Pour on the daddy!

I wrote this for Father's Day on June 2, 2006, and I remember being awestricken by how fatherhood had changed him. It had changed me, too, but in some ways it had just made me crazier while it made him more sane. What the? Well, anyway, he became more amazing as the days passed, and I remember writing this with tears in my eyes, inspired at the man he had become...

pour on "the daddy"

I hear ringing in my head the baby dinosaur (I don't remember which show this is from, and never was a devoted follower of its entertainment, but do remember this excerpt) screaming, "not the mama not the mama NOT THE MAMA!" while the daddy dinosaur tried to feed it its dinner. It's true. In so many instances, Sophia sees me and begins her cry-moan thing that signifies "I'm done with you, now I want my mama". BUT. There are shoes that I cannot fill. I don't even try. Brian's feet are too big and the responsibility is too much and I, if given the chance, wouldn't even know where to begin in carrying the role as effortlessly as he does.

As much as I'd like to gratify the irreplaceable role of the mother, I need to pay homage to the all important, ever-crucial role of the father. In this day and age, where single-parent families are really the norm and in most cases, the children live out the majority of their lives with their mother, we often fail to see the patriarchal role as being as important as it is. In fact, I really think in many ways, children glean things from their father that become the very backbone to who they become when they grow up. No, the effects of the father's role are often not as obvious, and it's easy to suppose, "sure, the kids are doing just fine living with their mother alone"; however, even in two-parent households, the lack of a hands-on father often leads to mal-adjusted kids and, most frequently, boys who lack in the skills needed to be good husbands and daddies and workers themselves later on in their lives. So, I guess this is just a tribute to the great fathers I know out there... my dad, my father-in-law, my hubby, and my brother-in-law.

Fathers...

...have ageless wisdom. We moms (admit it!) read books about this and that and are oh-so-often up on all of the trends in child rearing. When to do this, when to wean from that - its all stuff were concerned with and want to read more about. I can still recall debating with my mother about why, at 17, my curfew should be extended to 4am (not really) and, in one fell swoop, as my father walked through the room, all of my effort was debunked by my fathers one statement: "There are only three things you can be doing out that late at night: drinking, doing drugs, or having sex". He was right. And, then, there were the countless times my mother and I would argue about my friends. She would engage in a hostile crossfire that would leave me hotheaded and feeling indignant. My father, again, would say to me, as I stomped away from the argument with my mother, "Mary, be careful; you become who you hang around with". Ouch. I can just hear Abraham saying to Isaac those very same words. Timeless. My father always had a way of saying things that mattered, made sense, couldn't be argued with, and were buoyant. He always made me think, and still after all of these years, though I can't recall many of the words exchanged during one of my fights with my mom, I recall much of what he said.

...love fiercely. I remember having a tough conversation about sex with my father when I was in high school. We were sitting on my bed. It was soooo uncomfortable and he was pleading with me to wait until I was married to give away my virginity. His argument was that I could only give it away once, so I should keep my virtue until I had a worthwhile guy who was willing to spend the rest of his life with me. I was young and was dating a guy that I was contemplating whether or not I should "do it" with him. I know this must have been a tough conversation for my dad to have because it was painful for me to sit through. I do know, though, for him to drum up the courage to come into my room alone and make the effort to get past the stigma of the topic, that he must have loved me so much that it was worth all the pride and comfort to preserve his daughters virtue, innocence, and purity. It was really uncomfortable, but I felt really, really loved.

...protect, protect, protect. I saw this within the first week of my daughter's life. There was a risk of the babe being exposed to chickenpox, and I was hesitant to allow any risk of any exposure to the virus. I was debating, going back and forth. I was in turmoil. My husband was working, finishing our basement, and he came upstairs to go to the bathroom. "Why are you crying?" he asked. "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," I blubbered in exchange. The phone rang. He answered it. And, in a matter of fact way, handled the issue in a way that only a protective father would. There were no qualms or apologies about it. He didn't see a point in arguing or seeing another perspective. He just simply would not allow the potential for Sophia to be exposed to the virus. End of story. And then and there, I saw my husband for the first time as a father.

...don't sweat the small stuff. Sophia wasn't sleeping - at all. It was Christmas time. I was exhausted and the thought of the holidays filled with traveling and shopping and packing and unpacking the car mixed with snow and bad weather and a sleepless baby and a sleepless mommy and daddy made my head swim. I was stressed and was reading a self-help book on how to make your baby sleep through the night. I became utterly obsessed with strategies to make her sleep, and became completely bah humbug. It was the day after Christmas, and, after a 48-hour jag that left Sophia's bedtime somewhere between 11 and 12 at night, I growled at Brian, "See? This is what Christmas does". At which, he muttered back, matter-of-factly, "So, what's the solution? Skip Christmas?" I got his point. Somewhere within my irrationality, I heard his message. Christmas is worth the inconvenience. We'll rebound. She'll sleep again. We'll sleep again. There's just nothing you can do about it and you might as well enjoy it. How the holidays often make mommies and daddies so much more tired than they ever thought possible is just worth the joy that can be found within them if we choose to overlook the inconvenience. And, it's just for a short time, once a year. Truly, truly small stuff and not worth wearing extra deodorant over.

There are so many more attributes to give recognition to, but I just must stop here. I think daddies are truly the hub of the family unit and are worth their weight in gold. I know that there isn't a single day that I could parent successfully without Brian. He is a great father and he is a great mommy co-pilot (and, by this I mean that he genuinely helps me keep a grounded perspective on what my role should be, should look like, and what really matters) and I know that he brings things to the table that only he can. I've seen it in my father. I see it in my husband. And, hopefully, the legacy will live on because of Brian's influence and I'll see it in my sons and son-in-laws.

Happy Father's Day.