Of all the words you could’ve used to describe my life before marriage and kids, “routine” would not be one of them.

With no real responsibilities other than work a decade ago, I never really knew what my day would hold from one day to the next. I came and went as I pleased. It was the life – at the time, of course.

But fatherhood changes things. It’s transformative. And those changes can be a rude awakening if you’re not prepared or equipped to deal with them. 

Friday night lights out

I think back to just a few Fridays ago. I was hanging out on the couch in the evening, decompressing after a long week. The kids were asleep and my wife was upstairs watching one of her shows. Alone I sat, aimlessly flipping channels and scrolling on my phone. Looking at my contacts, it quickly became apparent that most of my friends who I would consider sending a “what’s the move?” text to in the same boat as me – parents worn out from the week and not willing or able to get out and do anything.

So just as the story goes for most Friday evenings these days, that night ended with me falling asleep while watching TV. A thrilling turn of events. 

That’s my routine now. A life that was once free-flowing and spontaneous, is now structured and predictable, with little-to-no wiggle room. From school and daycare pick-up and drop-offs, to weekend activities, to bedtime routines, the look and feel of my days as a dad rarely changes. I know what needs to be done and when. Rinse and repeat. 

Accept today’s routine, change is coming fast  

While having a routine and structure can be tedious, it’s ideal for how I’ve chosen to approach fatherhood. My kids are 5 and 2 so stability and consistency is vital to their development at this stage of life. Their routine has pretty much been their norm since birth and it keeps things somewhat in order. For me, however, it has been and still is at times tough to accept.

For all its joys and rewards, dealing with the lifestyle changes that come with fatherhood is tough. I’ve struggled with the loss of my “old life.” I’ve longed for just one weekend where my responsibilities could be put on the shelf so I could go to happy hour. Or just hang out with my friends. Or maybe play a round of golf.

Don’t get me wrong, I do get out and have fun here and there. But the “heres and theres” are few and far between. The routine of fatherhood is where I am now. I’ve come to accept that, even though I’m surrounded by energetic little people, the loneliness I feel navigating through the day-to-day routine is just for a season. Kids grow up. Their needs and demands of you will change until one day it will pass.

But for now, I’ll keep checking my Google Calendar daily to make sure I know where the kids need to be, and when.

Tips for breaking out of a parenting rut

If the routine of parenting is running you down, first realize that you are not alone. Then do something about it. Here are some helpful tips from online parenting experts about practicing self-care and changing things up:

• Schedule a date night with your spouse/partner. Hire a sitter and take a night every few weeks to have a quiet dinner out or catch a movie or a concert.
• Find time to decompress every day. Whether it’s five minutes of peaceful meditation, a walk around the block or a cup of coffee in a corner cafe, take a break for some quick relaxation.
• Join a parenting support group. Whether online or in real life, there’s a like-minded group of moms and dads to commiserate with and draw strength and support from. Dads can find a local City Dads Group, join the The National At-Home Dad Network or one of Fathering Together’s popular Facebook groups.

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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: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

Three leading fatherhood organizations are undertaking a yearlong “No Dad Alone” campaign to help more fathers find support and an understanding community.

Fathering Together, of which City Dads Group is a part, The National At-Home Dad Network and Fathers Eve will cross-promote each other’s work to amplify information, resources and events available to dads through each entity. The groups plan to use their organizations’ platforms, including social media, newsletters, blogs and podcasts. The three organizations combined have more than 180,000 followers on various popular social media channels.

“The No Dad Alone campaign aims to address the ever-growing stats surrounding men’s health, specifically, the negative stigmas and untrue portrayals of fathers in the home and beyond,” said Cordan James, executive director of Fathering Together. “The web of resources this collaborative provides will instantly increase the positive impacts of fathers. It will also give people language to address, engage and support fathers in need and elevate the spirit of fatherhood.”

No Dad Alone arose, in part, from increasing U.S. media attention to male loneliness, particularly among fathers. Societal pressures about maintaining traditional masculinity (for example, remaining strong, stoic and independent in difficult times) and fewer resources and attention devoted to helping dads as opposed to moms contribute to these issues.

“Fathers are often isolated and they are not always sure what to do or how to alleviate it,” said John Francis, a co-organizer of the Twin Cities Dad Group and founder of Fathers Eve. “I think this campaign brings awareness to an important issue many guys have trouble with.”

Keith Nagel, president of The National At-Home Dad Network, said, “By highlighting and showcasing each of our organizations’ great work, we can create and build a much larger network of support for all our dads than we could individually. We hope to make other dads aware of our support offerings while connecting our members with ones we don’t provide.”

The ambitious campaign, using the social media hashtag #NoDadAlone, starts Father’s Day weekend 2024 to the following one in 2025. A key kickoff and celebratory ending point will be the annual Fathers Eve celebrations those weekends.

“From my work in the fatherhood area for the last dozen or so years, I see lots of people and groups doing good things to try to help their audience or their local market, but I don’t see a lot of connectivity,” Francis said. “They’re great guys all doing good work. When we work together I know we will make a much larger impact on this important issue.”

About the No Dad Alone organizers

Each organization involved in No Dad Alone has embarked on similar, though separate, missions to provide support and community to dads. At various times, each has worked with the other on a campaign or event.

The National At-Home Dad Network was established in 2003, initially under the name Daddyshome Inc. The first national nonprofit for at-home dads, it focuses on advocacy, education and support for families with fathers as primary caregivers. The network offers a variety of online communities, webinars and virtual opportunities to connect throughout the year. Its annual conference for at-home fathers, HomeDadCon, marks its 28th year this October with a three-day event in St. Louis.

Since 2012, Fathers Eve has gathered groups of dads — formally or informally in public or private spaces — the night before Father’s Day to celebrate each other and the joys and challenges of fatherhood. The event, held in dozens of U.S. towns and cities, lets dads offer support to each other and help foster a positive fathering environment. It culminates in a toast, in person and online, at 8 p.m. local time in each U.S. time zone.

Fathering Together started with the “Dads with Daughters” Facebook group in 2018. It quickly grew to have more than 125,000 followers supporting each other’s efforts to be great fathers. In 2020, the founders created the current nonprofit. It offers Facebook communities, a podcast, and a variety of webinars and resources supporting dads.

City Dads Group began in 2008 as a playgroup for at-home dads and their children in New York City. It now consists of groups of fathers who meet, with and without their kids, in 40 cities across the United States and one in Canada. City Dads Group merged with Fathering Together in 2023.

“Dude, you can live with us if you need to!”

My childhood buddy, Tim, blurted these words when I told him my parents were divorcing. I was 17 years old at the time, and to this day I appreciate his dramatic concern for me.

But I had to smile and remind him: “I’m not becoming an orphan. But thanks for the offer.”

Tim’s offer was tempting. His parents, Jerry and Ann, had been like a “second Dad and Mom” to me for years. Although I enjoyed a healthy upbringing and loved my parents, Tim’s house became the neighborhood “hub” or hangout, especially for boys, during my childhood. The main reason? He had three brothers—Cary, Bryan and Brendan—who loved to play pick-up sports.

The brothers and a group of neighborhood buddies would play street hockey out front, ping pong in the basement, and/or card games in the kitchen nearly every day. During a few of those early years we even played ice hockey on a backyard rink, and Jerry would help me tie my skates. Even before we knew we were hungry, Ann would provide a vat of chili or a pan full of bacon to be devoured by growing boys.

My Second Mom — the “boy whisperer”

Looking back, Ann was especially gifted as the mother of four boys. Somehow she navigated all that roughhousing and trash-talking (along with all that equipment) with grace. And her skills as a nurse helped with all the minor injuries compiled along the way.

You could say Ann was a “boy whisperer.” She often used humor to cope with the chaos surrounding her. For example, she hung an attractive sign above the toilet in the basement bathroom that read: “My aim is to keep this bathroom clean. Your aim will help.”

One of her favorite stories about raising four boys involved her son Bryan when he was young. On a particularly frustrating day as a tired mother buried in childcare, she lamented aloud that she always thought her life would be filled with fame and fortune. Then she heard Bryan’s little voice try to encourage her.

“Guess you have to go to Plan B, Mom!” he said.

Ann would always cackle at that punchline, displaying just how much she loved her boys—a different kind of family wealth.

Ann was not all food and games, however. Whenever we stepped out of line, she would gently nudge us to be better people by saying “hear—hear.” That was her way of getting our attention. What she was really saying was “Have a conscience at the base of all that goofing around.”

No doubt my childhood friends and I didn’t thank Ann enough back then. But that is what made her well-attended 80^th birthday party so special several years ago. Because Ann had “showed up” for them as boys, many of those neighborhood buddies “showed up” for her decades later. I have never seen so many grown men (including myself) proclaiming their gratitude to one woman for positively impacting their boyhoods.

During our many toasts to Ann, it was as if she had created a “Fifth Son” Olympics in which we were all competing. Of course, she had already won the gold medal in the “Second Mom” event. One guy even called Ann his “Second Mom” in front of his “First Mom,” who looked on approvingly because she was Ann’s friend and former neighbor.

Appreciate “Second Moms and Dads”

Sadly, Jerry passed away many years ago, and Ann passed more recently. Perhaps the most poignant image from Ann’s memorial service featured many of those same grown men “showing up” again to carry her casket. That is the power of a “Second Mom.”

Although “second Moms and Dads” don’t get a national day of recognition, maybe they should. So be sure to think about the people who may have acted as “second parents” in your childhood. Try to thank them, if possible. Hopefully, you can also serve as a second parent to some of your children’s friends. Be a host, coach, teach, carpool, tell stories or just plain show up and listen to them.

Tim’s offer for me to join his family back in a moment of crisis when I was 17 made me realize I would always have both a first and a second home in this world. Many decades later, I visited Ann in a nursing home, shortly before her passing. When she saw me, her eyes lit up and she whispered: “Vin-Man.” That was one of my nicknames in childhood, and hearing her say it made me feel like a superhero. 

In essence, that’s what “second parents” do. They make children feel special and show them they have a second home if needed. Hence, “Second Moms and Dads” are like Plan B. So here’s to Plan B!   

Friendship: What is it? Where do we find it? How do we keep it?

According to Facebook, a friend is someone we may have met for a minute, added to a list, and then left to the algorithm.

According to Marc Antony in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, friends (like Romans and countrymen, respectively) tend to lend their ears and are often prone to peer pressure.

According to my youngest son, friendship is a compass that points to where your heart is, regardless of time or distance.

Sorry, Bill, but I’m with the kid on this one.

“I’m not tired,” said that same kid, lying through his eyelids, then his mouth fell open and never closed again. We were five hours into a 10-hour flight, somewhere over something dark. It was late. We were all tired. He was asleep.

We were on our way to Sweden. Again. The best friendships, you see, like any compass, are a magnetic thing, and they pull us through the iron of our heartstrings. Frankly, it is a wonderful way to travel.

I get that long-distance friendships aren’t for everyone. There are far more obstacles to family travel than not, with money being perhaps the biggest. It wasn’t easy for us, either. In fact, it nearly didn’t happen. Despite buying our airfare so far in advance that it was cheaper than most domestic travel, and having accommodations provided via the generosity of our friends and their timeshare, it was still a big undertaking that involved a lot of saving and even more corners cut. The benefits, of course, outweigh everything.

The best friendships are a good investment

The slopes of Storlien look soft from a distance, white and fluffy like marshmallow rivers running down the sloppy side of a bright, cold sundae; and the nuts in the thick of it are those you love the most. Mountains are made for metaphors, but they are not nearly as soft as the brochure may suggest. Still, it is worth it all the same, even more so for the sharing.

This is where we spent a week, a quick walk in the snow, uphill both ways, between cabin and ski lifts. We were an overnight train ride from Gothenburg, sans internet and dressed in more layers than an onion. The temperature stayed well below freezing. The wind blew it colder. The kitchen, however, was cozy with wine and conversation.

The best friendships, when done correctly, become the family that you choose.

Ours started seven years ago, when two little boys, both new in town, met in a California classroom. Neither spoke the language of the other, nor did they seem to care, but they knew what laughter sounded like and they understood kindness perfectly. Their friendship rippled to include their older siblings and their parents, from play dates to family game nights to theme parks on the weekends.

And then they moved back to Sweden, which could have been the end of it. We all know life has done meaner things.

But it wasn’t.

Absence, it turns out, really does make the heart grow fonder, but the digital age provided a tether that wouldn’t break. The boys’ long-distance friendship grew all the stronger, and they took the rest of us right along with them. It is an easy comfort.

Hence, our trip to Sweden, and plans are already in motion for the next trip we will all take together. We’re thinking somewhere warmer.

Friendship is anything you want it to be, and everything you make it.

Winter sports are optional.

This article about long-distance friendships was originally published in 2018. Best friendships main photo by Sunny Jat via Pexels.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives to find great articles you might have missed. This tale about an at-home dad finding new friends comes from 2018.

Someone at the park handed me their phone number today. I’m planning on calling tonight!

If you are a little confused, that’s understandable. I am a 35-year-old man with an amazing wife of six years and three awesome kids. Why am I still getting girls’ phone numbers?

I never said I was getting a girl’s phone number: the digits I’m getting these days are of fellow stay-at-home dads.

Finding new adult friends as an at-home father is no day at the park. If you thought it was difficult to ask a girl for her phone number in a bar when you were 21, try asking another grown man for his phone number at the playground. It is not just awkward, but a little creepy.

But that is exactly what it has come to. Finding friends as a stay-at-home dad means you start at your new hangouts: the local park, school playground or zoo. You see other dads at these places, too. Since most dads with full-time jobs are also not able to push their kids on the swings at 10:30 on a Thursday morning, so it quickly becomes apparent who the other stay-at-home dads are.

The interactions with other fathers usually start small, with some type of primal grunt in the general direction of the dad. That is most likely the only interaction the two of you will have at that time. If you see each other a couple more times, one of you may even get up enough courage to muster, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” After a few more encounters the conversations begin and usually happen in this order:

1. Which ones are yours?
2. So how old are your kids?
3. Do you stay at home with them full-time?
4. What did you do before you stayed home with your kids?
5. So what does your wife do? (Probably the oddest question of them all.)

After the obligatory questions have been asked and answered, then snap judgments must be made about this guy’s entire family.

Could I really see myself hanging out with this guy?

Do his kids seem a little weird? I’m not sure I want my kids hanging out with somebody’s weird kids.

What if all he is interested in are shotguns and NASCAR? Will we ever have anything to talk about?

What if this guy is really a psycho? I don’t want to invite some psycho to come to my house and hang out with my kids.

And I sure hope he’s not a Yankees fan.

After this quick assessment has been made and the dad is deemed acceptable, it’s time to make a move. Want to get our kids together sometime? Deep breath … here goes … “How ’bout we exchange phone numbers so we can set something up for next week?”

And that’s it. You and your kids have found some new friends to play with, even if they are weird, gun-toting, NASCAR-loving, psycho Yankees fans.

A version of this first appeared on Indy’s Child. Finding friends on a beach photo by Tyler Nix on Unsplash

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one about broken friendships comes from 2016.

To excited first-time parents-to-be, I would offer encouragement and well wishes, but a bit of sobering advice as well: Be prepared to lose some friends. Most experienced parents know of this phenomenon of broken friendships. I think this effect is felt even more acutely by gay parents.

Fact: I have lost more friends becoming a gay parent than I have coming out as gay in the first place.

I have always been a bit of a nerd. In grade school, I wasn’t a popular kid, but I mingled with a group of similarly studious friends. Two of my best friends, “Rich” and “Nick” remained tight with me even after we all went to different colleges. When I came out of the closet in college, I was pleased both were accepting of me and remained close friends well into adulthood.

Rich and Nick were in turn friendly when I introduced them to my partner, Josh. Even though the three of us lived in different places, when we visited we would all hang out together like old times. Nick would share his girlfriend problems. Rich invited Josh and me to celebrate his engagement and his wedding to his wife. It was around this time that Josh and I started talking about having children in earnest.

Just like Rich and Nick shared their major life events with us, Josh and I were excited to share about this endeavor with them. Rich was clearly in a happy place in his life and was happy for us when we shared the news. I remember calling Nick to giddily tell him how Josh and I were going to California to look into gestational surrogacy.

My heart sank when he responded by saying, “Why are you telling me this?”

Change in status, change in attitude

It became clear Nick did not understand why we would ever want to have children. He was not particularly happy for us. I ended the rapidly deteriorating conversation and hung up before it became an argument.

We exchanged superficial pleasantries at Rich’s wedding, and then we did not speak for about two years. Around the time that we were planning our children’s first birthday party, I received an email from Nick. He asked, “Whatever happened between us?” As if he was oblivious to how my feelings were deeply hurt.

I responded angrily. He knew very well what happened.

Nick responded, stating openly what I knew to be the truth all along: He disagreed with two men raising children. He thought it would adversely affect children to be raised in a non-traditional household.

In retrospect, I believe Nick was fine with the novelty of having gay friends who hung out in gay bars doing stereotypically gay things. However, as soon as his gay friends decided to be real people and live their lives outside of a socially acceptable second-class box, he became disapproving.

After our children were born, many good friends, most of them gay, faded away more slowly. In our first few years living in Florida, Josh and I had amassed a large group of gay friends. Most had no interest in having children, but they were all happy for us when we announced we were expecting.

After AJ and JJ were born, I appreciated that these friends continued to invite us to events. Because we were busy with twin babies, though, we would either pass or send one of us out to have fun while the other stayed with the kids. Inevitably, the invitations became fewer and far between. More broken friendships, but unlike with Nick, no hard feelings were involved, so I don’t fault these friends in the slightest. Our unusual situation as gay guys with kids just didn’t fit into their social calendars neatly. That’s OK.

Losing so many friends over the years both gay and straight, either suddenly or slowly over the years, I have only a touch of sadness. In place of these friends, I have a large beautiful family.  These four children bring me unlimited and enduring joy and fulfillment.

About the author

David Hu, left, is a proud father of multiple multiples. He and his partner twice went through the gestational surrogacy process, creating a family with two sets of twins. This post was originally published on David’s blog, Rock And Ledge, and on City Dads Group via our partnership with The Handsome Father. Main photo: © ROBERT/ Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: If you’ve ever considered attending HomeDadCon, the annual fatherhood conference held by The National At-Home Dad Network, then this might help make up your mind. It was originally published here in 2014.

When I became a stay-at-home dad in 2008, I was terrified.

My wife and I had just moved from Chicago, where I had lived for 33 years, to upstate New York. I had resigned as a public school teacher after 10 years to stay in our new home and raise our kids, who at the time were 21 months old and 3. I left family, friends, babysitters I knew and trusted, and a community I loved. It meant resetting everything about my life.

The first week was rough. Our son broke his collarbone. Here I was, in a strange city where I was unfamiliar with where the hospital was and I couldn’t get a hold of my wife or her parents who lived in the area for help. I felt lost. I questioned if I really could do this.

A few weeks later, once I got the lay of the land, I sought other dads like me but without luck. I kept seeing the same moms at the gym and at pickup for their kids. Most accepted me as a parent but I still needed guys to share my experiences with.

Then, at church one day, my wife and I met a couple who had kids of similar ages.

“What do you do for a living?” the husband asked.

“I am a stay-at-home dad,” I said, dreading his response.

“No kidding!” he said. “So am I.”

What resulted was a friendship with me, him and his brother-in-law, also a stay-at-home dad. We regularly met on Fridays, which we named “Dads and Subs.” One guy would bring the Wegmans’ sandwiches and the kids would have an instant playgroup while we got to talk to one another about our week.

An at-home dad conference? Really?

In August 2011, my wife received an offer to relocate again, this time to Philadelphia. We couldn’t pass up the opportunity. This was the first city, however, where we knew no one and the first city where we couldn’t rely on family to bail us out of a jam with the kids.

I looked for dads’ groups after we got settled but kept coming up empty. I found plenty of groups for stay-at-home moms of little ones, but nothing for dads. Once, I even tried to join a moms’ group but was quickly rejected because “they didn’t feel comfortable with a man there.” I was on an island with really nowhere to turn.

Then I came across The National At-Home Dad Network’s conference, an event for stay- and work-at-home fathers who embrace parenting as their most important job. It was billed as a chance to meet other active and involved dads, learn from experts about various parenting and social issues, and take a brief respite from parenting duties.

I made plans to go to their convention in Washington, D.C., that next year. My wife and I worked out a schedule with her parents to come while I was gone and watch the kids. I piled into the car by myself and drove to D.C., not knowing what to expect.

It turns out these guys — a fraction of the tens of thousands of at-home fathers in the United States — were just like me.

Focus on being great parents, bonding

The dads came from all over. They stayed home with their kids because it was what was best for their families. They focused on trying to be the best dads they could be.

At the conference, we listened to people who had written books on parenting, a psychologist studying the rise of male caregivers in our society, and a person who had a website devoted to helping male military spouses who were at home.

In break-out sessions, we had honest discussions without judgment. We could share and be heard while dads helped other dads. Panels discussed popular issues with other men just like me. Guys talked about isolation and everything from discipline to diapers and bottles to breastfeeding.

Being around your peers in any field will give you that sense of self-worth. You see that you aren’t the only one dealing with a kid who won’t eat or how your teenage daughter won’t talk to you. I never laughed so much in my life and, at its end, I cried. I didn’t want this feeling of acceptance to end. Finally, I found my people — all in one place, no longer scattered but uniformly united by fatherhood.

The shared moments with them socially and the sessions on parenting were just what I needed. When I returned home my wife saw a change in me. I was dedicated and rejuvenated ready to be back with my kids and be the best dad I could be. It inspired me to start my own dads’ group, which eventually became the Philly Dads Group.

The men I met at the dad conference and of the At-Home Dad Network, an all-volunteer organization working toward the betterment and acceptance of stay-at-home dads everywhere, helped me when I needed it most. These guys became my friends online and in real life. They lifted me higher than I could have imagined.

If you are an at-home dad on the fence about going to the convention, I say take a chance. You never know where it will lead. The National At-Home Dad Network saved me, and it can save you too.

A version of this post first appeared on DadNCharge.

At soccer games on Saturday, I’m the dad furthest down the sideline, away from any other parents. I am not chit-chatting with other parents typically, tending to slide in and out unnoticed. While I’m not anti-social, I’m not overly mingle-y during our weekly games. 

It’s not that I don’t like the parents I share virtually every weekend with, but with each passing season, I find myself being less “people-y.” Joining in with the friends-off-the-field type of comradery isn’t me. I guess I’m good with the friends I have and don’t feel a pressing need to make more.    

Most of the time, how friendly I am on the sidelines does not much matter. 

Other times, like on a recent Friday morning, it does. 

With no school because of spring break on Friday, Everett, my 10-year-old, agreed to play in a makeup game across town. My wife and I had work responsibilities that day so we sent our little guy with another trusted soccer parent, Kelly. 

The game began at 10:30 a.m. 

By 10:35, I had missed two calls from Kelly and one from my wife. When my phone rang for the fourth time, I broke from my conference call and picked up.

My wife’s frantic voice didn’t allow me to speak, “You have to get to the hospital now!”

I was confused but assumed whatever was going on centered on the kid outside of our care, Everett.    

“I just talked to Kelly,” she said. “Everett broke his arm and dislocated his wrist. She is taking him to E.R. now. He is in a lot of pain. You gotta go.” 

My minivan had never cut in and out of traffic like it did that morning. As I sped to meet my ailing little boy, my phone rang again, this time from a fellow sideline dad. 

I could tell my son was listening as the other dad began slowly. “Toby, I have Everett right here waiting for a ride to get his arm fixed up,” he said. “He is hurting and scared, so I wanted you to talk to him and tell him that you’ll be here soon, OK?”

For the next few minutes, while speeding down the interstate, this fellow dad and I calmed down my hurting little boy. Then, I heard Kelly’s voice.

“OK, let’s go get you better, Everett. Tell your dad you’ll see him soon!” 

I hung up. My mind raced. 

Mostly, I felt deep gratitude to those parents standing in for me – the same sideline parents I often shun in favor of a quiet patch of grass on the outskirts of the pitch on any given Saturday. These were parents I’d previously stopped short of calling friends. 

Until now. 

Suddenly, the importance of befriending other sideline parents mattered. It mattered A LOT. 

It mattered that the other parents at the field with Everett that day treated him as if he was their own. 

It mattered that they knew how to break the bad news to me and my wife without freaking us out completely. 

It mattered that my son, laying on the ground screaming in pain, could recognize being surrounded by adults he knew and could trust. 

It mattered that I knew he was in good, caring hands when I could not be there.   

This situation has forever changed the way I’ll think about my fellow parents on any team our kids play on. That day I learned any team he plays on needs to have a similar “I got your back” mentality among the parents watching the game. 

That type of sideline comradery does not mean everyone gets along all the time. It does not require getting together socially after the game for beers and wings. Hell, I can even have every parents’ back from my preferred position of solitude on the sideline. 

It does mean, though, that every time our kids take the field, we are there for each other and our children. 

I felt that sense of community after Everett was stable as I stood at the side of his hospital bed. He and I spent the downtime responding to kind texts about how he was doing from everyone on the team. We FaceTime’d with teammates who left the field scared to death at seeing Everett carried off the field crying. Everett reserved a special place on this new, bright red cast for only his teammates to autograph. I felt so proud as he thanked Kelly and that other dad for making him feel OK in my absence.

These are more than fellow sideline parents, each is an extension of us. Making friends with sideline parents doesn’t matter until it does – even for the most non-“people-y” of parents like me.

Photo: © athichoke.pim / 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.

A red, supercharged flat-six barked angrily as it launched the coupe ahead of me into a tight, left-hand corner. I turned the wheel sharply, fed my car throttle, and felt the rearward weight transfer gift the rear wheels with the necessary traction to accelerate out of the corner.

Soon the tachometer swept past 7,000 rpm to 7,100, on to briefly kiss 7,200. Right foot off the throttle. My feet had to move quickly. Left foot clutch. Right hand clicking the shift lever up and over into third gear. Release clutch. Right foot back to the floor. On and on, to repeat as often as necessary. Pure mechanical Zen.

It was a glorious day for a group drive with friends. All the proper elements had made an appearance. Fine weather. Tasty food. Cool, German cars. For me, a near-perfect morning. Despite all this, I struggled to feel completely at ease.

I had a hard time fully engaging with those around me, and I couldn’t escape a nagging feeling. A pessimistic, defeatist voice whispered doubt and worry in my ear. This ever-present dialogue often keeps me from being as present in the moment as I’d prefer. Often this feeling is assigned to mothers instead of fathers. Countless memes speak of “mom guilt,” but moms don’t have a monopoly on feeling as if, at all times, they should be home with their kids. Dad guilt is real.

Obligation to one’s parenting “job”

I’m a househusband. A kept man. A stay-at-home dad. I genuinely don’t get out much. No one begrudges me some time with “the boys and their toys.” My wife would probably prefer I leave her alone more often than I do, and yet it’s hard for me to prioritize my own time away from the family.

I think there are many causes for these feelings. There’s societal pressure to be the provider, so I feel guilty about “playing” when I don’t feel I earned the money to pay for the toys. I feel guilty leaving my wife to take care of the kids when she has worked all week, As much as I desperately need time away from the kids some days, she also deserves her own time after a busy work week (sometimes she actually works seven days a week!).

Because of all this, my time alone feels selfish. My time with friends feels overly indulgent. At their current ages of 7, 5 and 3, my children always want to be with me. Near me. On me (literally on me as I write this). It’s exhausting, but I know it won’t last. I’m acutely aware this cute, cuddly time will come to an abrupt, teenage halt one day. So, when I discard a day with them for something completely self-serving, my dad guilt is ever present and genuinely discouraging.

Overcoming dad guilt

I’ve learned I can’t surrender to this feeling of dad guilt. If I do, I’m not happy. If I’m not happy, how can I raise happy kids? I can’t give them my best if I don’t feel my best, and having a life, having hobbies, and having friends is a crucial factor in me feeling my best. Too many of us are isolated, lonely and stuck feeling guilty, or feeling like we are failures. We need an escape. We need a release, and we need to stop feeling guilty about it.

Moderation is crucial here. This isn’t a free pass to cry “my mental health” every time we want to watch a UFC fight at the bar with the fellas. We need to diligently work toward the type of balance that has us becoming the best fathers we can be. As important as it is for us to “be there” for our kids, sometimes getting away from them is equally as important.

Sounds like a dad’s meetup in Vegas, baby! Although by “Vegas” I really mean the German bar a few blocks away from my house. You know, can’t be too far from the kids. They might need me.

Dad guilt photo: ©Krakenimages.com  / Adobe Stock.