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.

The end of summer vacation is looming for us parents and our kids. And, as the start of the school year draws closer, I have begun my annual tradition: the daily nagging of my children to complete the summer homework mandated by their schools. 

I am sure that I am annoying them.

And, of course, they are annoying me. 

Their procrastination and “ho-hum” attitude when thinking about picking up their books and laptops again is driving me nuts. Just as it does every summer. 

To help quell some of the household friction resulting from the impending assignments – from my 8-year-old reading a book and drawing a picture of the setting, to my 10-year-old’s storyboard of a book he’s read, to my high schoolers having two 300-page books each to read in the next 10 days – I started to devise a schedule to get the work completed by the first week of school. 

As I worked on this, I realized why my kids don’t care about this mandated summer school work. This feels like A LOT of work for little (or no) return. For both of us.

I cannot blame them. Most of their friends don’t bother with it. Why? Because they’ve never had a teacher ask them to turn in their summer homework. The simple nature of this work indicates its lack of importance.

From my teenagers’ point of view, we are the only parents who give a crap about completing summer homework. While I’ll discount their claim of being the “only kids that have to do this,” their lethargy has been taught by past years of little or no value credit given by teachers for students who had completed their summer assignments by the first day of class. If there’s no reward for the work, why do it? 

Summer homework or busy work?

For my younger kids, they see the “read a book and draw a picture” nature of their summer homework assignments and laugh at their simplicity. They feel intellectually patronized by a garbage assignment that wastes their time. Unlike my teens, though, their friends are participating (and complaining about the same BS work being asked). 

What do parents do? 

Do we stand with the schools and demand our kids complete the remedial work they have been assigned? 

Do we ignore these inconsequential assignments that only seem to increase our household tension over these next few weeks? 

I have decided to do the latter. 

There will be no more laying out study schedules. No more checking daily reading logs. No more demanding that my teens prove they have been reading through selfies sent during my working hours. And, mercifully, no more watching my kids scramble at the last minute to complete an assignment that has awarded them little more than a pat on the head. 

Enough. 

Drawing the line on summer reading assignments

It is time, I think, to stop the practice of piling homework on kids during the few months of the year they have time to decompress. Summer homework is not only meaningless, but it also unnecessarily cuts into a remarkedly short few months away from the classroom. 

What is wrong with kids (and parents) just chilling out?

Nothing.

Will reading that book and drawing its setting help my rising third grader springboard into a new school year?

No. 

Is summer homework a function of needy parents who need the credibility associated with “your school requires this” behind them to get their kids off their phones?

I think so.

Unlike past years, my kids’ summer school work will not be done when they charge into their next classroom in a few weeks.

Maybe that puts them a bit behind but maybe it doesn’t. 

No matter, it ensures that I will be spending the next few weeks helping them enjoy their fleeting freedom instead of annoying them with the structure that can certainly wait until the attendance bell rings. 

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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 Oleksandr P via Pexels.

Being a stay-at-home dad with a daughter has particular challenges.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my daughter. She can be the sweetest, most compassionate, caring and loving person. I cannot describe how much I love her hugs and kisses.

But she always wants to go into the women’s restroom. Whenever we are out, I always pause before deciding what to do. Do I just let her go by herself? What if she locks herself into the stall, can’t turn on the water or reach the soap? How do I not look awkward waiting patiently outside the women’s room?

In public places, such as airports and parks, I prefer to take her with me into the men’s room. However, when she has to go, she has to go! One time, we were at a park when she just ran into the women’s room, and as I ran after her, I stopped in my tracks when I saw the security camera at the entrance. I didn’t want the cops to show up and arrest me for going after a girl in the women’s room!

I was almost arrested once. One day at Santa Monica Pier here in Los Angeles, my daughter was about to pee her pants but we found the men’s room closed for cleaning. I stood at the door of the women’s room, yelling inside every 30 seconds to make sure she was OK. Just as she finished up, a cop car showed up to “check” that I wasn’t some “weird guy” on the pier Once the officer saw my young daughter, he understood my predicament.

Taking her to the men’s room can be equally awkward now that she knows that boys have penises and girls have “jinas.” She asks why boys get to pee at the urinal and she cannot. Sometimes she walks up to other people while they are using the urinal. This is when I realized the concept of privacy isn’t inherent; it has to be taught. Add to that the judgemental looks you get from others when a father helps his daughter to the men’s restroom. Those looks of indignation that “mom” should be doing it (or the assumption that there is even a mom) or that unsolicited advice on how to raise your child. Y

Another restroom challenge is when I have to go and ask her to “stay put” for just enough time to allow me to finish my business. Most of the time, she listens. One time, however, we were visiting the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. She was so thrilled by the experience of seeing the bridge that she forgot to tell us she had to pee, and she started to pee in her car seat. We quickly jumped out of the car to go to the restroom and clean up. It was a big public restroom with dozens of people coming in and out.

After I had cleaned her up, I asked her to wait while I used the facilities. But she wanted to see the bridge again! I almost peed my pants as I ran outside— zipper still down and screaming her name—to catch her. Thankfully, I caught her just before she stepped into the road to cross the parking lot.

I breathe a sigh of relief when a family restroom is available because we can all use the restroom together without a challenge arising. I can change my toddler. We can both go to the restroom in private. I don’t have to worry about her running out the door. It’s nice to see more restaurants, malls and public sites have family restrooms. Sadly, too many non-family people use them for the same reason that I like using them–privacy. It is frustrating when I have waited patiently, too many times, outside the family room just to see a non-parent come out and don’t care even to apologize when they see a family waiting–even when my daughter is doing the “potty” dance. We need more family rooms and stricter enforcement of rules around them so actual families can use them.

Fellow dads—how do you navigate going to the restroom challenge in public facilities? How do you address privacy issues? Do you have any fun stories to share? Post them in the comment section!

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This blog post, which first appeared on our L.A. Dads Group blog in 2017, 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 Mick Haupt on Unsplash

The most prevalent examples of fatherhood tend to be built around the same story. It’s one about lazy, uninvolved, and at its worst, abusive dads. These often come accompanied by complaints about men not taking on their fair share of the physical and mental load of parenting. These stories of weaponized incompetence fill pages and pages of books, magazines and social media. Rarely do these tales offer corrective advice or give solutions.

Meanwhile, the handful of positive stories about fatherhood that have made headlines in recent generations tend to center on people later discredited or found disreputable (hello, Bill Cosby!) or sports stars who are gone from home half the year. Not that you’d find even these or any stories about dads in parenting publications and websites — unless, of course, it’s related to that one day in June.

It can be quite refreshing when fathers are ignored, though. For a minute, we can at least imagine we are part of the parenting world. The quiet doesn’t last long, though. Soon, more words are written. Did you hear about fathers who go on fishing trips with the boys and — wait — they end up in a strip club? And the question that is asked, if one ever is, is this: Why are all fathers like this?

That’s where I want to push back.

Dads need support, inspiring examples

Richard Reeves of the American Institute of Boys and Men has written much about the issues our gender faces. (His Substack is fascinating. He also wrote the book Of Boys and Men which is also a great read.) One of his many concerns is the lack of environments where boys can exist and learn from each other. But not as some “old boys’ network” of the past, but as a new way forward. Somewhere young males can develop their emotional intelligence and build friendships. Sounds great, right?

Another upcoming book, BoyMom by Ruth Whippman, is another great read about the issues facing our sons. She is one of the first to actually go into the “manosphere” and talk to incels or “involuntary celibate” males. One of her major research findings is the lack of good examples of masculinity. But after reading it, I also noticed — once again — a lack of good examples of fatherhood.

Society seems primarily to want fathers who are stoic men of action. These are the dads who “man up,” ignoring their own problems while fixing the world for everyone else. Other times, it wants dads who can cook a 12-course meal, make $200,000 a year, and do so without so much as a thank you. What it doesn’t show are examples of a dad who simply exists in the same space as his children and peers, parenting the best he can without feeling like he is letting someone else down. Why? It’s not dramatic. It has no diabolical twists and turns. It’s a straightforward tale of a man who works hard to fulfill his paternal responsibilities and shows up. Every. Single. Day.

Positive fatherhood role models are out there — right out in the open — and everyone seems to miss them. For some reason, at-home dads are rarely held up as the example of what fatherhood and masculinity could be at their best. Instead of showing these fathers (and other good ones who are not at-home dads) caring for their family, giving out hugs like it’s a beer share, or spending countless nights sleeping next to a crib, we inevitably hear, “Why aren’t dads doing more?”

We are. But it’s not very dramatic and, thus, rarely headline-worthy.

The silent story of fatherhood

I recently wrote about football player Jason Kelce’s retirement announcement. In that article, I used the phrase “silent story of fatherhood.” It served as a nod to Jason’s description of his dad, Ed, who supported him every step of the way from childhood. No fanfare. No awards. No recognition. And that is fine. But this is a story I think is way more common than the clickbait articles that allegedly “speak for fathers.”

To me, this is what at-home dads are. It’s what single fathers are. It’s what married fathers who work 60 hours a week and come home and still find the energy to let a toddler crawl all over them are. None of us want condescending credit or hollow compliments. We just want to spend time with our kids, and we’d appreciate it if we got some support along the way. We would love to be part of a world that recognizes our difficulties without turning them into a competition with other parents. And, we would like to turn on our computers and TVs and see a better example of fatherhood — one that speaks more clearly and personally to our reality.

Using these fathers as springboards, we should be able to change the story of fatherhood. We can develop narratives that show what we do well, what obstacles we face, and how we try to overcome them. We will still need to call out the bad fathers who leave their kids and never come back or who refuse to change a diaper but because they don’t deserve our respect they will serve far fewer words in our story let alone headlines.

Fathers DO have their own support groups: either online or in real life. Some are even specific types of fathers: at-home dads, dads with daughters, and so on. In these places, men can come together, simply exist and support each other like Dr. Reeves recommends. We can talk about the latest sports news and, just as confidently, tell another dad, “Hey, I don’t think I’m doing so well.” It’s where we can be vulnerable and further develop our emotional intelligence, just as Ruth Whippman wishes for her sons. It’s a place where we can be whole human beings, not the fraction of ones that much of the world has taught us to be. We should hold these men up as examples of and role models of fathers working to be, if not acting like, strong, competent and caring parents. I know they are because I see them every day.

And we need to do all this in a way that does not demean women and mothers. They need to be celebrated for their sacrifices as much as we need to be recognized for ours. Parenting isn’t a competition, so we should stop treating it that way especially when we speak and write about it.

So come to a dads’ group gathering sometime. Talk to the single dad who is an expert at French braids and who can also build you a deck. Find the at-home dad who gave up his career for playdates, doctors’ appointments and volunteering behind the scenes at his child’s school plays. Listen to the divorced father who would rather have a tea party with his child than a tee time at the links.

We exist. You just have to look and listen.

Fatherhood story photo by Pavel Danilyuk via Pexels.

I’ve discussed at length turning 40, in writing and in various conversations with friends. I’ve talked about what it means from a physical and mental standpoint, where I am now versus where I thought I would be, and the reality of how this age has been so far compared to what I thought it would be when I was much younger.

Nearly two years in, it’s been great. I feel good — aside from the occasional aches, pains and concerns that come in this season of life. OK, overall it hasn’t been that bad.

For those of us in our 40s, we have spent the better part of two decades or so getting acclimated to the information age. Social media allows us to connect with others, learn, and debate about various topics every second of every day. It also gives us a glimpse into the lives of our peers. We learn of their struggles, their highlights, and whatever they carefully curate to share with us on their respective timelines.

With that, one thing has stood out of late. It seems every time I log on to social media, someone in my age range is dealing with some life-altering event. A parent has passed. A separation has started or a marriage has ended. An illness has struck. These always remind me that we have to enjoy life as much as possible because things can change in an instant.

Big questions to ponder, answer as we age

As a dad, when I see these updates from friends and family, it can’t help but make me think of my own mortality. This is the “dark side” of being in your 40s. Real-life issues and concerns weigh on you more than ever before, especially when kids are involved.

If something were to happen to me tomorrow, would my kids be OK?

Am I doing enough to prepare my kids for a successful future, with or without me?

Are my affairs in order?

I should be thinking about these questions anyway, but they sound louder and more urgent when I learn about the bad news of others. It makes me look in the mirror.

The irony for me is that, in dealing with my own aging parents, I’ve been trying to have these conversations with my mom and dad. It’s uncomfortable for sure, but necessary. However, because those talks to date have not been as productive as I would like, it’s given me more incentive to make sure I’m doing right by my children now. I want to make sure that when my time comes, whenever that may be, the process will be as stress-free as possible for them. Why? Because we’ve all seen online when families aren’t prepared for life’s twists and turns. The GoFundMes pop up, along with the venting, and much of it can be prevented by proper planning.

I try to lead by example to make sure my son and daughter understand the value of preparation. We should always hope and pray for the best, but prepare for the worst. My prayer in my 40s is to live a long, healthy life to be there for my kids. But if my story has an unexpected ending, it’s my responsibility to make sure they have the tools needed to finish their own book.

How to prepare for life-altering family events

Here is some suggested reading to help start you on readying your children and family when life throws you curves:

• 11 life skills you should teach your child (Very Well)
• 65 life skills to teach kids at every age (Mommy Poppins)
• Teach masculinity to sons with positive, healthy examples (City Dads)
• Saving for college: Educate yourself on these 3 main methods (City Dads)
• How to write a will when you have children (WikiHow)
• Tips for estate planning conversations (Fidelity Investments)
• Living trusts vs living wills (MetLife)
• Children and divorce (HelpGuide.org)

Prepare photo by cottonbro studio via Pexels.

I believe most men have a drive to be a productive part of the economy and the world. But what happens if he becomes a stay-at-home dad?

Would his ego be helped with a part-time job?

What if that part-time job became bigger and bigger?

How would his priorities and identity as an at-home dad change if he were to have the opportunity to enjoy business and economic success that can be parlayed into a fulfilling career?

I’ve had to answer all these questions in the past few years. That last question, though, I’m still working through. In fact, until a few weeks ago, I thought I had worked out all my ego issues.

Since September 30, 2016, my primary “job” has been as dad to our one son, Franklin. My wife and I agreed on my doing this until he started school full-time because neither of us wanted to pay exorbitant childcare costs or wake up at 5:30 a.m. to get our child there. We also have the luxury of being older parents (37 and 40) and were able to prioritize time with the child over money. Since my wife made more money than me, we agreed that I’d be the one to look after our son during the day.

Being an at-home parent is a huge responsibility. It doesn’t have a daily quitting time. You’re parent, teacher, coach, mentor — all in one, all the time. Added to this, my underlying insecurities of being “just” the primary caregiver had already made steady footholds into my subconscious. They helped me justify my working part-time even while raising him. It’s “good for him,” I told myself, to see me holding down this second job. It allows him to learn business, responsibility, professionalism, and finance at a young age. He sees his dad as both the primary caregiver AND a hard worker who shuns fun and games to get ahead.

But these initial justifications have been growing into something more. I’ve let myself start thinking that “if it wasn’t for my child” I’d be able to do so much more. More clients, more money, more focus on business.

Part-time job takes on full-time duties

Recently I told my wife about my plans for my growing part-time job in real estate – task lists, business expansion, hiring more employees, adding more clients. If only I keep working toward it, it’ll be mine! I’ll be a success! I’ll even be able to “brag” about how I can do all these things while I raise a child.

Then my wife stopped me cold. “What are you doing with Franklin?” she asked.

I’d been excited about all the possibilities for me, but not for him.

My wife’s question made me think of all the times I turned down business or opportunities. All the times I said “I can’t” because he and I had things to do. Do I feel bitter about that? Short answer, yes. But is that justifiable? Normal? Did I let my ego take over my responsibilities as a primary caretaker? Has my self-centeredness bled over and impacted his connection to me? Did I just teach my child to be self-centered?

That’s what my internal conflict is truly about and, honestly, I’m still processing it. How can I balance my desires, my success, my ego, and my need for societal and self-acceptance, against what my wife, son and I think should be my main purpose – being a parent in these early years?

This may seem like a ranting of privilege, of someone well-off enough to have the option to stay home full-time while the other spouse works. It’s not. It’s really about losing focus on primary goals in favor of self-indulgence.

With the limited time I have left with my son at home, I have to remember to choose him first. In just 18 months, Franklin will be in school full-time. Then, I’ll have weekdays to myself to work for the next 40 years. But struggling to get out of my own way for the betterment of a greater whole — family harmony, my son’s development and well-being — is constant for me. However, my wife’s one simple question has made me begin to re-focus on the primary purpose of my life. And, I’ve realized the greater whole of “we” over “I.”

This article first ran in 2021. Part-time job/work-at-home dad photo by Ketut Subiyanto 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.

I’d be lost without Google Calendar. In many ways, it’s my own little digital personal assistant.

Every meeting, trip, doctor’s appointment, party invitation, important birthday, sports practice and game, and more fill the days, weeks, and months on my computer screen and phone. 

Yay, technology!

As I’ve aged, having a detailed calendar has become a necessity. If it isn’t on there, forget about it. I’m not going to be on time. Hell, I might not even show up at all. I could get away without writing down appointments and such when I was younger. Dentist appointment next Thursday at 9? No problem, I’ll remember. Flag football practice on Mondays? I’ll be there. 

But life has changed thanks to fatherhood. The responsibilities I have as a dad require me to be as organized and on top of things as possible. In the blink of an eye, it seems, my once sparsely populated calendar has transformed into a colorful smorgasbord that is exciting, rewarding, stressful, and exhausting, all at the same time.

Their activities are now your activities

As a dad of a 5-year-old son, I’m now fully immersed in the “activity” phase. And I’ve leaned into it 100 percent. As dads, it’s an unspeakable joy to see our kids take an interest in some of the things that were part of our childhood. It’s equally joyful to watch them create their own path. 

Soccer, swimming, Cub Scouts, and T-ball are all on the agenda for my son these days. Not to mention birthday parties. Even my 2-year-old daughter is getting invited to parties for her daycare “classmates.” On any given weekend I go from the pool to the bouncy house to the park with snacks and tablets in tow. 

I often say this is part of the deal that comes with being a dad. The weekends once reserved for a round of golf or a pickup basketball game have been replaced with being a chauffeur for your favorite little person. For me, this is just the beginning. Once my little girl gets older, she’ll hopefully get involved in activities of her own. By then, who knows what my son will have going on? I’ll just add it to the calendar. 

Balance calendar for you and your kids

The reality for me is that two things can be true. There’s excitement for this season of life; there’s also an acknowledgment of the toll it takes on parent and child. For as much as we may not want our kids to “miss out,” a balance for managing activities must also exist.

The phrase “booked and busy” can sometimes be glorified as a badge of honor. If every time I look up, I’m taking my child from one activity to the next, I have to be a dedicated dad, right? The beauty of activities, particularly, sports, is they teach kids far more than Xs and Os. You learn teamwork, respect, confidence, and social skills, among other things. 

In a world that seemingly glorifies busyness, we have to be sure that we’re not only teaching our kids the importance of having a good work ethic, but showing them how to be self-aware in knowing when to take a day off.  

Because if we’re lucky, there will be plenty more activities to come. Just check the calendar. 

Photo by Windows on Unsplash

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