The best fatherly advice I received before we had our son was so simple and straightforward that it’s the only tip that stood out among the clichés most people offered me.

The advice?

“Just be there.” 

As simple as it sounds, the decision to consciously be present with your children goes deep. Just think back to your favorite memories of your parents. Do you remember the toy you opened on your seventh Christmas? Or the present you got for your 14th birthday? I highly doubt it.

But I’d bet you remember playing basketball with your dad. Or putting a puzzle together with your mom. What about playing video games with an uncle? Or cooking with your grandmother. Do you remember the connection you felt when you played a board game with your entire family? Even though my dad sucked at basketball and my mom always cheated at board games those are my favorite childhood memories and why I have a strong bond with my family.

This is why I didn’t mind quitting my job and becoming a stay-at-home dad. And if you’re an at-home dad I’m assuming you probably feel the same way. You want to be a part of your children’s life. You want to have that connection. It’s easy to be present like this when your kids are babies because you’re holding them or playing with them most of the day.

But as they grow older, they become more independent and it becomes too easy to start letting distractions come between you and your children. Distractions like email, chores, Netflix, Facebook, YouTube, exhaustion, smartphones, errands, Threads, Instagram, video games … did I say Netflix?

These are my main offenders at least. They plot against my relationship with my son and slowly try to drive a wedge between us. But I found that if I stand up to them and keep my relationship with my kids in mind, they’re weak enemies.

What’s my solution to be present more often? As often as we can, my wife and I take an hour and turn off all of the electronics in the home, especially smartphones. We use this time to play with blocks or toy soldiers, draw, paint, paste, build, role play, go for a walk, bike ride, go to the park, or do anything that involves us connecting. This one-on-one time is so important to your child’s development and it’s something you don’t want to leave out of your relationship with your kids.

Why is it important? Because one day they’ll be … teenagers! 

OK, everybody calm down, you can stop crying now.

I know you don’t want to think about it now, especially you guys out there with a little princess to protect. However, laying the groundwork by being present now is important. It helps build a solid foundation for your relationship with your children. You’ll want that when the tween and teen years arrive because you will want them to trust you enough so they can talk to you. That talk may be about drugs, alcohol or sex. It may be about bullying or sadness they are experiencing. It may just be about how their day went.

Now that you’re done reading this distraction, turn off your electronics and go find your kids. It’s time you did something together.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

This post first appeared on the Chicago Dads Group blog in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo by Ketut Subiyanto via Pexels.

I was wearing my trusty Columbia rain jacket. The sound of the rain on the hood was nearly deafening. I reached up to tie the drawstrings, but the wind snatched the beaded strand from my hand and smashed the bead into my tooth.

My head arched back in pain. This allowed the relentless wind to catch the hood and yank it violently off my head. Lateral rain immediately pelted my face, stinging like sleet, but I was in Florida. There’s no sleet in Florida.

I was in knee-deep water. Angry clouds whirled overhead. Broken branches and random debris filled the air. A cacophony of sirens, exploding transformers, and howling wind echoed off the low, tumultuous cloud layer. I could taste a little blood in my mouth from the drawstring hitting my gums, and the sheer absurdity of being outside as a Category 3 hurricane made landfall was not lost on me.

Milton is entirely too gentlemanly a name for a hurricane that tried to remove my family from the earth.

Ultimately, I fought a dozen tiny battles with Hurricane Milton. I’m proud to say that, despite not being the most handy fella, I was victorious. Sadly, we lost our tallest tree. A beautiful, healthy Live Oak, towering well over 40 feet. Lying on the ground, it was still taller than my neighbor’s house. When the mighty oak toppled, it took a few of my water pipes with it, flooding my driveway and threatening my garage. That’s why I ended up outside in the thick of it.

The house, although without power or water, emerged unscathed. While the overturned oak stump has left a scar in my front yard (and even the road – oopsie), the real scars are within.

Voluntary evacuation not an easy decision

Why didn’t I evacuate my three kids? Good question. I found myself asking as the apocalypse raged just outside our 40-year-old, non-hurricane-proof windows.

The wind finally died down around 2 a.m. or so. I was watching the movie Sabrina (the black and white, old-school version) on my wife’s laptop. It was supposed to be The Karate Kid. My wife assured me she had downloaded my favorite movie. She hadn’t. This was perhaps the most damaging blow I experienced during the storm. The kids were asleep. My heart rate had finally settled. It had been a long seven hours of scary wind, and an even longer several days of preparation and planning.

It was over.

I know. I know. Get to the, “Why didn’t you evacuate,” part.

If you haven’t been through a hurricane, it’s easy to view the evacuation decision as binary: storm — bad, leaving — good. It’s truly way more complicated than that. My wife and I made decisions, had an evacuation plan, had a hotel room booked several hours away, but by the time the storm did a last-minute, pain-in-the-ass wobble, we were stuck. There wasn’t much choice. Just 10 to 12 hours earlier, we were outside the cone of uncertainty, and it looked like we would just have a rainy day. Man, that didn’t happen.

I’ll never forget my 9-year-old daughter, crying in the dark, “Daddy, why didn’t we go to the hotel?”

I have some full-on apocalyptic reasons for staying. A car full of supplies and kids is a rather soft target. A house is a hard target I can defend. That’s a little dark, but that was one of my reasons.

Another reason to stay is to be able to control as many variables as possible. At home, I know what I have. I know my supplies. I know my neighbors. I have my tools, etc. Once you leave, you deal with the most terrifying variable of all: panicked humans. Honestly, I’d much rather tangle with the hurricane.

We also aren’t in danger of storm surge or flash flooding. If we were, I would’ve been sipping maple syrup somewhere in Canada. No way I’m rolling the dice with water. Ironically, we almost flooded because of a burst pipe. Had I not been here to battle the water, our garage would’ve flooded, and possibly even the rest of the house. It was dicey there for a while.

Mostly prepared for hurricane

This was a good test of my disaster preparation. I was happy with some of it, but Milton exposed some gaps, which I’m grateful to have discovered. Considering we could drive 20 minutes north and have power and water, this really wasn’t the most dire experience, but seeing the ripple effects of no gas and empty grocery shelves in the area was a solid reminder of how fast things go sideways.

I was prepared for all that. The major thing I missed was the immense pressure of having three tiny humans, who have blind faith in me, trusting me to make the best decisions. It was up to me to keep them alive. It was up to me to have food and water. It was up to me to keep what we had protected. As a veteran of at least a dozen hurricanes, this burden was much heavier than I had previously experienced. The kids changed everything.

As parents, we don’t have the luxury of winging it. Sure, most of the time it’ll be fine. You’ll have what you need when you need it. A little slip-up is not a major deal, but life can happen fast. Really, really fast. I’d encourage any parent reading this to take some time, real, thoughtful time, ensuring you’re ready for life going sideways. Check your water supply. Check your food rations. Have batteries. Candles. Download movies on the kid’s tablets (double check on The Karate Kid for yourself). Whatever the disaster preparation is in your area, take it seriously. Stop winging it.

I promise you don’t want to ever hear a sobbing kid questioning your choices during an actual disaster. The feeling of failure will never leave you. Take some time to be prepared.

Start with the bourbon. Oh, and rum. Rum’s great in a hurricane. 

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by George Desipris via Pexels.

I spent three wonderful weeks on a family trip to Ireland this past August. When, like me, you have two young children with you, a trip like that isn’t exactly a vacation. It’s an adventure.

Travel puts a lot of stress on kids and families. So while there are sights to see, wonders to explore and memories to be made, there are also many hurdles to overcome. One important thing I learned on this trip is that no matter who or what you encounter while traveling, kindness matters.

I’m going to start with the end of the story. We returned home after an eight-hour flight from Dublin to Philadelphia. The time difference was a killer, and there was no food on the plane my kids were willing to eat. My daughter, age 5, sat next to me on that incredibly long, exhausting flight. She’d made it through the plane ride without too much fuss. However, by the time we gathered our baggage in Philly, the stress of the journey and the exhaustion of a three-week trip all came crashing together.

She screamed. She threw a massive tantrum in the terminal. Hungry and exhausted, the one thing my daughter wanted and needed was to hold my hand. I happily offered it despite trying to juggle suitcases. I understood how upset she was and I wasn’t mad at all.

Then a stranger approached us.

This woman marched straight to my daughter and me and announced in a booming voice, “You’re parenting all wrong. You need to beat some sense into that girl.”

WTF.

I didn’t curse. Instead, I told the woman she was wrong and to leave us alone. I was appalled. And angry. This stark, crazy scene felt like a “Welcome back to ‘Murica” moment for us. Because one thing we’d seen in Ireland was a completely different attitude toward children. One I was not accustomed to.

Kindness.

Changes of countries, changes of attitudes

Everywhere we went in Ireland, people bent over backward to be kind and help. It didn’t matter if we were at a playground, in a department store or on a street. People saw that we had kids and treated us with great empathy and compassion.

Two weeks before our encounter with rudeness upon returning home, we had an opposite experience. My 8-year-old son melted down on the streets of Killarney. He’d been refused a lollipop and decided that required staging a tantrum. He lay on the side of the parking lot near some pubs and refused to move. He screamed a bit too. And while my wife and I did our best to handle the situation, strangers came by.

“Is there anything I can do?” said one.

“Oh, I’ve been there,” said another. “So sorry for this, but it’ll get better soon.”

Kindness. Just an attitude of kindness everywhere.

Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Irish laws are different. We quickly noticed every indoor area designed for kids (such as soft play centers) came equipped with a double-locking alarm mechanism to prevent kids from running out or strangers from going in. We noticed every place we went, even the tiniest middle-of-nowhere towns, had handicapped-accessible unisex bathrooms with changing tables — something we once struggled to find in America. Perhaps this mindset toward a “care culture” transcended laws and permeated into the general public?

Kindness comes in many forms

As we explored Ireland, we kept encountering that same kindness again and again.

One restaurant had nothing the kids wanted to eat. The chef marched out, offered to make something just for them, and soon did.

Our kids appeared bored while we checked into one hotel. A worker spotted them and then hurried over with coloring books.

When we tried taking a tour that was sold out, a stranger offered us his tickets on the spot, noting that I had younger kids than he did.

These were not isolated incidents. They were a pattern of kindness and compassion and understanding that children have different needs, everywhere we went in the country.

Back to that moment in Philly. Perhaps that woman was an isolated example. Or perhaps not. I vented about her rudeness later to a friend in New York. My friend said that three times in the past month someone told her to beat her son. This advice came from strangers who didn’t know her or her kid. The expectation to some is that kid needs and adult needs are the same, therefore kid behaviors and adult behaviors are the same.

I’m no longer mad at the rude woman. I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for everyone else who thinks it’s appropriate to say such things to parents. In the future, I wish all people, parents and non-parents alike, would treat others with a bit more kindness.

The world could use some more of it right about now.

Photo by Yan Krukau via Pexels.com

Most parents are scared to let their children fail. After all, no one wants a child to feel the cold sting of embarrassment or the torment of loss. Therefore, preventing failure is exactly what our culture attempts to do by installing rubberized cocoons and calling them playgrounds, and forcing tie scores in grade-school basketball games.

We seem to forget that without struggle, there can be no progress. Without embarrassment, there can be no empathy. Without failure, there can be no success. By outright avoiding the challenges of failure and embarrassment now, we are screwing up our children. We are creating future adults too fragile to exist in a world that won’t kiss their every boo-boo and gloss over their errors.

Can we stop the madness of over-protecting our children from every one of life’s potential pitfalls? I frankly do not know if it is too late to reverse course. However, I have come up with five easy steps that qualify as the opposite of helicopter parenting that you can take right now to make a difference.

1. Don’t do your child’s school projects

It is 100 percent a douche move to do the majority of your kiddo’s school project work. If you need to live vicariously through your child’s faux accomplishments in third grade, you are a colossal loser.

And, in case you’re wondering, you ain’t fooling anyone. We can all tell your kid had nothing to do with their pristine blue-ribbon winning science fair entry. You need to step off. Let them carry into class their crappy diorama with glue streaks because that is their real output. That kind of youthful failure is to be embraced. It will encourage them to try harder next time. And the next time and the time after that. This process is called “evolution.” If you do not let your children fail then you are stepping on its throat every time you complete assignments on your child’s behalf. Stop it.

2. Don’t correct their homework

How can anyone learn when their work has been scrubbed and sanitized? How will teachers know what your kid does or does not ACTUALLY know if every answer is correct, some of them artificially, on their homework when it comes back the next day? Let your kids try to use the knowledge they are accumulating in class. Let your children fail by getting some of the answers wrong. Allow them to be corrected by their teachers. This teaches them how to process constructive feedback from someone not related to them. Otherwise, you are standing over their shoulder applying Wite-Out to their childhood educational experience.

3. Shut up during sports

Dudes, tone it down. Let the coaches coach. Let the refs and the umps do their best. Trust in the process. Stop shouting in-game corrections to your kid and their teammates. If you do have a legit beef, be an adult and voice it on the down-low without veins bulging from your neck while you sit 20 yards off in the distance. Instead, allow your child and their instructors to work through the nuances of their performance. You are embarrassing yourself, your family, and most importantly, your kid. Now sit the hell down and shut up.

4. Let ‘em fall

You’re supposed to fall off the monkey bars while learning how to get from one side to the other. That’s how this stuff works. It’s called “trial and error,” not “trial and repeated help from a scared parent.” Kids have to know what it feels like to lose their grip, to feel the beads of sweat forming on their clammy palms, and to struggle mightily to stay attached to the cold metal bars, only to eventually succumb to gravity and hit the recently rubberized woodchips hard. Dust ’em off. Give ’em a kiss. Then encourage them to try it again … if not right away, then in a bit when their courage bar refills. Soon, they will get the hang of it, literally, and the glory in their accomplishment will be enhanced for having taken the more treacherous path instead of the padded one.

5. Embrace mistakes

Too many kids are not being allowed to make mistakes in their youth, the exact time when mistake-making SHOULD occur. Kids are going to screw up. They are going to invite ants into their room by leaving remnants of a sugary snack on the floor. They are going to drop and shatter a plate when trying to carry too many dishes while clearing the table after dinner. It is our job to pull lessons from these moments and teach a better way forward. That is one of the biggest “asks” of parenthood: to have the tough conversations, to give constructive feedback to help them learn from mistakes, to hold them tight but not hold them back when they are scared of failing, to give them the space necessary to try on their own, to love at every turn.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

A version of this first appeared on Out With the Kids and then here in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo by Gustavo Fring via Pexels.

My oldest was sick and pitching a fit. My youngest, also sick, was crying as she claimed, “I can’t breathe.” Meanwhile, my middle child was crying because, well, everyone else was crying, so why the hell not? Meltdowns, meltdowns, everywhere!

My wife and I made eye contact with one another. Then we both began laughing like The Joker hatching a grand plot to destroy Gotham.

Sometimes, the ship just sinks.

It’s no secret to any mom or dad that parenting is easily one of the hardest jobs in the world. Parents often feel out of control and ruled by their children’s whims. I’m not talking about bad discipline or poor parenting. Your kids hold your sanity and your very destiny, in some very real ways, in their hands – and I’m convinced they know it.

These moments of complete familial meltdowns felt like failure for a long time. Isn’t it my job to keep it all together? If I’m any good at this parenting thing, why can’t I always stop the kids from freaking out? Why can’t I calmly and rationally navigate the quagmire of endless variables to find a way to de-escalate this situation and bring peace to the family dynamic? Why?

Because, sometimes, the ship just sinks.

Meltdowns? Let ’em happen!

I’m not sure why that phrase has come to mean our home has descended into bedlam. Over the years, I’ve used the phrase to comfort myself. I visualize trying to save a cruise ship from sinking by bailing it with a cheap plastic cup. The phrase and visual remind me that no matter how hard you may try to keep everyone happy, you’ll eventually fail. On certain days, the kids conspire together to burn the universe down. Resistance to their assimilation is futile. Like any cleansing fire, you just need to let it burn.

Sadly, I’m not here to offer advice on how to avoid the ship sinking. I say let it sink.

Let the kids cry a bit.

Let them feel their feelings.

This is not an invitation for them to run like banshees down supermarket aisles. However, when at home, trying to forcibly restore order can be more damaging. It often prolongs the suffering. When all three kids were crying, and my wife and I chose to laugh, it quickly diffused the situation. Each child slowly calmed down. This allowed us to address their issues – if possible – and slowly, calmly restore order.

It would be great if I could smugly proclaim this has always been my strategy. I’m an order guy. I like to tell the kids what to do, and I often demand they obey with little to no complaints. (I bet you’re laughing. You should be laughing!) But in reality that doesn’t often happen. The wisdom contained in my words has emerged from the fiery cauldron of failure and chronic mistakes. Some sort of super-powerful parenting physics law comes into play here: Every forceful and ill-fated action taken by parents to restore calm is often met with an exponentially greater reaction to resist desired calm. You just read it on the internet, so it’s irrefutable science.

Sometimes failure is an option

If your home is often plagued by full-scale meltdowns, I’d understand if you have adopted a different strategy. My wife and I only occasionally experience our Chernobyl, so it’s a bit easier to surrender to the moment. If your family dynamic is more complicated, maybe there are too many fires to let burn, but I hope the following encouragement soothes the scars.

It’s OK. It’s all OK.

I’m not offering a participation trophy. I’m speaking truth. Sometimes, the ship just sinks, and that’s OK. You’re not a failure. Your children aren’t monsters (well some are, but surely not YOURS). We all fail to maintain full unit cohesion every now and then. They may be tiny and cute, but those damn kids are still just people. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes, there’s not much you can do but step back, let it all burn down, and be there with a hug to cool things off.

The next time your neck deep in a kid-generated flood, remember you’re not alone. All across the world, maybe even the universe, there are parents witnessing the full meltdown of their brood. Whether it’s a spaceship, a cruise ship or a battleship, sometimes the ship just sinks. Let it happen, and I’ll see you on the other side.

Unless your kids really ARE monsters. In which case, build a submarine.

Photo by Keira Burton via Pexels.

I love football. Setting my fantasy football lineup and cheering on my teams are among my favorite fall traditions. As a father, I try to share my love of the game with my kids. Watching football together is becoming a tradition with my boys and, in addition to it being fun entertainment, I am finding great life lessons that can be learned as we watch together. Here are seven of the best that I have found:

1. Even with talent, you need to work hard

Talent is not enough to succeed. You need to practice and condition your body so your talent shines. Every level of the sport has a weeding-out process. Just because you are talented in high school doesn’t mean you’ll shine at college football or even have the chance to play. What separates those who excel is the work and effort players put in to use their talents. Our kids need to know that as they discover their abilities they need hard work and practice to develop them. Talent may get their foot in the door, but their work ethic gets them a seat at the table.

2. Don’t give up

Most of the time, in football someone is trying very hard to knock you down, to make you fail. Many times they will succeed. But you have to get back up, go back to the huddle and try again. The lesson for our kids: you stand a better chance of winning by getting up and trying again.

3. Success comes through setting goals

Football is a game of inches. You are always scrambling for every inch of the field you can get. Trying to come up with one play that will get you the 100 yards you need for a touchdown is tough. So since you get a brand new set of four downs every 10 yards you need to break it down into 10-yard goals. Each play should get you closer to that first-down line. If you keep making that goal you’ll be in position to score before you know it. When our kids are faced with big tasks or problems we need to teach them how to break them down into manageable goals so they can be successful.

4. You win through teamwork

Football is a team sport. Every player needs to do their job and do it well for the team to succeed. The quarterback needs to be able to count on his backs and receivers to move the ball down the field when he gives it to them. The quarterback, running backs and receivers count on the offensive line to make time for a play to develop and make gaps in the other team’s defensive line. Every player on the field has a job that the other players rely on him to do well so that their work is successful. It is a great way to illustrate to kids how teamwork actually works and how everyone’s role affects everyone else.

5. Sometimes you lose

You are going to lose sometimes, it is an unavoidable fact. An undefeated season is a rare feat. The most successful teams usually have at least a few losses. They don’t let those losses set the tone for the rest of the season. They accept them, learn from them and prepare for the next game, intent on winning. Learning to accept defeat and failure and move on with a positive attitude is one of the most valuable lessons kids can learn.

6. Great things happen when you put in great effort

It could be that the effort was put in at practice or at the gym. It could be extra effort they used during a play. Whatever the case, it is the extra effort that they put in that the other players didn’t that allows them to make or receive incredible passes, break off for big runs, stop other players from getting the ball or getting to the ball. Big plays are always the result of someone putting extra effort to do their job well. This translates so very well off the field. Effort is the key to big successes in life. The sooner our kids learn to put effort into what they want to be successful at, the sooner they will realize those successes.

7. Nothing lasts forever …

As soon as a team finishes one play, be it successful or disastrous, it needs to start preparing for the next one. When a game ends, win or lose, the team needs to prepare for the next one. The moment the season ends the team starts preparing for the next one. Not everyone will be back. That play, that game, that season may have been a player’s last one. Planning for the future and remembering the past are important skills to have. You also have to be able to do your best in the moment you are in. In football and in life, it is the moment you are in that matters. Enjoy it, do your best in it—live it fully. Your success is determined in that moment, which will soon be gone.

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This football lessons post, which first appeared on our Chicago Dads Group blog in 2018, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

When my daughter was born, my paternity leave consisted of whatever paid and unpaid time off from work I could bank before the big due date. It took me almost two years, but I saved a month’s worth of vacation, sick and personal days. During that month, I changed diapers, helped my wife recover from a C-section, and bonded with my child.  

At the end of my paternity leave, which was still an oddity then, I returned to work. I had no choice. My wife’s maternity leave was at reduced or no pay at all and my family needed my health insurance and paycheck. Things were fine until they were not.

My wife had to have gallbladder surgery during her maternity leave. She also popped a stitch carrying our newborn down the stairs and was in a lot of pain. I wanted to be there but couldn’t. I felt helpless.

What prevents men from being engaged fathers?

It is no secret mothers carry most of the mental load of parenting. There is a demand, and rightly so, for fathers to be more engaged. However, after the argument for better paternity leave policies, there is no path for this to happen. Many men are prevented from becoming engaged fathers.

To put it bluntly, many fathers can’t afford to spend more time with their kids. It’s the exact same situation I found myself in 17 years ago.

According to a 2023 Pew Research Center study, 55% of marriages “have a husband who is the primary or sole breadwinner, and 16% have a breadwinner wife.” The study also reports 29% of marriages where both spouses earn the same amount. While that last number is encouraging, the onus for providing an income for a family still falls primarily on men.

Now add in the average annual cost for childcare (a little over $10,000) and health insurance ($23,000). An average American family is already 33 grand in the hole the minute they have a child. This is before we get to the rising cost of diapers and formula, the housing market, or general inflation. Working parents everywhere are struggling just to survive. The term “side hustle” has now become part of a parent’s lexicon.

As a stay-at-home dad, I have seen the struggles my wife has endured as our financial caregiver. This goes beyond missing baseball games or not helping with laundry. She has fought back against misogyny and sexism to keep our health insurance. I point this out because being the primary breadwinner keeps one of the parents from being as engaged as they would want to be. And this cuts that way for most fathers.

Finally, societal and grassroots support systems in place for fathers are lacking. There is very little mentorship, acceptance or consistent quality advice available for fathers. A simple but telling sign: there are still men’s bathrooms in this day and age without changing tables. It’s such a simple fix that would help fathers and mothers everywhere.

My own experiences have shown me that fathers in the everyday parenting world are either treated as a potential threat or lavished with false praise for doing the simplest parenting job. When I go out with my dads’ group and their kids, especially early on when we had six dads with strollers, we’ve been stopped and asked to pose for pictures. I know of one father who was told to sit quietly during a playgroup with moms and not to speak unless someone approached him. And although that is a dramatic example, it still points to the problem.

What’s the solution to creating more engaged fathers?

To have more engaged fathers, ones that take on the mental load and are allowed to participate fully in family life, we have to make it possible for them to do so.

The burden of financial caregiving needs to be lessened. This includes affordable health insurance not tied to your employment and reasonable childcare. This is more difficult. In 2022, The Inflation Reduction Act was passed but cut out provisions for pre-kindergarten funding, lower childcare costs and enhanced tax credits, among others. This is disastrous for not just fathers. Not only did we not ease the financial difficulties for parents; we made it worse.

When legislation like this is passed, it’s mostly discussed on how it affects women and children. Fathers are often forgotten about in governmental policies and programs, which only adds to the dad as a “less than” parent association. For example, look at the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children, or WIC for short. Even though fathers can access the program, it’s not exactly inviting. Caregiving is genderless. Luckily, in this case, The National Fatherhood Initiative, one of the largest non-profit fatherhood-focused organizations, works with “human service organizations to be intentionally and proactively father-inclusive.”

To correct this thinking, we all need to treat fathers as parenting equals and expect them to be engaged. That means parenting spaces need to be more welcoming. When I go to story time with my children, I don’t need to ask why no one wants to sit next to me. I don’t need to be stopped for pictures with my dads, and please don’t applaud me for going to the grocery store with three kids. I’ve been doing it for 16 years, it’s normal.

And as it is normal, there continues to be a need for more fatherhood organizations that encourage the everyday involvement of fathers. These have been growing over the last decade such as Fathering Together, Movember for men’s mental health, and many others. There has also been more fatherhood advice that reaches dads where they are such as podcasts like The Dad Time Out Show and the Dadass Podcast, which recently worked with the Columbus City Council to install 130 changing tables. This is the kind of societal change that will go a long way to show that fathers are welcome, needed, and valued.

Becoming an engaged father doesn’t end with paternity leave. It’s the beginning and the first step to a future that is better for all parents.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: Takako Harkness Photography courtesy New York Baby Show

Starting school was difficult for our family last year. Every morning for the first month my son Jake would seemingly break down when he got to the classroom, begging me not to leave. It broke my heart.

His teachers finally approached me and suggested he might do better if he had a consistent school-morning routine. At the time, we didn’t have one. Getting him ready for school was chaotic. So I developed a plan. He would wake up and go potty then have breakfast, get dressed and watch TV for a bit while we waited to walk out the door. Surely it would work.

It did for a while. Soon it turned back into chaos. Unfortunately, as a person with Tourette syndrome, I easily get frustrated. When facing an unexpected challenge, I can go from peaceful to rage in 2.4 seconds. And as always, frustration at home translated to a hard day at school for my son. I worried.

Finally, my wife reminded me of the unique connection I share with my son. We feed off each other’s moods. If I push, he pushes harder. If I were to loosen up and not be so rigid with his school morning routine, things might change for the better. Remain firm, yet flexible.

She was right. When I loosened the reins I found mornings became easier. When my son insisted on watching TV instead of getting dressed and having breakfast, I struck a bargain with him. Instead of forcing him into his room to get dressed before TV time, he could watch TV if he cooperates and gets dressed at the same time.

It also helped me to enter the school morning routine aware that he is not even yet 4 years old. It’s his job to push my buttons and I have to make sure he doesn’t get me riled up. His day at school depends on mornings with me being calm and peaceful. Now I know. And knowing is half the battle.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: © Sidekick / Adobe Stock. This post first appeared on the NYC Dads Group blog in 2014.

“It moved,” muttered George Costanza, the contemptible yet lovable Seinfeld character, in terror. He had been receiving a full-body massage from an objectively attractive male masseuse, and, well, “it” moved.

I suspect I don’t have to spell this one out. If you grew up with “it” between your legs, you know it has a mind of its own. It does what it wants when it wants and, for the most part, we are passengers on the “please no one notice” train.

The Seinfeld episode in question first aired in 1991. I would’ve been around 11 or so. This is a prime age for uncontrollable and inexplicable, ummmm, swellings. Around that time, I would’ve been begging dear sweet baby Jesus to protect me from the Devil’s hormones raging in my body. The all-too-tight khakis I had been forced to wear at church offered no protection. I was exposed. I could do my best Ron Burgundy “It’s the pleats” defense, but I had no pleats. Only a snug, flat fabric stretched across my crotch, waiting to advertise an untimely pitched tent.

Self-care or snake oil?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been awkward about being touched, and since this Seinfeld episode, I have genuinely had a fear of massages. I feel compelled to report it had nothing to do with men or my sexuality, but it heightened my fear of accidental bulges – regardless of who or what may have been the cause. Now you understand why “it moved” has been a terrifying mantra bouncing in my brain for 30-plus years.

And so, at the age of 44, I finally had my first massage.

I tend to reject what’s new and popular. The self-care industry has become so full of snake oil and nonsensical claims, I barely pay attention. There’s an infinite supply of influencers and hucksters eager to prey upon our desperate desire to feel better. Through smiling, beautiful faces, they claim to care about us, when it mostly seems they only care about separating us from our money. Sadly, the preponderance of profit-obsessed businesses and products has made it hard to find the real people, the genuine healers, who truly devote themselves to helping others. This cacophony of profiteering has made it hard for me to believe there’s any value in taking care of myself. I’m a stay-at-home dad. My full-time job is caring for three (sometimes four) kids. Taking care of myself is low on my list of priorities.

After my hour-long massage, I’m questioning the ranking of my priorities.

Feeling bad normally is not normal

Let’s address the first fear: Did it move?

Yep. Sure did.

A man didn’t give me my massage, but that was never my fear. I was worried about making things awkward and weird because I’m awkward and weird – which is exhausting, by the way. But, although blood was certainly flowing, and I did feel pretty dang good, nothing untoward happened. In the words of Costanza, “I think it moved. I don’t know. … It was imperceptible, but I felt it. … It wasn’t a shift. I’ve shifted. This was a move!”

My face was covered by a towel. In the background, there was meditative music. I was doing guided breathwork. Periodically a deep breath would be filled with some exotic aroma. All the hippy woo-woo shit the old me would mock.

The new me? I’m weary of being afraid of everything. I’m tired of being the frowning skeptic closed off from everything and everyone. “No one touch me. No one hug me. Respect my giant, ‘Merica-sized bubble, dammit!” I’ve always confused intimacy and sensuality with sexuality, and it’s a shame our society seeks to continue this confusion. Feeling good isn’t bad, but we’ve all felt so bad for so long that we’ve convinced ourselves it’s normal.

As fathers, how has all that impacted our children?

Massage your parenting message

I don’t know about you fellow dads, but I don’t want my kids to feel bad. Ever. About anything. OK, maybe sometimes, like when I recently found tiny particles of “window crayons,” all over the house, but in general, I want my kids to feel great. Great about themselves. About their bodies. About feeling great. Why would I want anything else?

How can I make them feel great if my body is falling apart? How can I create a happy home if I’m tense, grumpy and in pain from being tense and grumpy? I want to be a better human so I can be the best dad I can be. I’m no longer going to reject some of the tools in the cosmic toolbox. [*Giggles* — tool!]

I’m not saying we all need to put on our tinfoil hats and stop getting measles vaccines. We should absolutely trust doctors and experts when appropriate, but they don’t deserve our blind allegiance – no ideology does. There’s a whole world of possibilities, and the only way to know what works, sometimes, is to give it a try. Imagine our hypocrisy when we frustratingly stare at a plate full of uneaten food we encouraged our kids to try while knowing we’ve rejected alternate solutions to our own problems because we didn’t have the courage to try.

While on the massage table, I felt transported into another realm. My recently departed mother and brother were there. They were laughing at me. It was ludicrous some silly episode of a 30-year-old show had isolated me from my fellow humans. They told me the only person standing between me and everything I ever wanted was me, “It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.” They were right. And I think I realized I’m also standing between my kids and everything they may want, and I desperately don’t want to be that guy.

Be better today than you were yesterday

Did I REALLY travel to alternate dimensions? I hope so, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether I’m willing to be better today than I was yesterday. While I can’t pretend I’ll always be willing to make my physical and mental health a priority, viewing self-care as a service to my wife and kids puts a whole new spin on it.

So get a massage.

Go for a run.

Lift some weights.

Sprinkle some rosewater on your pillowcase.

Mediate and get a little dizzy trying to figure out some complex breathing technique.

Go stretch in a hot room and try not to fart.

Give it a try. It just might work.

If it doesn’t work, that’s OK too. At least you tried, and it’s probably your kid’s fault, anyway. It’s always the kid’s fault.              

Author’s note: During the writing of this piece, “it” did NOT move.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Massage photo by Pixabay via Pexels.

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Those words from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt served as an encouraging rallying cry for Americans navigating the Great Depression. But to an 8-year-old who got pegged in the helmet by a “fastball” in his first at-bat of the new recreational baseball season, they mean nothing.

Sports bring out the best and worst in us, whether we’re fans watching our favorite team (go Knicks!) or participants on our church softball team. That’s a lot for parents to handle because much of our life seems to revolve around watching our children play sports, organized or otherwise, as soon as they can walk. For example, all three of my kids play on rec teams. This means two games a week for each child. Then add on one of two practices — again, for EACH CHILD. Then add that to all three kids’ other extracurricular activities. It is, to put it mildly, a busy life. For me.

This brings me back to FDR’s quote about fear. 

When I checked on my son, Jackson, after he got hit with that pitch, I could see his desire to play baseball had left him at that very moment. It was a brand-new experience for him. Two years ago he hit off a tee in games. Last year was coach pitch, so fathers lobbed slow pitches he could crush to the outfield. He had always been one of the best players on his teams up until that fateful at-bat. I loved watching him play and believed he could be a special player for many years. 

But after taking that less-than-fast one on the helmet, even though was OK physically, he was not OK emotionally. His not wanting to play for the rest of the game hit me in a way I was not expecting.

It got worse after the game. That’s when Jackson told me he didn’t want to play baseball anymore.

I was mad.

‘Fun’ comes first in ‘fundamentals’

Something felt like it was taken away from ME. I had spent time getting him ready, taking him to practice, doing pitching drills, and many other things to prepare him for another great season. The moment became about me, my time and my feelings rather than about my son and his state of mind.

Baseball soon became a struggle between the two of us. Two games later into the season, Jackson was still apprehensive about playing. I would spend an hour getting him dressed for games and practices. We’d argue the entire time about why he had — NEEDED — to go and couldn’t just not show. I was getting frustrated and so was he. I could see he was getting further and further from wanting to pick up a bat again.

Then, one day before practice, I was talking with another dad who coaches the team.  He didn’t blame Jackson for not wanting to play. He even admitted he would be scared to get back into the batter’s box after an experience like that too. While Jackson warmed up with his teammates in the outfield, the dad reminded me of a simple fact.

“They’re only 8,” he said. “This should be about learning the fundamentals of baseball but also having fun. If they aren’t having fun, then why are they doing it?”

That’s when I realized my duty as a father was not only to provide for my family. It was also my duty to listen to them. I wasn’t listening to Jackson about his genuine fear of getting hit by the ball, a fear anyone might have. It is no different than being afraid to get behind the wheel of a car after a traffic accident. Trauma affects everyone differently, and as parents, we must learn to recognize it in our children and address it.

With youth sports, we parents sometimes get caught up in the fantasy. We hear about all the benefits beyond physical health — friendship, teamwork, discipline, etc. — and expect results on Day One. Often it becomes about our kids living the athletic dreams we wanted to come true for ourselves. Maybe we even indulge in thoughts about the riches (or at least the college scholarships) it provides only a select few. We make it about ourselves and think our kids should tough it out. 

Youth sports parents: Listen, learn, enjoy

But these are just children. Some just want to hang with their friends, sing a few fun and clever rallying cries, and then get a hot dog and slushy from the snack stand after the game. Youth sports parents must remember to frequently ask their kids one very simple question, “Are you having fun?”

If you know they are having fun, it makes the long road trips, the late-night games, and the rain-soaked practices worth it. If your kid is not having fun, then you as a parent are definitely not having fun. So what’s the point?

As parents, we want our children to be active, but we must have the wisdom to step in when necessary be it youth sports or violin lessons. We should not let them become overscheduled. We need to be sure they are having fun while building healthy relationships and habits they will carry off the field.

As of this writing, Jackson is halfway through the season. He still isn’t swinging the bat much, but he is playing and his confidence appears to be returning. I make sure before every game to tell him the coaches and the other sports parents are there to ensure he has fun while prioritizing that he doesn’t get hurt. I remind him that getting hit is a part of the game of baseball, but it doesn’t happen very often. And I tell him after every game that I am proud of him getting back out there and facing his fear. 

When I see him out there making plays, catching a fly ball or two, I remind him of all he would have missed if had let his fear keep him from playing baseball. However, I let the coaches do their jobs and coach. Sometimes hearing things, especially instructions, from an authority figure who is not your parent, gets through to a child better.

So if this turns out to be his last season of baseball at the ripe old age of 8 going on 9, I am OK with that. If he’s not having fun playing a game, then why should he? He will have plenty of time to do “not fun” things when he is an adult. 

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash.