Parenting

Parenting Truth: Everything Changes, Always

/ Carter Gaddis

This happened at the park a minute ago or seven years ago. Same thing.

Time and distance do not always provide perspective for parents. To gain it, one must still the mind and allow the swirl of emotions, events and smelly diapers to coalesce into a meaningful narrative.

But how? When? The thing about parenting is that it’s always in motion. There is no comfort zone, no discernible plot to follow. Everything changes, always, sometimes minute to minute.

It was only a second ago, wasn’t it, that my older son grinned that impish grin at me from inside that bright red slide? Those dirty blond curls still encircle my younger son’s head like a cloud of caramel swirl. Right?

Where’d his curls go? They were there a minute ago …

We just left that park, didn’t we? I can still taste the donuts and Cheerios we ate for lunch.

No, it’s been years, not minutes. They were born, and so was I – a new dad. They grow and learn, and so do I. It never stops.

Sometimes, I just want to step into the middle of the ring and yell, “WAIT! HANG ON A MINUTE! Let me catch my breath.”

But then I think … no. That’s not right. We can’t stop. That’s not how it works. We have to absorb it all and process it and move on to the next thing and the thing after that SIMULTANEOUSLY because that’s parenting.

It’s also life. Even when I figuratively pause to write down a few stray thoughts, things are happening, man.

Right now, the boys are at summer camp. They swam today and frolicked in the sun with mermaids at a local tourist trap north of here.

Later, the younger boy – curl-less now, but still sweet as caramel – will resume his tennis lessons. Maybe the older boy will ask to watch a particular TV show, or settle in to giggle at a YouTube video about Minecraft, or pick up a chapter book and read it cover to cover by bedtime.

Pampers

I can’t hug them enough to really show them how grateful I am that they’re in my life.

Those are today’s memories. Tomorrow … that’s the good stuff. That’s how we grow, it’s how we fill our souls – one tomorrow at a time.

Who am I because of my sons? I’m dad. But who is that? Man, I don’t know. Whenever I think I might have a clue, or fool myself into believing that perspective is about to sink in, another tomorrow comes along to add a layer of being.

Whoever I am, these guys made me. I helped make them, sure, but without a doubt I am who I am today – and will be tomorrow – because they are in my life.

I could go back to that sweltering day in the park and bask in the summer heat and snarf down another donut and tell them how much I love them and yell at them to be careful on the slides and hug them a million times – a billion – and it wouldn’t match my gratitude for all they’ve given me.

__________

It’s almost Father’s Day, and I’ve partnered with Life of Dad and Pampers for this promotion and to tell this story. It’s about giving thanks for fatherhood, even though there is no way for me to adequately express it.

Better, maybe, just to keep it simple and share the hashtag: #ThanksBaby. It’ll be all over Twitter this weekend, as will I. Check in on Twitter at 8 p.m. Saturday, June 17, for a one-hour #ThanksBaby chat with Pampers and Life of Dad, with a chance to win a $250 Visa gift card.

We Made You … Then You Made Me #ThanksBaby

/ Carter Gaddis

Jay on beachI have partnered with Life of Dad and Pampers for this promotion.

Your mom and I made you, boys. We don’t think about that much, I know, but … think about that. We made you. You grew inside your mom until you were ready for the world, and then …

Here you were, announcing your presence with a purple-faced scream, slimy arms and legs flailing, eyes squeezed tight against the sudden, awful light of this strange, loud, bright, cold place.

Baby JayWe made you.

And then …

You made me.

I’m your dad. I am who I am because you’re here.

Thank you.

Kids at Lettuce LakeI don’t know when I noticed the shift, but it was real, and it was irreversible. You move through life with a certain idea of self, the “me” of it all. I can’t tell you how that is for you, because it’s different for all of us.

I can only tell you that when I thought of “me” before you came, the perception typically was shaped by fundamental desires. Food, of course. Sex, certainly. Career, fun, financial security.

I thought of my “self” as a means to acquire those things I thought I needed to support my inalienable right to pursue happiness.

Jay on baseThen you were there, and I realized that when I got behind the wheel of my car, when I sat down to eat supper, when I went swimming, when I knocked back a few cocktails – all of these things were happening to your father. I became aware, slowly, that my needs began to intersect with those of this new dude, this new being you had created.

It was me. I was the new dude.

Kids Walk to BusAll of the fundamental desires that once had been the driving force in my life were now superseded by the visceral need to nurture you and to protect your father so that you and your mother would not ever have to go it alone.

Sounds weird, I know. Sounds a bit like split personalities – and it is. That’s what happens. I’m pretty sure parental sleep deprivation in the first year of babyhood is a contributing factor.

In fact, for all I know, I’m dreaming right now as you snooze away the early morning with your head resting on my chest, your tiny little heart beating, pounding out the new rhythm of my life.

For all I know, I will wake up and find that you need a diaper change and a bottle, and the memory of the dream of these last 10 years will begin to fade, as dreams do.

If it is a dream, then it is a good dream.

Thank you.

__________

On Father’s Day and every day, Pampers is giving thanks to babies for making dad feel exceptionally special and empowering him to discover new roles in life through fatherhood. Pampers honors dads for just being dads and thanks them for all the amazing things, big and small, they do to help little ones have a better, loving, more fulfilling life.

Please join us this Father’s Day by tweeting why you are most thankful for baby with the hashtag #ThanksBaby. Then, enjoy this video that captures the amazing relationship that is created between a dad and his baby when a child is born and the beautiful journey of fatherhood begins.

 

I Found the Sun

/ Carter Gaddis

He stirred and snorted. Awake, eyes closed.

He said:

“I found … the sun.”

He found …

What marvelous dream did I interrupt?

The sun.

I found the sun. 

Why was it lost? Where did he find it? How did he find it? Who did he tell?

I like to think that when he closed his eyes, he leaped into a journey through the night, seeking the sun’s warm glow.

He grappled with dog-headed demons and scaled mountainous wave after wave of salty, high-tide sea froth, sputtering, eyes closed tight against the stinging salt water. He dived beneath the waves and wore his fingernails to ravaged nubs digging a tunnel to the core of Venus, only to find himself riding a comet back to Earth.

His wings of wax melted away in the comet’s heat and he fell, fell …

He landed at Ikea and wandered through faux bedrooms and kitchens, deeper into the flatware and furniture labyrinth, past throw pillows and cutlery, following the aroma of Swedish meatballs to food — and safety. The meatballs were not to his taste, so he dived into a pool of dark chocolate cake batter and backstroked across the English channel to the White Cliffs of Dover, which were made of marzipan and were more beige than white.

He hopped aboard a tennis ball and served himself over the Atlantic back home to Florida, where he landed on the Monorail and waved at the Magic Kingdom train station as the track broke free from its earthly bonds and unwound before him across the swamps and cattle sloughs of the I-4 corridor, back home.

Awake, eyes closed, gazing into the abyss.

And he said:

I found the sun.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me.

The 5th Dad 2.0 Summit: Stories Everywhere You Looked

/ Carter Gaddis / 1 Comment
The White House was aglow the night before the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit in Washington, D.C.

The White House was aglow the night before the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit in Washington, D.C.

Stories simmered everywhere I looked this past weekend at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

I wish I had been there as a journalist. I wish I could have covered the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit in Washington, D.C., for a major news organization.

For example: Esquire. The venerable men’s magazine — my favorite magazine since the early 1980s — was the event’s primary media partner for the second year running. For that, the magazine should be applauded.

I wish I could have been there writing about the event for Esquire.

As it is, I was there for the fourth consecutive time. I was there as a speaker, as a participant, as a member of a community that has become dear to me as a 40-something father of two elementary-age children and a writer who loves great stories.

Throughout the weekend, from the moment I landed at Reagan National Airport on Wednesday evening until the moment I arrived home on Sunday afternoon, I was awash in story ideas.

It never gets out of your blood when you’re a journalist. I did that for 24 years. I found stories. Even when I didn’t want to be there, even when there seemed to be nothing compelling, nothing worth writing — I found the story.

That was the job.

If I had been there covering for Esquire or another respected news and entertainment organization, I might have felt a bit overwhelmed by the volume of compelling material. Still, I’m confident I would have managed to write something coherent and representative.

All I had to do was look and listen and write it down. What I saw and heard was a movement that is composed of dads and moms from all over the world. Parents who share a passion for content creation, for storytelling, and for being the best dads and moms they can be.

I saw brands — Dove Men+Care, Kia, Lego, Best Buy, Lee Jeans, Rheem, and many more — that sent representatives to the Dad 2.0 Summit to connect with fathers and to join in the conversation about the evolving role of dads in the 21st century.

I saw what I always see at the Dad 2.0 Summit: waves of raw emotion shared and accepted — and embraced.

Speaking of things embraced, I saw hugs. I saw a lot of hugs. I gave and received a lot of hugs, too, from people I have come to love over the years and from people who I met for the first time. Hugging is the universal language at the Dad 2.0 Summit, and there is a lot of it, always.

Mostly, though? I saw stories. So many stories.

Here are just a few that I might have used as a hook in a post-conference roundup if I had written one for a big-time publication:

One of the seminal moments of the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit: Beth Blauer, left, meets author Brad Meltzer, the opening keynote speaker. Meltzer dedicated his speech to Blauer and her late husband, Oren Miller, a leader and friend who helped galvanize the dad blogging community around the world.

One of the seminal moments of the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit: Beth Blauer, left, meets author Brad Meltzer, the opening keynote speaker. Meltzer dedicated his speech to Blauer and her late husband, Oren Miller, a leader and friend who helped galvanize the dad blogging community around the world.

Author Brad Meltzer, the opening keynote speaker, dedicated his remarks to the late Oren Miller and his wife, Beth Blauer.

Oren was one of the dad blogging community’s most important leaders, the founder of a large and vibrant group of dad bloggers on Facebook. He also was an incredible writer who died too young of lung cancer, and Beth was in Washington, D.C., to tell her family’s story with the people who loved Oren so.

Disclosure: I sat on a panel with Beth, along with the head of Movember in the United States, Mark Hedstrom. Jim Higley, the marketing director of Camp Kesem and one of the most respected voices in the country for cancer care advocacy, moderated the panel, which was about the galvanizing effect of fighting cancer.

That was a story. It was a story of Beth and Oren’s final days together, of how Oren nearly lost his fight before it began because the news shattered him and sent him to a dark place that could only be lit by the presence of his small children. It was a story of fierce optimism, a story of nine difficult months that moved all who heard it to tears and left me in awe of the strength and grace of Beth Blauer.

I told my cancer story, too. We all have one.

Oh, and? Higley announced a huge fundraiser for a new Camp Kesem chapter at the University of Maryland, Beth and Oren’s alma mater. Twelve dads will walk Hadrian’s Wall this summer to help raise money to fund the new camp.

That’s a story.

So were these. It would have been easy, frankly, to unearth them:

The brands have shown up in force over the years. What were they doing there? What did they expect to accomplish?

That’s a story.

Creed Anthony reads a tale of visiting the land in Kentucky where his ancestors were forced to work as slaves while author and keynote speaker Brad Meltzer looks on.

Creed Anthony reads a tale of visiting the land in Kentucky where his ancestors were forced to work as slaves while author and keynote speaker Brad Meltzer looks on.

Creed Anthony, a dear friend and father of African-American descent who authors Tales from the Poop Deck, read a powerful post about visiting the land in Kentucky where his ancestors had been forced to work as slaves 140 years ago. 

That’s a story.

On Friday night, a large group of dads turned out for the first “Dad Slam,” a series of readings where men cried and laughed and shared their hearts. When time ran out on the ballroom, they moved to another room and kept right on reading and crying and laughing and sharing. 

That’s what they call “color,” in the news business. It was a chance to pull back the curtain and find out what this community is about.

That’s a story.

And then came Derreck Kayongo, the closing keynote speaker. He is the CEO of the Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta. He got us singing and dancing.

See?

So many moments. So much useful information. So many hugs.

So many selfies and so much fun.

This was the fifth annual Dad 2.0 Summit as I saw it. Stories everywhere. Simply everywhere.

And there will be even more a year from now in San Diego. I can’t wait to find out what happens next.

These guys and 400 others -- my extended family. We have a lot to say and we have a lot to do. The Dad 2.0 Summit brings us together for common purpose: To change the way the world thinks about fatherhood. That's a story. (L-R: me, Jeff Bogle, Out With the Kids; Chris Read, Canadian Dad; Jay Sokol, Dude of the House.

These guys and 400 others — my extended family. We have a lot to say and we have a lot to do. The Dad 2.0 Summit brings us together for common purpose: To change the way the world thinks about fatherhood. That’s a story. (L-R: me, Jeff Bogle, Out With the Kids; Chris Read, Canadian Dad; Jay Sokol, Dude of the House.)

 

Kids Feel Entitled? Don’t Blame a Trophy

/ Carter Gaddis / 1 Comment

Is achievement in youth sports a zero-sum activity? Your answer to that question likely will determine whether you think it’s some kind of social catastrophe for kids to receive a small, cheap, but lovely little token at the end of a youth sports season.

Here’s another question: What is the purpose of youth sports?

I believe youth sports are meant to help kids learn to socialize. After-school and weekend activities like baseball, soccer, swimming and other sports introduce kids to different experiences, a vital component of growing up. Sports give kids the chance to identify their physical, mental and emotional limits and push past them as they grow.

Most of all, youth sports are supposed to be fun.

If you believe sports is only about identifying winners and losers, then frankly, you have the wrong idea about the purpose of youth sports.

This brings me to trophies. What are trophies? A lot has been made this week about Steelers player James Harrison’s public assertion that participation awards in youth sports rob his kids of the edge they need to succeed. So, he told the world on Instagram that he is returning his kids’ participation trophies.

The implication is that a trophy only has value if it is emblematic of success in children’s games.

Historically, trophies do symbolize achievement. They symbolize excellence. They are physical reminders of the hard work and dedication put in to perform well enough to defeat the competition. Well, guess what? Those days are over. The traditional purpose of trophies has changed, at least for youth sports.

Whereas they used to give out certificates for participation, they now give out trinkets. Today’s participation trophies might also be likened to the varsity letters awarded to older kids who play at the highest level of high school sports. It’s perfectly reasonable that as kids get older – say, high school age – and begin to separate out into “competitive” and “recreational” athletes, some physical award for championships is received.

In this century, though, trophies for participants in most youth sports leagues have come to represent something else – commitment to a purpose. That’s worth commemorating, worth recognizing, as kids move toward adolescence and adulthood.

Times Have Changed

That said, I personally don’t believe it matters if a kid gets a participation trophy at the end of the season. When I was a kid, we got certificates – none of which survived for long. Many youth leagues award participation trophies today instead of certificates. So what? It’s the same message, only instead of a piece of paper it’s a trophy.

Not everyone chooses to gracefully accept this change. They think trophies should still mean today what they meant 20 or 30 years ago. They refuse to recognize that times have changed in that regard. I get it. It’s difficult to let go of tradition.

The problem I have is with parents and others who think participation trophies are somehow harmful to kids. That’s simply ludicrous. Kids are smarter than that. They deserve more credit than that.

My older son has a shelf-full of participation trophies and medals from YMCA soccer and Cal Ripken baseball. He displays them because they remind him of the friends he made and the fun he had during those seasons. He worked hard and improved every season and I see no problem with him enjoying the trophies.

We didn’t make a big deal of it when he got them. There was no, “Oh, hey! Look at that! You did SO GREAT! You get a TROPHY! Hooray for you!” Trophies or medals were just part of the end-of-season ceremonies, along with ice cream and the occasional pizza party.

I’m seeing many arguments this week from parents who scoff at the notion of a participation trophy. Great. Fine. Those parents can do their thing. But if a kid gets a kick out of receiving a shiny little trinket along with his or her ice cream cone at the end of a youth sports season, why would you want to spoil that?

It has been my experience that kids who get these trophies at the end of seasons are more excited about the ice cream. I’ve seen kids cry at the end of a season not because they didn’t win, but because they were sad that they would no longer be playing a game they love with this particular group of friends.

That’s the beauty of youth sports. The games give kids something to care about.

Don’t Blame the Trophy

I get the sense that people who object to participation trophies see them as symbolic of or contributing to an “entitlement” mentality. They associate it with the dreaded concept of “political correctness,” or consider it a symbolic recognition that mediocrity is acceptable. They seem to believe that if a kid gets an “award” simply for showing up, he or she will always believe that’s how life should be.

That’s a specious conclusion, because recognition for participation in youth sports is nothing new.

It’s just that instead of a piece of paper with a hastily-scribbled or stamped signature of some unknown league official at the bottom, kids get something a lot cooler – a trophy, or occasionally a little medal on a ribbon. A trophy is nicer than a piece of paper, but these little figurines of plastic, metal and wood one day will be discarded along with all other childhood relics.

If a kid happens to look at that shiny trinket on the shelf as he or she grows up, who knows? It just might be a reminder of the fun, the camaraderie, and other lessons learned during that season. It might even make that kid smile. Nothing wrong with that.

One thing it won’t do – it won’t turn that kid into a spoiled, entitled brat who expects to get something for nothing. If that attitude exists, parents might want to look for the cause in the mirror, rather than the trophy case.

The Pursuit of Happiness

/ Carter Gaddis / 4 Comments
Yeah, I'm happy. I admit it. The pursuit goes on.

Yeah, I’m happy. I admit it. The pursuit goes on.

A year ago today, I saw a rainbow in the sky on my way to work. At the office, I dropped my computer bag on my desk, walked to the corner office, and submitted my notice.

After four-and-a-half years of cubicle life, it was time to move on. Events conspired to make it possible for me to do that. I was fortunate, and I knew it.

I know it, still.

For a while, it seemed as if I had no choice. I felt trapped by circumstance. That was false. I always had a choice. I was not trapped. But I thought I was, and thinking it made it so.

For a while.

You are not trapped, either. You have a choice.

You can — you should — pursue happiness.

The pursuit of happiness is not some quaint and dusty notion from the history books. It is not merely an optional addendum intended to improve the rhythm of a catchy line, a pithy means to complete the circle of life and liberty.

It is a right. It is your right. Unalienable, even.

Happiness? It’s not a state of being. It is a fleeting thing. There’s a reason we must pursue it.

When you catch it often enough, happiness becomes familiar. String enough of those fleeting, happy moments together and yes, you can make happy your default emotion.

A year ago today, I saw that rainbow and took it as a sign. I don’t believe in signs. I do believe in contradiction, though, and in the power of conflict and decision to shape our lives.

It hasn’t been perfect. But we have been happy. We are happy. And the pursuit goes on.

 

The Fine Line Between ‘I can’t’ and ‘I can’t – yet’

/ Carter Gaddis / 2 Comments

To a second grader, grownups are magicians. We can reach stuff in the high cabinets. We can make toast. We can drive a car. We can produce endless LEGO sets out of thin air. We can do things their developing minds consider mini-miracles.

I kind of like it. Makes me feel useful and smarter than I actually am.

Our younger son got frustrated at breakfast trying to open one of those applesauce pouches. You know the kind, and come on; it’s the easiest thing on Earth to do, right? Grab the cap in one hand, hold the pouch firmly in the other hand, apply counter-clockwise pressure to the cap, and voilà! One of your oh-so-vital servings of fruit, ready to inhale at your convenience.

He could not figure it out. So, he threw it across the table and yelled, “I can’t!”

I retrieved the pouch and placed it in front of him, unopened. I bent down to his level and smiled. He crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip.

I ducked my head to look at him eye-to-eye and asked, “Can you fly a rocket ship to the moon?”

He said, “No!”

I asked, “Can you drive a car to the movies?”

He said, “No! No! No!”

I asked, “Can you ride your bike without training wheels?”

He said, “No, and I don’t want to!”

I asked, “Can you determine the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

He looked up at me and said, “What?”

Then I backed away a bit and, smiling, asked him quietly, “Can you put on a shirt by yourself?”

He uncrossed his arms and said, “Yes.”

He reached for the pouch and I gently swatted his hand away. He laughed and waited for the next question.

I asked, “Can you take a bath by yourself?”

He said, “Yes! A shower.”

I asked, “Can you go to the bathroom by yourself?”

He laughed again and said, “No!”

I looked at him sideways and he said, “OK, yes!”

Then I said, “You can’t drive a car … yet. You can’t ride a rocket to the moon … yet. You can’t ride your bike without training wheels … yet. You can’t cure cancer, or make a plan for world peace, or feed the world’s hungry, or invent a flying car. There are a lot of things you can’t do. Not yet. But that’s because you don’t have the experience you need to do those things. Your mind and body are still growing. You’re still learning. Everything is still new to you. You aren’t unable to do these things because you’re seven; your age is just a number. You are unable to do these things yet because you haven’t had the time to learn how to think, how to allow your intelligence to work on a problem until you find the solution.

“Plus,” I said, “you’re just too short to reach the cabinet.”

Then I said, “The answer you give when someone asks if you can fly to the moon is, ‘Not yet.’ ”

I asked, “Does that make sense?”

He shrugged and said, “I guess.”

“OK,” I said. “Good.”

Then I asked, “Can you open your applesauce pouch on your own?”

And he said, “No.”

Then he added, “Not yet.”

He smiled, reached for the pouch, and turned the cap with all his might.

13 Things Horrible Parents Let Their Kids Do

/ Carter Gaddis / 6 Comments

If there is one thing I have learned in nearly a decade of parenthood, it is that there is no way to know for sure if you are doing it right. Only time will reveal how much you have screwed up your kids, and by then it will be too late to do anything about it.

This is oddly comforting. It is liberating as a parent to let go of the illusion of control.

Yet, we remain culpable. It is our responsibility to guide our children through their formative years, to place them on a path of happiness and productivity.

Yes, this is a contradiction. Clearly, parenting is a no-win proposition.

That said, some parents are worse at juggling this great contradiction than others. And some are much, much worse. Some, apparently, just don’t give a crap.

How can we identify these incompetent moms and dads? Who, exactly, are these people responsible for the decay of society and the end of civilization as we know it?

Simple: Only terrible, horrible, no good parents allow their kids to do these 13 things:

1. Play baseball.

Source: OHMAGIF.COM/GIPHY

Source: OHMAGIF.COM/GIPHY.COM

2. Play golf. 

Source: GIPHY.COM

Source: GIPHY

3. Gymnastics. 

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

4. Power wash the driveway.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

5. Go camping.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

6. Walk.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

7. Sit.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

8. Yard work.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

9. Fly on a magic carpet.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

10. Fly an airplane.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

11. Go to the beach.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

12. Fall in love.

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

13. Become sentient. 

Source: GIPHY

Source: GIPHY

_________________

If you enjoyed (or hated) this horrible take on terrible parenting, please take a moment to click the social share buttons below. You might also fancy Han Solo’s parenting advice, the only other GIF list in the history of this online journal. For much more from DadScribe, give me a “like” on Facebook. Thanks!

The Doofus Dad Stereotype is Still a Thing, Unfortunately

/ Carter Gaddis / 8 Comments

Our older son is at a Friday night birthday party in the next neighborhood up the road. Our younger son requested a viewing of Frozen.

My wife, their mother, is – as of this writing – stuck on an airplane that is runway-bound while it waits out a nasty Central Florida thunderstorm. She is on her way to Cape Cod for a brief family visit, a weekend with her sister and mom.

That means it’s … it’s … just me and the (gasp!) boys. Oh, my God. What am I … what am I supposed to do? What’s … where’s … I …

Help! HELLLPPPP! I’M A DAD ON MY OWN WITH MY KIDS FOR THE WHOLE WEEKEND! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!

THEY’RE GONNA DIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

HELLLLPPPPPPP!!!!!!

Yeah, right.

I got this.

Just like millions of dads all over the world would have it if their parenting partner went out of town for a weekend or longer. This is part of the deal. We cover for each other – when I’m out of town, she’s fine. And vice-versa.

If this is starting to sound familiar, that means you are probably one of the very, very small handful of people who used to read this journal in its infancy.

My goodness. I just checked the date of the last time I wrote a post proclaiming that “I got this.” It was May 16, 2012 – almost three years ago to the day.

Here’s a sample from that post, When Mom Travels for Work … It’s Cool:

“When Mom leaves, the boys and I miss her. A lot. She’s absolutely the straw that stirs. Over the long term, we’d be lost without her. (Ugh. I almost deleted that sentence, because it’s too painful to even contemplate.)

But listen … we’re fine. The boys get fed. They get bathed. They receive my attention. They get hugged and rough-housed with and loved. The only real adjustment is I get up a half-hour earlier so I can take my shower and get dressed before they wake up.

I don’t need Mom to leave me a check list. I already know how to call their pediatrician, if necessary. I know how to feed them, and dress them, and bathe them, and read a bed-time story to them. I know how to take care of them. They’re my kids. Of course I know how to take care of them. I’m fortunate in that I have an incredible partner, and there’s no way I’ll ever take what she does and who she is for granted. We need her, and even though that doesn’t change when she goes on the road, we’re fine for a while.”

Was that me, trying to make myself out to be some kind of special snowflake dad who is so much better at this than the rest of you? Hell, no. It was me refuting the antiquated notion that dads are imbeciles who are helpless without someone there to hold their hands when their parenting partners are not around.

A writer for Babble, Lori Garcia, expressed that same sentiment. Not three years ago. Yesterday.

Here is Lori’s salient point:

“Dads, I love y’all, but I’m not falling all over myself because you acted like a parent. You’re capable. You’re intelligent. You’re great at it. And you do it all the damn time.”

Hell, yes! We’ve made it! No longer must engaged, loving, competent dads be considered helpless buffoons in the absence of their partners!

This is great! This is …

Um.

I spent a good portion of this evening taking the losing side of an argument that I honestly believed was settled a while ago. After all, hadn’t I written about it three years ago? Hadn’t a lot of people?

Weren’t big brands taking notice that the tired, old doofus dad trope was done and dusted? Hadn’t Dove Men+Care raised the bar for everyone? Hadn’t we decided as a society that dads can (and should) Lean In, too?

Yes! We are beyond it! Aren’t we?

Here’s what I wrote in a good conversation with a group of less-naïve dads on Facebook. I reference the Babble story mentioned and linked above:

“I guess I’m as confused as Lori about why it would be (still) the majority opinion that if one parenting partner takes off for a while, the other parenting partner would melt into a puddle of confusion and despair about bath time and bed time or whatever. Yes, there are ‘red state’ ways of thinking about the family dynamic, but I want to believe that the old, tired way of thinking about these things is being overtaken by more enlightened ideas. At least in theory, if not in actual everyday, everywhere practice. No?”

No.

As I naively tried to argue in favor of progress, a fellow dad posted this ridiculous commercial from AT&T in the same private group: Piece of Cake. Basically, it’s a dad who is left at home alone with the kids and is so inept that only a magical AT&T app that controls everything in the house helps the husband and kids survive the mom’s absence.

It’s the first big-brand commercial I’ve seen in a while that relied on the doofus dad as the primary conceit. And listen – I am aware there are dads who are doofuses. I am aware that everyone forgets things and takes shortcuts and needs a little help every now and then with the kids and with life in general.

I also am aware that in our insular group of fathers who write and interact on social media – the Dad 2.0 Summit crew, City Dads and many others – we do not necessarily fall within the cultural perception of the usual. Maybe it just seems to me like it’s no big deal for dads to be “left alone” with the kids for a while because of the company I keep.

I’d like to think it’s beyond that, though. I’d like to think there has been progress. I’d like to think that it’s “normal” for a dad to be able to pick up his kids at the bus stop on an afternoon, drop off his older son at a birthday party, watch Frozen with his younger son, and plan a fun, productive weekend while his wife was enjoying a wonderful weekend with her mom and sister.

I’d like to think that. Until there are no more commercials like that silly AT&T nonsense above, I’m afraid my fellow fathers are right.

We still have a lot of work to do.

Free-Range Parenting: Knowing When to Let Go

/ Carter Gaddis / 9 Comments

Free-Range Parenting

I asked our 9-year-old son if he thought he and his 6-year-old brother were old enough to walk the mile between our home and the neighborhood community pool without me or Mom.

He shook his head “no” before I finished the question.

“Maybe in one more year,” he said. “But right now … it’s a mile.”

He paused to marvel at the magnitude of the word, the vast distance it represents for a third grader, the incomprehensible here-to-thereness of it.

“There’s so much chance of bad stuff happening along the way,” he continued. “Like, what if there’s a snake or something?”

Yes. Exactly.

What if the mean streets of our suburban Central Florida neighborhood were over-run by an army of hungry Burmese pythons, on the hunt for new meat after eating all the rabbits and deer in the Everglades?

Or something?

Something like aggressive, stinging fire ants, which can swarm up a small child’s leg in an instant and inflict dozens of painful wounds.

Something like reckless high school-age kids tearing around the neighborhood like idiots on modified, rocket-propelled golf carts.

Something like a careless driver flying along far too fast to see two little boys alone crossing the road.

Something like open bodies of water – retaining ponds, drainage creeks and golf course lakes.

Free Range Parenting

Actual alligator sunning itself near the sidewalk connecting our house and the community pool. It looked hungry to me.

Something like the alligators that frequent those bodies of water. (Seriously. They’re everywhere. See photo.)

Something like a bad person looking for an unprotected kid to take.

Something like an over-zealous “good Samaritan” watchdog poised to place a panicky phone call to an over-zealous law enforcement agency that stands ready to over-zealously protect the children of the world from parents who have the gall to allow their kids to walk alone on a public sidewalk less than a mile from home.

It’s a jungle out there, right?

No. No, it’s not. Not here.

It’s a pleasant, 15-minute stroll, with broad sidewalks attended by shade trees the whole way. Wide strips of low-cut St. Augustine grass form a green, well-tended barrier between the walkways and the occasional passing minivan.

It’s a nice neighborhood. It’s a safe neighborhood. It’s the kind of place where friends respond gladly to neighbors in need. Crime is low.

This is home.

Yet, even in this idyllic setting, danger lurks behind every swaying palm tree. The seemingly tranquil stretch between our driveway and poolside actually is a battle scape.

In my mind, at least.

Listen, we trust our sons. They have proven worthy of that trust time and again. They are growing up well and confident.

But they’re kids, and we’re parents. They don’t yet possess the capacity to deal with crises — or even minor conflict — without adult supervision. It’s our job as their parents to help them learn those skills, and part of learning means failing at it. We understand that, but we’re not going to be irresponsible about it, either.

So, when they play outside, they must do so within shouting distance of the front or back doors. If they plan to go inside at someone else’s house, they must let us know where they’ll be and for how long.

When they want to go swimming, we take them to the pool. One day soon they’ll ride their bikes or walk that mile alone, but not yet.

Does a cautious approach make us helicopter parents? Are we over-protective? Too risk-averse for the healthy emotional development of our sons?

No. We aren’t over-protective. We are risk-averse, admittedly, but who in his right mind is risk-agreeable when it comes to their own kids? We aren’t Free-Range parents, either.

We are, simply, parents.

My wife and I are doing everything we can to prepare our kids to live life well. We also are doing everything we can to make sure they enjoy a happy childhood, and we’re in no hurry for that to end.

Confession: My greatest fear is that something catastrophic will happen to one of my sons, and I won’t be there to help them.

I’m not paralyzed by this fear. I don’t sit in the dark and rock back and forth, contemplating the horrific potential of the havoc rendered by the forces of darkness.

But the fear is there. I can’t deny it. It might not be rational, especially when you consider the statistics behind this recent Washington Post headline: There’s never been a safer time to be a kid in America.

Still, I want to protect them. I need to protect them. It’s more than a sense of responsibility or duty. The compulsion is visceral. It’s fierce. It’s real, and it’s not going anywhere soon – if ever.

This urge to shelter them from the harshness of the world is something I’ll have to work through as a father. As they grow, so too will I.

Part of being a parent is learning when and how to let go. It’s gradual, sometimes imperceptible, but eventually – they let go of their need for reassurance. They no longer feel the urge to look over their shoulders and make sure we’re still there. They let go and move on, alone in the world but ready for what comes.

When that happens, I’ll have to be ready to let go, too.

Not yet, though. Not just yet.

Maybe in one more year. But right now … it’s a mile too far.

Free Range Parenting

One day, he won’t look back to make sure I’m there. I need to be ready for that day. I’m glad it’s not here yet, though.