true heartbreak at the age of four. And I certainly didn’t think he would have had his heart broken by another little boy.

My son has been going to pre-school for three, four and five year olds since September. He has many great friends there, but he has had a magical relationship with one little boy in particular. His name is Louis.

While Connor will play trucks or lego or paint happily with any of his boy or girl friends, when it comes to play with Louis, it is all imagination. They play one game they made up called “Wolfhikers.” I don’t know much about Wolfhikers other than they are animals that like to eat owls  and pointed sticks.  Another favourite from the recesses of their collective imagination is to play “Scary Cat of the Deejen” (your guess is as good as mine on this one). When I come to pick up Connor at the end of the day, if he’s with Louis, he always runs over and asks, “Can I just have five more minutes?” before scurrying off under a tree to some other magical world they’ve created together.

In short, Louis and Connor are soul mates who need nothing other than each other to have a great time: which was why Connor was crestfallen when Louis left school yesterday to start kindergarten.

According to one of my son’s teachers, she’s never seen a child cry like mine did as they were giving each departing five year old his or her special photo album. Despite our weeks of gently mentioning that Louis was off to kindergarten soon, it had suddenly hit Connor like a freight train. His best friend was leaving.

That night at the dinner table, my son just sat there, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at his plate.

“Are you OK, my love?” I asked.

“I’m just sad that Louis left,” he sighed.

“I know. I’m sad too,” I genuinely empathized. “I bet you that Louis really misses you, too,” I added.

He nodded vacantly as his face got redder and his breathing got shorter.

“We’ll make sure to see him soon,” I said reassuringly.

“It’s just..." he began to sputter. "It's just that I love him so much!” he proclaimed, as tears welled up in his beautiful blue eyes and started dripping down his cheeks.

I scooped him up, loving him even more in that moment for being so unabashedly genuine.

“You know how Granny cries when we leave her house sometimes?” I asked.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“That’s because she loves us so much that it makes her sad when we leave. Aren’t we lucky to have friends like Louis who we love so much and who love us back?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you like us to call him?”

We gave Louis a call to set up a play date but mostly so my son could hear his voice and know that he hadn’t gone to the international space station, or worse, been eaten by a Wolfhiker.

“Hi Louis...I’m really sad that you’re gone but I’m happy that we are going to see each other soon,” my son gushed the instant he heard Louis’ voice.

I wish I could describe how I felt in those moments. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as simultaneously heartbroken and proud. My son was so vulnerable and child-like in his loss, but somehow seemed so grown up and mature in his acceptance. No tantrums, no wailing. Just being. It was all strangely beautiful to behold.

I hope the next time I face adversity, I can handle it with such honesty and grace.

The CBC Must Be Broke...

...because they are replaying my radio documentary on at home dads, "Beer and Braids" for what must be the 17th time since it first aired last Christmas Eve.

Oh well, I will use it as an excuse to promote this year's At Home Dads Convention coming up this October 2nd in Omaha.

I can't stress enough what a great group of guys go to this event.  It's unlikely that I'll be able to make it this year, but if you can attend, I highly recommend it.

Oh, and if you can't and want to listen to my story about last year's event, you can tune in your local CBC Radio One station at 9:30am local time on Tuesday, August 24th.  If you don't live in Canada, you can go here, then click on a province.  My story will air at 9:30 local time in that time zone.  In other words, if you are in the Eastern Time Zone and it's 12:30pm, you can click on British Columbia (Pacific Time Zone) where it is 9:30am local time.

Get it?

Ah, Ain't Summer Grand?

I’ve been a lousy blogger this summer, but I’ve been a terrific dad!

This has been one of the nicest summers I can remember. I’ve reveled in watching Connor go from timorous land lubber to prune fingered Aquaman wanna-be in a matter of days. We’ve had barbecues with dear friends, reunions with distant family and I’ve made my annual pilgrimage to the MLB All Star game where I have the joy/privilege/dumb luck to interview some of my childhood idols from the world of baseball.

Since becoming a dad, this has been a bitter-sweet event as it means I am away from my family for eight days. This year, however, my wife and two boys came along. It gave me untold pleasure to watch Connor sprint so determinedly around the bases at the All Star Fan Fest—even though he failed to touch any of them. I saw little of my family as I was pulling 12 hour days, but it meant the world to me to come back to the hotel, take a dip with my 4 year old, and then tuck him into bed. I’ve come to the conclusion that even though I like the concept of “time away”, I miss my family dearly when we’re apart. This isn’t to say I need them 24/7—it just means that my day seems a little less fulfilling without good night kisses, the sound of my 4 year old making my 8 month old laugh hysterically, and sliding into the same bed as my wife. A king size bed can be a lonely place when you are on the road.

That said I had a great time with three of my buddies on our 21st annual golf trip. Every summer, we take off for some region of the Northwest for four days of golf, beer drinking and general sophomoric behavior. I wouldn’t miss this trip for the world.

The morning I left, my family was still asleep in bed.

“Bye bye my precious boy,” I said to Connor as I kissed him goodbye.

“Bye bye my breakfast dad,” he groggily replied before crashing back to sleep.

Before I left, I hid three little “treasures” for Connor. Each night I was away, I would call him in the evening and give him a clue as to where I had left it. He went on a little hunt and turned up a sugary treat from his dad. On the third night, my cell phone rang just after dinner.

“Hello?” I said.

“Dad, where is the treat?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have resorted to high fructose corn syrup to win his love, but I liked the idea of him knowing that I took the time to do that for him. As he gets older, I can make more complex clues that will take him all over the house before he finds, oh, I don’t know, a box of shredded wheat (unfrosted).

When I think back to my childhood, or even my present, I feel most loved and secure when I know that someone is thinking about me and letting me know I am important to them. That’s what I wanted to do with my son.

Then I just had to be sure to come home with a nice present for my wife, who had to tend to a sugar fueled four year-old all by herself.

Hurrah! Lesbian Moms For Everyone!

As I writer who has been misunderstood and assaulted by readers blinded by their own pre-rehearsed rants, I will try to season my rage with Pamela Paul’s article, Are Father’s Necessary?  with a sprinkling of reason.

If you haven’t read the article, Paul’s general thesis is that fathers have nothing of distinction to offer their kids, and might therefore be unnecessary. Paul claims that all the studies which show the positive benefits of father involvement are bunk as they are only compared to studies about kids raised just by single moms. She does make an astute observation when she writes “Most of the data fail to distinguish between a father and the income a father provides, or between the presence of a father and the presence of a second parent, regardless of gender.”

To illustrate her point, Paul then touts the results of a study of families headed by lesbian moms. She quotes two academics who conclude, “…based strictly on the published science, one could argue that two women parent better on average than a woman and a man, or at least than a woman and man with a traditional division of family labor.”

She then wraps the whole thing up saying heterosexual parents secretly embrace the traditional gender parenting roles and that “there is nothing objectively essential about (a father’s) contribution.” She then puts down her pen, goes into the den, and throws butcher knives at an effigy of her dad (ok, so maybe I added that last part.)

The biggest flaw made here, from a simply “scientific” viewpoint (keeping in mind I was an arts major) is that we don’t have any data in her article around kids raised by gay fathers. Perhaps those results are implied: the more men we add to the equation, the worse things get. Kids from lesbian parents do better than kids from straight couples; children raised by single moms have healthier relationships than kids from single dad families. I guess the logical conclusion to that pattern is that kids raised by two men devolve into depraved, crime ridden and flesh easting terrorists who will stop at nothing to kill you and everyone you love.

Paul is missing two profoundly importing things (and perhaps a few marbles). The first: children need to know they are loved and valued by the two people who are supposed to love them most—their parents. I don’t care if those are gay parents, straight parents, divorced parents or rhesus monkey parents. When a child grows up with, say, an alcoholic mother, who is incapable due to her own illness to give her child the unconditional love and support a child needs, that child will suffer. Period.

The second gross oversight is that it is because of traditional gender roles that we are taking dads away from their children. Workplace culture, societal forces and yes, even the gate keeping mothers to whom Paul alludes are all guilty of reinforcing the idea that a man is best serving his family at the office. And how has that worked to date? I know a heap of adults who are haunted by unresolved issues with their dad because he was rarely around. I’ve never met anyone who has ever lamented, “You know, the problem with my dad is that he wanted to spend too much time with me.” As long as we adhere to traditional gender roles, and deny fathers the same cultural and workplace leeway that is given to working moms, kids will continue to ask themselves, “Why is my dad never at my piano recitals?” with the eventual inferred answer being, “…because his work is more important.” It is not until you are an adult that you realize why dad was making such a huge sacrifice but by that time the damage has already been done.

Perhaps Paul is one of those gate keeping mothers. A recent University of Texas study showed that the more competent a man is as a father, the lower his wife’s self esteem is around mothering. (Here is another fine example of how reinforcing traditional gender roles can mess us all up—look at the pressure we still put on women to tie their self worth to their apron strings). Perhaps Paul thinks the solution here is for men to imitate Hollywood and Madison Avenue and put the diaper on the baby’s head from time to time in an effort to make her feel better.

What is ultimately insulting to me in this piece is Paul’s implication that men (and women) are happy secretly clinging to traditional gender roles. She suggests I am really content to just teach my son to throw a spiral, give his hair a tussle, and then leave everything else to mom. While I agree traditional gender lines are more rigid than people think, I would vehemently argue that people are unaware slaves rather than clandestine subscribers to them. Those who feel they are personally above such antiquated notions are largely still bound by them. Even the most progressive couple who wants dad to be the at-home parent is still restricted by the fact that we still pay women less than men. Even here in progressive Canada, moms will often get parental leave top ups from employers where dads do not.

Anyway, Pamela, enough of this silly girl talk. Now go get me my pipe and slippers, honey. And before you get to scrubbing the toilet and wiping the kid’s butts, be a good girl and pour me a scotch, will you?

Why Aren’t Dads Lobbying for Better Work Life Balance?

Over on my men’s work life balance blog, I’ve been writing about several recent studies, all which point to the fact that men, more than ever before, are struggling with work life balance. Today’s father is waking up facing a whole slew of issues that his father never really had to consider, yet we are still burdened by the expectation that our fathers did face—namely, to be the primary breadwinner.

There are countless examples, of course, of families where mom out earns dad, or dad is the stay at home parent. This is great. We need to hail families like these as trailblazers for turning traditional gender roles on their ear. However, men have a larger battle on their hands, and for the sake of our children we need to arise to the challenge.

It is safe to generalize that men today want (or perhaps, expect) to be more involved with their kids than previous generations of dads. This, I believe is the source of our increasing dissatisfaction with work life balance—we want to be more involved with kids, are rightly expected to do more domestically, but are conditioned to believe we are of most use to our families at the office rather than the dinner table. It is an ugly game of tug of war where, ironically, both families and employers get less than they had bargained for.

Although work life balance is a societal issue—one that affects moms, dads, single people and same sex couples, it is still largely framed as a “mom’s issue”. And why not? Moms brought work life balance to the forefront as they blazed the trail for all aspiring career women who still embraced motherhood. But today, according to the Families and Work Institute more men (59%) than women (45%) are saying that work life and family life are interfering with each other.

I came across an article by Courtney E. Martin who co-authored a report for the Centre for American Progress. In it, she fully acknowledges that men are facing the work life balance crunch and largely get ignored in WLB discussions. But she asks a great question: “…what will motivate men to embrace work/life policy issues as their own?”

She goes on to say that as a woman, she shouldn’t have to answer that question, and that women are tired of asking men to “meet them half way.” Though I understand where the fatigue is coming from, I think her comment is short sighted.

However, her question (and the implied answer) is spot on. Men aren’t organizing and rallying against one-sided work policies (not to mention, work culture) that act as inhibitors to us being more involved fathers. We need to stand up as men, in the workplace and elsewhere, and demand that we no longer should be seen as second class citizens when it comes to parenting and  that we deserve the same flexibility policies that are granted to mothers. And we need to feel proud, not emascuated, if we choose to put time with family ahead of time at the office.  It’s sadly ironic that the whole world seems to know that involved fathers are the best way to keep our kids in school and out of gangs, jail, and the delivery room. Yet we do little in terms of workplace and social policy to support and foster that involvement.

Like women have done, we need to take responsibility for our actions and our future. We are the only solution to the problems that plague our work and family balance. As we approach Father’s Day, think about how proud you are to be a dad and how much you love being with your kids. And the next time you have the chance to stand up and speak out in support of fatherhood, be it at the work place or the bar, do it with your head held high. One day, your sons and daughters may thank you for it.

Calling all At Home Dads

If you are an at home dad (or know one) you owe it to yourself to check out the At Home Dad Convention  in Omaha, NB.

The event is scheduled officially for October 2nd, but for those who can come for longer, events usually get underway earlier.   Last year we watched college football on Thursday night, and spent Friday at the Strategic Air and Space Museum before a welcome reception at the hotel that night.  Saturday we had a great line up of speakers including "Daddy Shift" author, Jeremy Adam Smith as well as a full slate of great break out sessions.

This convention is men at their best--drinking beer, watching football and embracing our "guy" side one minute, and actively participating in forums of styling your daughters hair the next.

If you can get to Omaha for this event, I highly recommend it.  If money is an issue, I know there is a scholarship available and the local hotel gives participants a great deal.

I hope to make it there again myself this year and I hope to see you there!