Tag Archives: dads

The Things I Wish For My Sons

boys_hopeI don’t know about you guys, but current events both globally and nationally have me feeling pretty pessimistic. And frustrated. And sad. And pissed off.

ISIS beheading American journalists. Terrorists shooting up magazine offices for religious reasons. Police officers choking people to death for selling loose cigarettes. And the rest of us trying to metaphorically choke one another out in the aftermath, via friendship-ending arguments on social media.

I just see so much fear, hate, and division lately that for the first time, I’m beginning to think we’re beyond help. You’ve heard of “too big to fail?” Well I’m becoming reasonably convinced this country is too entrenched and polarized to change. The default mentality is “pick a side,” and any mention of viewpoints that don’t perfectly and totally align with whatever side you’re on is met with more scorn. The middle ground disappeared as we sprinted to extremes, not realizing or caring that both sides are now too far away to hear all the shouting.

But mostly, I’m sad for my kids. All kids. My youth was filled with stories from my dad about politicians like Tip O’Neill and Ronald Reagan — two men who didn’t particularly like each other but hated stalemate and party politics even more. Men who shaped the country from different sides of the fence, but knew progress was always more important than politics. But now, I don’t have examples like that to show my kids. Our leaders today are just fine with government shutdowns in lieu of compromise, because anything less than a hardline is soft. Because somewhere along the line, bipartisan became a four-letter word.

And unfortunately, society in general has decided to mirror that misguided train of thought. So to combat it, there are some things I wish for my kids. Things I need my kids to know and do. Things, I hope, all kids will take to heart when we hand them this mess we’ve created, and ask them to fix it.

***

I hope you value education. Not just your own, but education for everyone. It all starts there. No matter what anyone says, an education is not elitist nor should you ever distance yourself from it. Embrace it.

I hope you are steadfast in your convictions, but never so much that you’re permanently cemented in place. Changing your mind because of peer pressure or political expediency is bad, but a change of heart after considering new information? That’s important and necessary.

I hope you live life as a helper. There will be times to help yourselves for sure, but never stop doing your part for others.

I hope you recognize what’s right and always shout down the wrong. Racism, misogyny, homophobia, bullying — it isn’t enough not to do it yourselves. Stand up to it when you see it and do your part to snuff it out.

I hope you never take things at face value. Ask questions, even the uncomfortable ones. It’s better to be someone who thinks too much about things than too little.

I hope you find something bigger than yourselves in which to believe. Whether it’s religion (admittedly, I hope not) or the local professional football team (please be Patriots fans), it’s good to engage in something like that at times.

I hope you find your voices, but never forget it’s usually more important to listen.

I hope you are confident in your intelligence, but never afraid to surround yourself with people who are smarter than you are. You’ll always be better for it.

I hope you find love, but always strive for reciprocity in relationships. It’s all about a healthy give and take, so don’t ever travel down a one-way street.

I hope you never get so jaded you stop caring. It can be tempting at times when things look grim, but always remember a pinprick of light is crystal clear in the dark. So be the light.

I hope you do more than experience pain and disappointment in life. I hope you find a way to learn from it. Take what you can and use it to make yourself better.

I hope you own up to your mistakes. It’s not fun being wrong and apologizing isn’t pleasant either. But if you’ve screwed up, then make it right. It’s the first step toward earning back the respect and trust you lost.

I hope you’re always genuine. Sure you’ll talk a little differently to your buddies than to your boss, but always be you. People can sniff bullshit and insincerity a mile away, so just be yourselves and you’ll be seen as reliable. Never forget, people respond to honesty.

I hope you can always see the good in people. This is the one I struggle with the most, and you probably will too. The age of the Internet and individual media platforms make it easy for the idiot fringe to be heard and noticed. But don’t let perception trump reality, because people really are inherently good.

And lastly, I hope you always love like madmen. Love is fierce and powerful, so don’t bother trying to temper it. Love like you’re on fire and let the people you love know it. When you exit this life stage left, those closest to you should have absolutely zero doubt about how you felt for them.

Share Button

The 11 Best Movie Dads of All Time

moviedads

Sometimes, when you have a lot of heavy crap going on and you just can’t write about it yet, you need need a distraction. And for me, that has always meant movies.

I love them. And the ones I don’t love, I love to hate. But ever since becoming a father, I’ve started paying special attention to one part of movies in particular — dads. I take a lot of inspiration from movies, and a recent discussion with my wife got us on the topic of some of the best dads in movies we could think of. Which, in turn, led to some pretty substantial disagreements in coming up with a Top 10.

She immediately jumped to classics such as Steve Martin in Father of the Bride. I’m sure she’s far from alone. But I didn’t like that movie in the early 90s when I first saw it, and I’m still not impressed with it. In making my own list, I noticed a few things that directly translate to my own role as father.

I tend to gravitate toward dads who aren’t perfect. Sure they have a lot of trouble out of the gate and beyond, but when push comes to shove they work to make sure they get their shit together. And although they might act tough, you can tell they love their kids completely and always do what’s best for them.

In making my list, the rules were simple. I need to have seen the film, and I didn’t include any animated movies (sorry Mufasa). Check it out and then we can argue about omissions and inclusions in the comments!

Continue reading The 11 Best Movie Dads of All Time

Share Button

The 5 Stages of Spending Time Without Kids

nokids“Holy $*&%, I just need some time for myself and away from these kids!!”

How many parents have uttered some variation of that phrase at some point in time? I know I have. Hell, I just went through life with an infant again this past year. Between Sam’s multiple nightly awakenings, screaming fits, and teething, combined with Will’s adjustments to big brotherhood and the first year of school, I used to fantasize about a life of solitude in a quiet mountain cabin where no one could find me and I could pee alone.

But on the rare occasions we’re granted a parental sabbatical, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend — we miss our damn kids too much!

I don’t know about you guys, but it’s not too long after I’m sprung from the asylum that I start to — gulp — miss it a little. And then a lot. It’s like some sort of parental Stockholm Syndrome. I just spent 55 hours on my own, and here are the stages of kidlessness I experienced.

————————————————–

Stage 1: FREEDOM!!!!!!!!
The first stage is characterized by an initial and intense feeling of release. Like I’m Andy Dufresne finally escaping Shawshank Prison through 500 yards of shit smelling foulness. Or like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, only if I skipped the torture and got to sleep with Sophie Marceau again instead. Whether your childfree time is going to last for a night or a week, it seems the possibilities are endless and you can do anything. Road trip, baseball game, bar, expensive dinner, or even a movie at the theater that doesn’t have cartoons — the world is your oyster.

Stage 2: Whatever I Want!
Sure, you’re going to put your Vegas trip into action soon. But that can wait for a minute, while you enjoy the little things you can’t do when the family is around. You know, the simple things you used to do when you were single. As for me, I immediately strip down to my boxers, stretch out on the couch, and watch SportsCenter while scratching myself at will. Either that or all the movies no one else likes. Then I have a dinner that consists of Kraft mac & cheese, beer, and Doritos. Normally I’d be chastised for my post meal bodily functions, but only the dog was affected this time (and she was guilty of a few nasty ones too). And then — as the grand finale — I take up the entire king size bed by sleeping diagonally, as opposed to sleeping on the sliver of bed I have after the wife and dog are accounted for. Sure it might SEEM slightly pathetic that a grown man can enjoy farting in peace, leaving the toilet seat up without reproach, and using a plethora of bed space so much, but best not to dwell on such matters for long. There’s work to do.

Stage 3: Reality Sets In
After you’ve eaten like a pig and reveled in smelling like one as well, it’s time to get serious about this temporary kid hiatus. That’s when you start thinking of all your friends and get ready to call them up to have a good old fashioned rager of a party. You call Jim but his oldest has summer baseball and his youngest has a ballet recital. No worries. Skip right to Brian, only to find out he’s going to a concert. Awesome, right? Because you haven’t been to a live show in years. The only problem? It’s a “Wiggles” concert. Andy and Jake moved away, Ted doesn’t want to stay out past 10 pm because he’s coaching T-ball in the morning, and Bill already went out for a night this month so he’s used up his privileges. Suddenly you realize two things: 1) You’re old, and 2) Spontaneity is officially dead. Which makes you sad. Which leads to additional mac & cheese, Netflix, and gas.

Stage 4: This Kind of Sucks
This stage sees panic setting in. You’ve gorged yourself, farted at will, lounged around in your boxers, and realized all of your friends are now lame. You start calling your wife and kids more often just to hear what they’re doing. While you’re watching TV, you see “Jake and the NeverLand Pirates” and consider watching it because you know how much your oldest likes it. But you’re barely even watching TV now because you’re mostly looking at family pictures hanging in the hall, as you make one more call to the family to see what they’re doing now.

Stage 5: COME HOME!!!
This is when things get really desperate. Suddenly your faltering plans don’t even matter, because you’re too busy playing with Transformers and sitting in the kids’ empty rooms getting emotional. You’re not even watching TV because you’re combing through six years of YouTube home videos. You know they’re due home today so you up your calls to every hour on the hour just in case they get home early. In a fit of total desperation and longing, you flip on Frozen and sing “Let It Go” with tears streaming down your face as you promise never to take your family for granted ever again.

When they finally pull into the driveway you sprint out barefoot because you’re so damn happy to see them. You rip open the door of the minivan to see your precious little angels, only to have the youngest sneeze in your eye and simultaneously take a dump the likes of which makes landfills blush, while the oldest bitterly complains you woke him up from his nap.

I need a break…

Share Button

When In Doubt, Change Your Perspective

will_sunset“Dad, you’ve gotta come up here.”

My 6-year-old beckons from atop a lifeguard stand on a Harwichport beach. It’s after sunset and we have the expanse of sand entirely to ourselves, save the cormorants dawdling by the ocean’s edge. My initial reaction is to refuse, since climbing the lifeguard stand smacks of effort and I’m totally exhausted from the frenzy of a day with kids on Cape Cod. Plus, I loathe the beach, and my first thought is not to extend my time there. But 6-year-olds are nothing if not persistent, so up I went.

Then he asked me questions. Why is the sky black on one side, but orange on the other? Why is the water salty? Where does all the sand come from? How come the ocean meets the sky way far out, and does that mean we can touch the sky if we sail far enough? Some I answered, some I didn’t know, and others I simply left up to childhood imagination.

“You know what I like best, Dad?” he asked me, head cocked to one side.
“No pal, what do you like best?”
“I like that it’s all the same stuff we’ve been looking at, but different. Because we’re high up.”

I always thought I hated the beach (and the subsequent beach experience that goes along with it) for simple reasons. I hate the heat, I burn easily, I don’t like swimming, I loathe taking my shirt off in public, sand is annoying, and beaches are usually crowded. Fairly straightforward, summertime, fat guy laments. But after my most recent beach trip with my son, I’m thinking I had it all wrong.

Will made me stand with him in the surf to let the waves tickle our toes. I hate that feeling. It’s not the fact that I’m wet that bothers me, it’s the feeling of being off balance. As the waves break on shore and the water sweeps past, I feel like the Earth is giving out beneath me, taking away my solid ground. Or at least the illusion that I was on solid ground to begin with.

And looking out at the horizon has always made me uncomfortable, because nothing is scarier to me than uncertainty. I’m someone who has never had a passport because I’ve never left the United States (except for Canada). I prefer familiarity to the great unknown, which is probably why I’m partial to the mountains over the ocean. I can almost always see the top of the mountain, and with a lot of effort I know I could eventually get to the top. But even though I’m aware a long ocean journey would eventually find land, the never-ending nature of the sea overwhelms me. As does losing sight of the shore.

The strains of U2’s “Beautiful Day” drift toward us from a wedding reception farther up the beach. Will walks ahead of me now, holding his shoes in one hand and scanning the sea-swept ground for shells (and Great White Sharks, naturally). From my angle, it looks like if he kept walking along the shore he’d eventually curve off into the horizon where the sea touches the sky.

Part of me wants him to charge into the unknown with reckless abandon and total confidence, going places I would never dare. But another part of me wants to carry him out of the surf and away from the tides completely, to be safely on the shore. As if the shore — with its shifting sands and seismic inconsistencies– is really any safer.

The beach during a crowded, 90-degree day is still my version of hell. But for me to continue saying “I hate the beach” just isn’t accurate. The beach at night is nice. After sunset, walking on cool sand, and sitting atop a lifeguard chair with my son — this version of the beach was nice and it was all ours for a little while.

Share Button

Parents: It Is Never OK to Change a Diaper at the Table

diaper

I want you to imagine you’re at a restaurant, with your kids, and a man walks inside holding a paper bag.

He orders some food and sits down at a nearby table. Then, without warning, the man opens the paper bag and you see it is full of shit. Yup, that’s right. I’m talking actual human feces out in the open where you and your family are eating. He closes the bag up quickly but you’ve already seen it and the smell of piss and crap is now wafting through the air. Outrageous, right? If you’re anything like me, you’d complain to the manager immediately to have this guy removed. Human excrement in a dining area? Disgusting!

Now, replace the man with a mother and the paper bag with a diaper, and that’s exactly what happened in Texas earlier this week.

Miranda Sowers and her three daughters, including a 3-month-old, were at a neighborhood pizza joint when the infant dropped a stink bomb in her diaper. Sowers went to the bathroom, but there was no changing table. Not wanting to pack her family up, she decided the best course of action was to change her diaper right there at the table, on one of the chairs, near where other patrons were eating.

Understandably, people complained to the manager and Sowers was given her food in a to-go container and asked to leave. Yet amazingly, she felt SHE was the one who was wronged, and ultimately decided to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, as well as alert the press.

Let’s get one thing straight — what Sowers did is disgusting and wrong.

Not only is it unsanitary to introduce feces to an eating environment, it’s also incredibly rude and unnecessary. There were other people eating around mom and her clan, yet because she was displeased with the lack of a changing station (a reasonable criticism, by the way), she went ahead and polluted everyone else’s lunch that day.

It is never the right move to open up a poop-filled diaper where everyone is eating. Ever. Excrement + Eating Area = No. Yet when I put this story on Facebook, I had an even bigger surprise — a number of parents defending Sowers! Check out some of the comments:

I think we should not judge since mommies have baby brain at 4 months pospartum (sic).”

The restaurant needs to take care of business and put in changing tables, or have a sign that says don’t bring your kids here.”

I changed LO at the booth in chipotles on out (sic) way back from NC because they didn’t have a changing table in the bathroom. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.”

 I would’ve done exactly as she did. And then never go there again, because obviously they don’t think parents make up enough of their clientèle to warrant a place for their childrens bathroom needs to be met, even though I’m pretty sure it is a health code violation to not have a changing table for this exact reason. She was right in reporting them. Maybe the dumbass in charge will figure it out.”

Wow. I mean…WOW! I’m not stunned and speechless often, but the fact that anyone was defending this mom and blaming the restaurant, well…it threw me. A lot.

Now let’s get down to brass tacks.

I don’t think it’s out of bounds to politely inquire as to the absence of a changing station in the bathroom. Key word: politely. But that having been said, restaurants are not (and should not be) required to cater to one certain group. If you don’t like it, you have the option to dine elsewhere and if enough people speak with their wallets, the message will be received.

But the main thing I want to talk about is regarding where she should’ve changed the baby absent a changing station in the bathroom.

Moms may not realize this, but the one thing dads get really good at really quickly, is learning how to change a diaper in suboptimal conditions. Because even when you find a restaurant with a changing station in the ladies room, chances are there isn’t a matching one in the men’s room. So we need to make it work however we can, and that ain’t always pretty (or easy).

So what should Sowers have done when forced to think like a dad? The easiest thing to do, if it applies to you, is go back out to the car. I’ve changed diapers on every seat and in the back. It’s easy, it’s only messing up your own stuff, and you’re not bothering anyone else. If you don’t have a car (or the car isn’t available for some reason), then I would try the bathroom counter. If that’s not feasible, then you suck it up, throw the changing pad (yes, she had one with her) on the cleanest part of the floor you can find, and make it quick.

What you should never do, under any circumstances, is introduce human fecal matter into the same vicinity where people are eating. And if you do have an unfortunate mental lapse and proceed to be rude and disgusting, you should not blame the restaurant. The restaurant is not responsible for you or your kids, and it is not responsible for how you dispose of dirty diapers. That is YOUR responsibility as a parent.

When the hell did some parents become this entitled?

Having kids doesn’t mean the world should cater to us. It doesn’t mean every business needs to be prepared to meet our needs. And it certainly doesn’t mean we have the right to gross people out with our kids’ bodily functions during meals, simply because we didn’t plan ahead.

Upset about the absence of changing tables? Leave.
Need to change a diaper? Find a way to do it that doesn’t affect everyone else.
Feel unwelcome? Find a more family-friendly restaurant.

But don’t screw up in a mind-bogglingly discourteous way and then turn around and blame someone else for your stupid mistake. That’s the kind of stuff that gives all parents a bad name. We’re better than that.

Share Button