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.

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

For seven years I held the best job the world has to offer. It’s the most fun job I can envision, and at times, one of the hardest imaginable.

I’m talking about my happy time as a SAHD: a stay-at-home dad.

For seven years, I was the MAN. The go-to parent for every joy, every heartache, every need. I oversaw food, fitness and fun. We would take “dadventures” — exploring nearby museums, parks, historic sites and more. I raised my son and daughter, loving every moment I spent with them. And life was amazing.

But the pay … it sucked.

This past fall, my daughter, the younger of our kids, enrolled in preschool. At first, I felt free. I’d have more time to focus on the housework, cooking and other responsibilities without feeling rushed all the time. Yet, those wide-open days started feeling a bit …boring. When you’re used to constant noise and attention, the quiet while your children are at school is both empowering and unsettling.

So I started working part-time as a substitute teacher. I enjoyed spending this time in my kids’ schools and even subbing in their classes. Subbing is good for the struggling school systems (I was a full-time teacher before our kids were born) and I liked being able to do it on my terms. School holiday? I’m off too. One kid sick? I don’t take a sub job that day. And so on.

It felt strange working part-time, though. It made me realize I had an even bigger decision looming ahead of me as my children got older: Should I return to work full-time?

I hadn’t had a traditional “office” job in seven years. Would employers even want to talk to me? Realistically, as sexist as it sounds, leaving the workforce for stay-at-home fatherhood is a tough sell to potential future employers.

Another thing to consider: What would I do for work? I didn’t want to go back to teaching, I knew that. And I didn’t know what the job market for my skills would be like. I did know I wanted to try something.

I dove into the job hunt. A hundred applications across months. A handful of interviews that didn’t pan out. And a lot of crickets.

Let me backtrack a moment. When you become an at-home parent, you experience an initial period of limbo when nothing feels right or normal. You’re used to being on someone else’s clock, but now you set the timetable. Rather than a boss who dresses you down, your “boss” is now this little person you have to dress daily. Instead of being surrounded by co-workers and other adults, you are now isolated on Kid Island—sometimes I needed reminding to go outside and be around others.    

I thought about that period because here I was in limbo again. I didn’t know what I wanted or how to get there. My kids still mattered the most, but I knew I wanted to be working and earning money. I wanted to still be there for them for intense, amazing play at least a little bit every day. So then, what could I do?

Well, I threw in the job search towel.

Instead, my wife and I decided to open our own business from home, working full-time to make it succeed.

It hasn’t been easy, but here I am … making more money than I ever did as a full-time teacher. I work from home, setting my own timetable. My boss is my wife. She dresses me down often, if you know what I mean, but I keep it PG in front of the kids. And since working from home is a bit isolating, we’re constantly putting ourselves in front of others. I’m even giving a TEDx talk in front of a crowd at Philadelphia next month.

In other words, we took all the elements we liked about my time as an SAHD and kept them then fit work around them. Every day, I spend time with my kids. Every day I spend time with my wife. I work on my terms and on my timeline.

Creating and running your own business won’t be for everyone, but for me, this scenario has been the secret to being “happy after SAHD.” I think the key is to find the priorities that matter to you and find a way to make them happen. My priority is spending time with the kids. Finding an employer willing to work with me on that, with a seven-year “gap” as a SAHD on my resume and a career change in mind … well, maybe my wife’s the only boss who that would work for. Still, find those priorities and stick to them.

Parenting, regardless of your work (or non-work) situation, doesn’t end. In my new position, our dadventures still happen, and so do the dad jokes and, of course, the constant care of kids. It’s possible to do all those, and still work. Being happy after SAHD means embracing the longer-term job of fatherhood, and recognizing that everything else is secondary.

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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 Gustavo Fring from Pexels.

I have a theory. It’s so revolutionary, so mind-altering, I’m terrified to unleash it on the world. I’m sure a savvy behavioral scientist will steal my idea and claim it as his own. Perhaps some pseudo-scientist will develop an outlandish experiment to test my hypothesis while giving me zero credit. Despite these obvious dangers, I’ve decided to bravely share my idea with the world.

I believe children appear to have endless energy because they actively and greedily consume the life force and willpower of their parents and caregivers.

That’s it. That’s the theory. It’s the only way to explain my children’s ability to grind my resolve into dust.

I’m sure most parents can relate, but with all humility, I’m not your average parent. My hobby — running ultramarathons — is based on willpower and longsuffering. I voluntarily push myself to the physical limit just to see how far I can go. My endurance and resolve to will myself to finish these races is my superpower, and yet . . . my 4-year-old can bring me to my knees.

Compare your life before v. after kids

If we are on even footing, human to human, I believe I can out willpower anyone on Earth. Those rare times I encounter someone with similar resolve, it’s a bad day for us both. However, my children come equipped with a genetic advantage. They can somehow extract my life force, my very essence, and use it against me. It’s the only way a 9-year-old could use logic and wit to defeat me. How else could you explain a 7-year-old with more probing questions than a special counselor investigating a former president?

Yeah, sure, it’s possible I’m not as special as I think I am. However, I reject that reality. Instead, I’ve invented an outlandish, borderline supernatural explanation for why children erode parents’ defenses. As crazy as it seems, it does make sense. Let’s look at the evidence. (And remember, you’re reading this theory on the internet — I’m not obligated to offer any — let alone, REAL — evidence yet I’m offering it.)

Firstly, I bet you had more energy before you had children. Morning wake-ups were easier. Drink a glass of wine while following a complex recipe? Easy-peasy. Staying up beyond 10 p.m.? Non-issue. Reading a book was a relaxing, calming experience; you could easily finish a chapter without losing consciousness. But then, kids …

Secondly, I bet you used to do stuff. Any stuff. All the stuff. Hobbies. Social lives. Yard work. You know — stuff! Your only consideration was whether you felt like doing stuff. There was no one else to interfere. No one else draining your will and resolve. It was just you. But then, kids …

Thirdly, remember sex? I do. It’s how we got ourselves into this mess.

Fourthly . . . well, I’m still stuck on the sex part.

Oh, the endless questions, negotiations

Now, I have a confession. All of the above is admittedly nonsense. It’s a cover. An elaborate explanation to give me the courage to say: I’m tired, and I feel like I’m losing.

I probably shouldn’t view parenting as a winning or losing proposition, but it all feels so contentious. Each interaction with my kids is a complex negotiation. My oldest, for example, has begun questioning every request or decision my wife or I make, and she needs detailed explanations to be satisfied.

Eat your dinner. Father, how much food do I have to eat?

Pick up your toys. Mother, how many toys would be acceptable?

Brush your teeth. All of them, dear parents? And just how many minutes of this would constitute sufficiently brushed?

It’s exhausting.

Meanwhile, my middle son is a cliché “boy,” and everything has become physical. He runs around the house like a raging Viking, plundering my other kids of their safety and me of my will. By the time my youngest makes her move on me, I’m like a limping antelope asking the cheetah, “Just make it quick.”

Worst of all, these little soul suckers are only 9, 7, and 4.5 years old. What will I have left in the tank when requests start to involve dating, driving and the really scary shit?!

I look at other parents who have survived and wonder: How?

Is this what good parenting feels like?

I’m terrified of the future and I question my ability to navigate what lies ahead. Already I struggle to keep up. School and sports. Birthday parties and play dates. So many dance practices, cheer practices, and cheer AND dance competitions. Do I spend enough time with them individually? Does one of them feel like they don’t get enough attention? Is there enough time for each child to pursue his or her own interests?

I’ve told other moms and dads that if they are stressed about their parenting decisions, it means they’re doing something right. I wonder if I can take my own advice? Is it truly evidence I’m doing my best? Who the hell determines why my “best” is, anyway? Why do I keep asking so many questions? Is THIS where my kids get it from? Crap.

There is some pseudo-science part of my brain that may believe children have a secret, cosmic superpower that allows them to drain us of our life force. Maybe that’s the alternate reality explanation I need to get myself through the parenting quagmire of endless questions and chronic bickering. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, I’m winning awards for parenting aplomb, but in this world, the words of the English band Bastille say it best: “What can I say? I’m survivin’, crawling out these sheets to see another day.”

So go — observe your kids from a distance. If they make eye contact, and their eyes shine and glow as they drain you of will and life, remember life-force energy vampires are real, and those damn kids always know what we do in the shadows.

Photo of life-force drained father: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

If you walk into my house during dinner or a movie night, you can tell my parenting style from where I sit. And there is a reason I sit where I do.

The house I grew up in was arranged like most houses during the 1970s and ’80s. Our living room showcased the hierarchy of the home. A couch and a loveseat lined up along the walls opposite one another while my father’s recliner received a direct view of the television. Sitting on the couch or loveseat meant you had to turn your head or body to watch TV.

My father’s chair always seemed silly to me, even though my sister and I would fight over it when he wasn’t around. It was silly that only one person could have the best view of the TV. It was silly that everyone huddled close together while one sat all alone.

In my house, a couch sits directly in front of the TV and a loveseat sits off to the side. There are no chairs. There are six people in my family, and we often squeeze together on the couch. Arms wrap around one another, legs cross in different directions, but we’re all on the same viewing page. If there was a chair, chances are it would be shared by two people.

The same goes for my seat at the dinner table. Growing up, my parents sat at both ends of the table, while my sister and I sat across from one another in the middle. We have a long rectangular table in our house today, but my seat is the same one I occupied as a child, right in the middle. In my seat, I am in the center of the action. Everything goes through me and around me. I am smack-dab in the middle of my family.

Fatherhood looks a lot different now than it did generations ago. Dads are stepping into the middle of their families, instead of watching from the top. Trickle-down parenting is on its way out while a more engaged and hands-on approach has taken its place. My seating arrangements may not be the way of the generations before me, but it is my way. My kids, wife and I sit (or stand) shoulder to shoulder – whether taking on tasks, being entertained, or simply just living.

And in this way, no one in my family is alone.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad. Photo: jaredpolin via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

If I’ve learned anything during my fatherhood journey thus far, I’ve learned that parenting is a 24-7 job.

There’s literally always something going on. The free time we once enjoyed as single, childless men is long gone. From the newborn stage where all your attention is focused on figuring out how to keep this little person alive through the early school years where calendars are filled with extracurricular activities, and on to the teenage years when you’re helping guide your children into young adulthood, fatherhood is a never-ending cycle of being here, there, and everywhere for the sake of your kids.

While stressful, tiresome, and thankless, it’s what we signed up for. It’s a calling. A responsibility for us as fathers to be active and involved every step of the way. 

With that, however, we have to be sure we’re taking time for ourselves. Fathers have to prioritize mental and physical health so we can be the best version of ourselves possible for our children, especially as we age. For those of us fortunate enough to be in healthy marriages, relationships, and partnerships with the mothers of our children, it can’t go without saying how beneficial it is to have someone by your side to help share the load of parenting, because it gets heavy. 

Even so, as men, we are wired to be “strong,” to not show any signs of weakness. No matter what we’re carrying internally, there’s no time for that. After all, we have to get the kids ready for school, for bed, and everything in between. That’s the priority. It has to get done, right? But at what expense?

Make self-care a priority in parenting

I’d like to think I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. I work out regularly. Every now and then, I’m able to hang out with the guys and enjoy some time away from the kids. But, if I’m being honest, dad burnout smacks me in the face often. And when it does, it tends to simply stay there.

For me, it comes as a result of being in a constant state of “doing.” I pride myself on being an active father – coaching soccer, taking my son to swim class, picking my daughter up from daycare, and being available whenever my wife needs me. And not to mention the day-to-day household responsibilities of a husband and father. The “go go go” mentality I and other dads have is, yes, what we’re supposed to do. But it’s also a recipe for fatigue.

Simply put, at times I find myself stretched thin. And no dad wants to feel that. Even with the most routine challenges of fatherhood, we shouldn’t have our overall well-being put at risk. In looking for a healthy balance, we have to be sure we’re being intentional in carving out time for us. That may mean altering our schedule to fit in a walk during the day. Find a dad tribe to have a space to talk openly and honestly about your experiences. The connections made through other dads will help you realize that you’re not the only one going through it. We can be there for each other.

Most importantly, we have to be open with our partners. Just as we need moms to be open with us when they need a break, we as dads need to be vulnerable enough to say we need a break, even for a few hours. 

We have to be there for ourselves so we can be there for our kids.

Caring for yourself photo: © Antonioguillem / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2013.

One thing my family loves about living in New York City is the diversity and the “melting pot” promise of the city. We want our kids to grow up in this sort of cultural and economic diversity. But even in this vibrant, libel city, my skin color still has the ability to raise an eyebrow. Almost on a daily basis. Like all the times people think I’m the kids’ manny.

We are a multicultural family. I am an Indian American. My parents emigrated from India almost 50 years ago, long before I was born. My wife is a home-grown American – for lack of a better phrase. Her lineage includes Irish, Native American, German and probably a few more.

We have two daughters: a 4- and a 10-month-old. Sadly for me, but fortunately for them, they look nothing like me. I don’t mean that they resemble my wife more than me on a sliding scale. I mean that they look nothing like me.

As an Indian American, my complexion is dark. I have brown eyes and dark hair, well, I did before going bald. Our oldest daughter, on the other hand, is a result of a chuckle that her genetic makeup decided to have on me. She is stunning. I am her dad and I am supposed to think that, I know. But she is. She has blonde hair, striking blue eyes and an extremely slight olive tint to her skin. She looks nothing like me. Our younger daughter does have dark hair but sports a bluish-green eye color to die for. She has a similar skin tone to her sister. I’m a lucky Dad with a lifetime of stress and worry ahead of me!

Family and friends throw me a bone every now and then and claim to see some physical feature that resembles me in the girls. It’s nice of them to try.

Neither manny nor adbuctor

Given the extreme disparity of my appearance with my older daughter, I would often (and still do) get looks of interest, confusion, and sometimes even concern. The looks often made me feel as if I needed to justify my relationship to my daughter in public. I’ve been asked directly if she was my daughter by perfect strangers. My daughter, being an extremely bright and observant girl, became conscious of this tension with no provocation. At 2 years old, in response to a quizzical look, she grabbed my leg in a crowded elevator and declared loudly, “This is my Daddy!” Admittedly, I quietly loved this. She got to the point that she would scream this declaration to every stranger that dared to look at us.

One time, close to her third birthday, I was bringing her home from a friend’s house a little too close to dinner time. On the walk to the subway, she began to melt down and cry for her mommy. The tantrum began to escalate and I picked her up to get on the subway quickly. A concerned passerby actually followed us for about four blocks out of concern for her. It wasn’t until my daughter finally spat out, “Daddy, I want to go home,” in her tantrum that the person actually turned around and left.

I suppose I should have felt a bit thankful that a perfect stranger was trying to ensure the safety of my daughter. I’d certainly want that should she actually be in a situation that required help. In reality, I was mildly offended at the assumption that she could not possibly be my child.

I don’t appear to get as many looks with my younger daughter, I think as a result of her dark hair. Regardless, as my girls get older, I find myself less and less conscious of the looks I receive with them. I do find myself occasionally fighting off the urge to yell at all the moms at that park, “No. I am not the manny! I’m their father thankyouverymuch!”

Thus, even in a city as diverse and incredible as New York, you really never know what sort of family you will run into. We certainly have all kinds. I think to some degree we all try to fit people into molds that are comfortable to us. I think it’s natural and I am sure I have done it myself. My own experience has taught me to take the extra conscious effort to make no assumptions and remind myself how amazingly different our families can be.

Photo: © zinkevych / Adobe Stock.

February 2020:

It is 6:45 a.m. and, all still half asleep, I load my two youngest (Everett, 7, and Emersyn, 5) into the minivan. There are two other cars welcoming us as we wait for the “before school program” to open. I nervously check my watch and tap my foot, my impatience fueled by an impending 8 a.m. meeting at the office. 

Great news!  My meeting goes well. 

Bad news — it lasted an hour longer than expected. I am now late to pick up the kids from the same spot where I dropped them off nearly 10 hours earlier. Finally, whizzing into the school parking lot, I see my kids on the playground in the distance with their frowning teacher. 

They are the only children left at school. 

Both kids wave excitedly. I wave back, trying to find an excuse to soften the impact of causing the teacher to stay late. I tell her, “I’m sorry.”    

A feeling of failure washes over me.

February 2021:

Feeling fortunate to have been spared from the wrath of COVID-19, I finish a Microsoft Teams meeting, temporarily log off, and head to grab my two little ones from school.  Alongside a few other “remote” working dads and moms, we watch our children spill out of the school’s gates and into each other’s arms.

It is mid-afternoon, the perfect time for a quick recharge before an evening schedule full of Zoom calls on next year’s budget. I get to hear about Emersyn’s new student and Everett’s home run in P.E. class before sinking back into my home office as they finish schoolwork. 

A feeling of gratitude engulfs me. 

February 2023:

It is mid-morning, a normal Thursday of working from home when an email lights up my inbox. The subject line is ominous: “Return to Work Update.” 

I feared this day would come. Working remotely was no longer allowed by policy.  All employees were to return to the office and their assigned cubicles the following Monday.

A feeling of dread crushes this day’s motivation. 

Lethargy quickly turned into rage. How can anyone expect an employee to suddenly undo the two years of remote-working rhythm they’ve developed? How can “corporate” expect parents to find immediate childcare? What about the added household expenses associated with that care and transportation with a mandate to return to the office?  

My outrage, though, had to be checked – there were kids that expected to see their dad after school. As I walked toward the school this day, I started to notice fewer parents mulling around than before. It turns out that nearly half of us had jobs that were now requiring work to be done in the office. I should have felt like one of the lucky ones who lasted, I guess. Instead, I felt like I’d experienced a slow fall from a picturesque cliff.

I came clean with my kids (now ages 9 and 7) right away, saying, “Hey guys, looks like I have to start working at the office again. Not sure what that means for you, but I’m working on it. Picking you up is the favorite part of my day.” 

My kids looked crushed. 

“Dad, why?” my daughter probed.

“Man, that sucks!” said my son, Everett, who was less eloquent but equally as distraught. 

My stomach twisted. I hated that such an arbitrary rule would have an impact on my kids’ lives.

But we parents roll with the punches, right? That is what we must do – and that is what we teach our children to do in their lives. So, that evening, my wife and I talked and planned, got pissed off and cooled down, and, more than anything, just felt defeated.

I dutifully returned to work the following Monday, still searching for how to get Everett to his 6 p.m. soccer practice across town and wondering if my wife will have to quit her job given the prohibited price of childcare. I am heartbroken by this forced and unnecessary intrusion into our established new normal. 

For 10 years, I have worked for a company that, I thought, cherished its people, and celebrated an employee’s ability to do the job from anywhere, anytime. I feel cheated.

Mostly, though, I feel my version of being a “present dad” has been compromised. The return to office life means I cannot pick my kids up from school anymore. They are late to virtually every afterschool commitment now. The daily grind of “wake up, hurry, drop off, work, pick up, repeat” has yielded our quick game of driveway H.O.R.S.E a distance memory. 

I see my kids every day and, still, miss them all the same. 

Great news: I have a job. I am grateful.

Bad news: I am filled with daily regrets about things I’m missing (again). 

The return to the office, for me, is a return to regret. The kind of regret I thought had been permanently abandoned – like the idea of having to sit in a cubicle to be considered a productive employee.    

Photo: © M-Production / Adobe Stock.

A couple of weeks ago while on the road, I hit play on – you guessed it –  a parenting podcast. I was just casually listening at first, but then a question caught my attention. To paraphrase, a host asked, “If our kids knew us as people would they like us?”

As the hosts advanced the discussion, they talked about the fact that our kids don’t really know who we are. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just familiar faces and they’ve gotten used to us being there. It’s their job to be kids and ours to be their parents and make sure they’re taken care of. But do they know us? Our personalities? What makes us tick? Do they know how we act when we’re not in mom or dad mode?

And if they did, would they like us?

Most kids see their parents as superheroes. We are larger-than-life figures there for them. We provide for them. They depend on us from the moment they enter the world until they branch off on their own – and often well beyond that if we’re honest. We’re their safety nets. As our kids grow from toddlers to adolescents and then into young adulthood, the parent-child dynamic changes, but the fact remains that we’ll always “just” be mom or dad. And for the most part, they like that.

But the reality is they often don’t know any better. Or to put it a different way, they don’t really know us, the person.

Unfortunately, many of us don’t realize our parents are actually people until we are much older ourselves and have our own families. It is then we finally understand some of the things our parents talked about and tried to teach us growing up. The lightbulb goes off. We finally get to sit at the adult table and hear their perspective on various topics. We see how they act around others and analyze it with a different lens. It can be a confusing revelation because when we finally realize our parents are people and see them for who they are, we are faced with a dilemma of whether we like what we see.

As I wrote in a previous article, one of the many lessons learned with age is realizing the parents you idolized growing up aren’t perfect. They aren’t superheroes. They’re human. Humans with flaws, emotions, insecurities, dreams and fears of their own, just like you and I.

And you may or may not like that person.

As I continued to listen to the podcast discussion, I wondered to myself if, as a dad, I’m “likable.” If my kids knew that sometimes I’m not the best person when I’m not in dad mode, would they still like me? If they knew some of my flaws, would their faces still light up when they see me walk through the door? Maybe they’ll be like me and not realize that their dad is not “perfect” until later in life. Maybe it won’t matter then.

What I can do is be as open and honest with them about who I am. Share my life experiences with them and let them know why I made certain decisions. I hope that, especially with my son, he’s able to see me feel emotions. If I’m as transparent with my kids as possible, they may see that Dad is a real person, and maybe they’ll still like me.

Photo: © Prostock-studio / Adobe Stock.

I recently turned 44. Getting older makes me nostalgic. It gets me thinking about my younger days when I had less of need for ibuprofen just from sleeping in the wrong position. But this year, as wonderful as my birthday was, I found myself thinking about a dad other than myself.

A dad named James Lopez.

I did not know James very well before we roomed together at the October 2021 HomeDadCon conference for at-home fathers. I knew of him from other fatherhood conferences we both attended. He was the guy who always wore a “#FatherhoodisLit” T-shirt and hat (and I mean always). He was usually surrounded by people laughing and joking around with him. But just as often as I saw the smiles, those same people would be listening intently as he spoke. Most likely, he was dropping gems regarding fatherhood.

When I was asked to speak at HomeDadCon about book publishing, I was totally surprised that they wanted me to room with James, who is also a co-organizer for the NYC Dads Group. I assumed someone of his level had his own suite, to be honest. However, after spending just a few minutes with him, all the superstar status I had applied to him faded away. I immediately knew what he was all about: being a great dad.

As important as his brand is to him, he wasn’t about selling a million T-shirts or getting lucrative endorsement deals. A father of three boys, James, I learned, was about creating awareness of the greatness of being a dad. He liked to shine a light on other dads he thought were doing a great job showcasing the awesomeness of fatherhood. He didn’t care whether you had 2 million followers or just two. If he thought you were great dad, he wanted everyone he knows to know it, too. For example, he once appeared in PBS television spot. Without even asking me, he chose my book to be the one he was reading to his son on camera. That is the kind of guy he is. 

One of the things James frequently talks about is “presence over presents.” We get too caught up in spending money for our kids to have the latest toy or video game, he believes. Instead, we should focus on spending time with them. I thought of this over Father’s Day weekend while attending my cousin’s wedding.

The best man’s speech quoted a rap lyric about how false the idea of “time is money” really is. You can make more money, yes, but you cannot make more time. The next morning, Father’s Day, about 10 of us went out for breakfast. We celebrated the wonderful wedding we had attended, the fathers in attendance at the meal, the amazing bacon we were eating; but most importantly, we celebrated being able to spend time with each other. The 8-hour roundtrip drive to North Carolina for me, with increasing gas prices added to everything else spent on the weekend, was worth the money because of the time I got to spend with relatives I don’t see as often as I should. I earn that money back, but I can’t get back time missed.

I say all this because James has had some setbacks recently. In April, he underwent successful brain surgery for a non-cancerous growth. He mostly kept it secret because he didn’t want sympathy. James was seemingly on the road to recovery, but then later that month he re-injured himself. He is back in the hospital, in a coma. His family set up GoFundMe to help with this new round of expenses.

+ Donate to help James Lopez’s family +

As I I saw the update on his health, I started to think about the great time we had at HomeDadCon. We talked about everything from basketball to sneakers to fatherhood to Wu-Tang. That time with him was more valuable than the cost of the Uber to and from the airport. Or the plane ticket. Or all the other expenses that came with that conference. 

We can’t make up for lost time. It won’t ever come back. But, but we can try to make sure the time we have is filled. We can fill it with memories and laughs and moments that make us forget about monetary cost. Even if the time we get to share is only a few minutes, it can help us understand the value family and friends truly bring to our lives. That is presence over presents.

Whether you are a dad who is doing great, doing poorly or just kind of going thru the motions, remember #FatherhoodisLit and “presence over presents.” There is no time better than right now to try to be the best dad you can be. 

Silhouette photo: ©Ivan Karpov / Adobe Stock.