Whatever successes I’ve managed as a dad are due in part to the better dads I’ve gotten to know over the years. I’m lucky to have friends who work hard to love and lead their kids with courage and compassion. They’ve managed, at least a little bit, to rub off on me.
Three of them stand out:
First is a guy who’s tailored made to be a stay at home dad. He cooks, runs the house, is super patient, spends quality AND quantity time with his kids, and has me beat, hands down, in an area of great personal struggle: intentionality, i.e., the fine art of being purposeful, engaged, and hard working when it comes to the kids.
While he’s an excellent homemaker, he’s no pushover; he can swim underwater farther than I can (by maybe 10 feet), knows more about home repair than I do, and I’m fairly certain that he could best me in fisticuffs. After his first and only surf trip, he’s now on the same level as I am. Drives me crazy.
I was raised to believe that homemaking is the woman’s work, i.e., the man is supposed to be the breadwinner, the worker, while the wife stays home and takes care of everything else. That’s all a product of southern toxic masculinity culture of course, but being friends with another at-home dad who’s killing it, and who’s no pushover, helps a ton.
Watching him give so much to his kids encourages me to slow down, pay attention, spend time, and turn the intentionality dial up a couple of notches while my kids are still with me.
I do wish, however, that he’d talk to his five year old about wearing pants in public.
Next is a friend I’ve known for almost 20 years. He’s a nerd, (much like myself), and has beaten me at fisticuss, a number of times, but is really good at something that makes so many of us a bit squeamish.
American parenting, for whatever reason, is very anti-push. We don’t want to hurt our kids, or make them feel bad. We want them to be who they are, not who we want them to be, so we tend towards a more laissez-faire style of parenting, one that ends up on the opposite extreme from the style of parenting that pushes too hard.
There’s a balance, one that respects the need to let kids grow freely while respecting the other need to push them past their comfort zone. I think that this friend lives super close to the healthy middle ground here.
A few years ago, we took a trip to the mountains with a few other families, and started a game of kickball in one of the local parks. One of my friend’s kids didn’t want to play. It seemed like he didn’t get the game enough to have fun with it. Dad stepped in and pushed, and the kid started crying.
Watching all of this, I got a bit triggered. I hated sports when I was a kid. I didn’t grow up in a sporty home and didn’t understand what things like football and baseball were all about. When people forced me to play, I cried too.
And it’s awkward to watch a parent step in, shut down the whole game, and make a child cry.
But the kid played, kicked the ball really hard, made a few bases, smiled, laughed, dried the tears, had a great time, and learned something about sports that I didn’t learn until I was in college. Sure, this kid might never be a professional athlete, who knows, but I’ll wager that this isn’t the only time he’s learned a valuable lesson – earlier than he would have otherwise – because his dad appreciates the value of a good push.
I had a great time watching it all.
The last guy is somebody I’ve never met, but I’m in a very close relationship (some might call it steamy) with his daughter, and have heard many stories about him.
There’s one in particular that you won’t be able to unsee if you’re a dad that struggles with patience.
When my friend was a kid, she decided to go into the back yard and start a garden. The result was a very large area of dirt in the middle of an otherwise pristine lawn. If you’re a yard-o-phile who’s spent years perfecting the art of green grass, you’re as horrified as I am.
When dad came home from work, he calmed himself, I’m sure, then called his kid over for an explanation. He didn’t fuss, punish, or lecture. He just opened a dialogue.
My friend recounts the conversation thusly:
Dad: Hey, what’re you up to?
kid: I’m making a garden.
Dad: What are you going to plant in your garden?
kid: ….. ummm… I dunno…. (she hadn’t thought that far)
Dad: I know, what if we plant some GRASS in the garden?
kid: Yeah!!!!
So they planted some grass in the garden.
I would’ve lost it. Grass is sacred. And I’m tired of the very frequent property damage that comes part and parcel with having children. If I came home to a large dirt square in the middle of my pristine lawn, heads would roll. But because there’s at least one dad who managed a different, most excellent response, I’m compelled to reconsider the importance of sacred things.
Patience is tough, especially when you’re in your post-mid-fifties. When I see a dad exercising this level of patience, I’m all ears.
Alas, some areas of my parenting are barely functional, the three illustrated above are the weakest. Knowing other dads who’ve managed to excel in these has helped me to grow beyond where I would’ve ended up otherwise.
Thanx Dads.
Photo by Heike Mintel at Unsplash.com
