If “Born in the USA” has taught us anything, it’s that people will cheerfully blare any song with a catchy beat regardless of the incongruously depressing lyrics. These days every store you walk into is legally required to play Andy Williams’ “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” at least once an hour. Tucked into that ditty about holiday cheer is this little chestnut:

There’ll be scary ghost stories
and tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago

Wait – what?

Scary ghost stories? Scary Christmas ghost stories!?

On the surface, it seems like a lyric a few months past its Halloween expiration date. But scratch the tinseled surface and Christmas has some weird undertones.

What’s so jolly about a young, panicked woman giving birth in a filthy stable in the dead of night? Or an immortal being who breaks into houses and whose omnipresent gaze is fixed on your every move? Watching. Judging.

Life’s ghosts don’t take a Christmas vacation, and hardships don’t plan around your holiday calendar. So as I sat with my mother in hospice, two days before Christmas a few years back, it was hard not to notice the almost purgatorial nature of her room. At the nurse’s station outside, people flitted by – chatting next to holiday décor. In her room, it was dark and still. There was no longer the need for the expensive machines she had been hooked to for the past 10 months. No beeping or dinging. Just her shallow breath and closed eyes.

Ours had always been a difficult relationship. She was what some would describe as a “formidable woman.” Her superpower was bending reality to justify her actions. On the rare occasion where she owned up to being in the wrong, she would happily tell you why it was really someone else’s fault. Likely yours.

Becoming a father put into relief how differently we were wired. My journey into parenthood has taught me the value of self-reflection – examining why I am where I am, what I’m feeling, and what lessons I have learned. And how am I going to impart that to the two malleable humans who are always learning from me, whether I want them to or not? It’s a rich and rewarding road, but the tradeoff is it doesn’t end until you do. There’s no finish line. And you never get to fold your arms and say, “So there. Checkmate.” Reflection versus justification. My mother and I simply had different approaches to life.

But, oh, how she was loyal. I knew she would pitch a tent and just live in that room if the tables were turned. If half of life is showing up, she showed up – even if you didn’t realize you needed someone there. That’s also how she was wired. I admired that. I wanted to be that kind of person. And she brought me into this world. She deserved someone to stand sentry as her body prepared to leave it. The someone should be me.

Hours later, my thoughts turned to another family. The one I chose to build with the woman I love. A year of managing my mother’s illness had taken me away from them so often – missing moments big and small. They deserved my showing up as well, especially at Christmas. In the dark, I gathered my things and stood over her and said the last words I hoped she would hear. “I love you. … Goodbye.” And I left

The next morning my phone rang. It was the hospice. At 7:30 a.m. On Christmas Eve. They weren’t calling to discuss paperwork.

Christmas Day, my wife and I had to sit down our 6-year-old and tell her grandma died. She had known pets who had passed on, and over the year I kept her up to date as best I could on what was going on with her grandmother, even though she might not make it. All this she handled with surprising grace. But the end hit her hard. Amid the debris of wrapping paper and toys, I held my crying daughter and told her all the things I had researched to say. I spoke honestly about how special their relationship was. We would make a memory book of all the fun times they shared. I also could see her telling a future therapist, “I think it all started when I was 6 and my dad interrupted Christmas to tell me THAT MY FRIGGIN’ GRANDMOTHER WAS DEAD.”

I’ll give my mother this much, she had a flair for the dramatic. Every Christmas Eve from now on I’ll be haunted by her ghost, like Jacob Marley visiting Scrooge. As for my daughter, well, we’ve all changed in this last year. Kids are strong and resilient all right, but you can’t just say that with a shrug and go get a snack. There’ll be checking in, talking, listening, observing. As I said, no finish line.

If you want Christmas “tales of the glories,” you’ll have to take the Christmas “ghost stories.” That’s what relationships leave you with – even at this time of year. Especially at this time of year. Whenever we can celebrate the holidays with people and music again, you’re likely to be visited by a ghost or two as everyone is swaying to a favorite seasonal tune – be it traditional or hip. And if someone is wondering why you aren’t moved like they are, just give them this sage response: “Well, because, I’m listening to the words.”

Christmas ghost stories of photo by © RK1919 / Adobe Stock.

That Tiffany song. You know the one. It played in sixth grade at my first school dance.

There I stood for the first time in close physical proximity to a female who didn’t birth me and in a way that would’ve said, “Hey there, beautiful,” if a chubby boy in a peach knit cardigan sweater and a regrettable volume of Drakkar Noir could have exuded such a brand of clumsy middle school pre-sexual energy.

These are not memories I reflect upon so often that they spill like spring rain from an overly saturated flower pot. These faint brush strokes and passing scents remain with me after a quarter century of neglect. So much new and good has come that there isn’t room for what won’t promote growth. Onward and upward. Everything else goes overboard.

This is awkwardness in retrospect, the opposite of nostalgia. I didn’t enjoy my grade school career, to put it bluntly. That first dance was a tidy microcosm of my school life. Mostly alone. Portly. Embarrassed, before I knew what meaning the word could hold. And with a girl who, rightfully, didn’t see me as a threat. It would be years before I’d realize this was the role of a lifetime.

My 10-year-old daughter has her first school dance this Friday evening, a sock hop with music from her grandparents’ heyday on the cutting-a-rug circuit. She’s over the moon with excitement, as am I, for her.

She’s said some kids are asking each other to the dance, less a date, from what I understand, as it is a ritual of accompaniment. No one wants to be alone. She has asked a friend, a girl, if she’d “go with her.” That’s great because none of the fifth graders will likely have full dance cards.

This dance will be charming in its formality. Bow ties will be straightened by moms who’ll find it damn near impossible to keep their hands from shaking long enough to capture a single clear iPhone photo to commemorate the night. Car doors will swing open and glittering silver-and-black shoes will clatter down the concrete walkway to the grade school gym while dads drive back home in cars emptied of their most precious cargo. I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.

As I write this, it is Tuesday afternoon. I sit here anxious for the 8 p.m. Friday pickup time to arrive. But not because I want my daughter to stop dancing. It’s because I cannot wait to listen as she puts her head on my shoulder and recounts the entire Technicolor evening in hi-def detail.

Those will be memories worth letting soak in for a quarter century or more.

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This blog post, which first appeared here 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.

A version of this first appeared on Out with the Kids. First dance photo: gsdsw via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA)

While I often joke about the mom-centric attitude of my children, it’s definitely started to wear me down.

Every day I endure three kids going out of their way to remind me that mommy is superior. Just a bit ago, I stopped writing this to take my daughter to gymnastics. She began to whine and complain. My wife gave in, and here I sit, typing away, reminded I’m the lowest-ranking member of House Lemon.

Most of the time we don’t give in. My wife and I alternate duties, and the kids have to accept it. This doesn’t stop me from hearing about it, though. The kids who stay home with mommy cheer. The kid stuck with lame old dad mopes, whines, and generally makes sure I know I’m the least wanted. My brain can fully rationalize this reality, and I know it’s developmentally appropriate. I know if I wasn’t a stay-at-home dad, they’d likely be clamoring for time with me and less time with mommy. If I was more the pushover and less the rule enforcer, this parental pendulum might swing in my favor. My brain knows this, but my heart remains wounded.

It’s unfair to blame my kids, and it’s particularly unfair to blame my wife for being easy-going and generally more fun to be around. The blame here, if blame is the appropriate word, is upon me. I’m letting my lack of self-worth increase the sting of my kid’s choices. Maybe if my inner monologue wasn’t so negative, I’d have fewer feelings about the kids constantly choosing my wife over me.

I am consistently floored at how often my children are a mirror, reflecting the best and worst of who I am. Not just when their actions mimic mine, but it’s particularly illuminating when my reaction to them gives me previously unseen insight into who I am. Or, perhaps more accurately, who I’m not.

Maybe I’m weaker than I realize? Perhaps my kids are right and I’m the problem.

Or maybe.

Just maybe …

It’s them.

It’s all them!

Truth is, I’m rather fun. And, if the weather is just right, and my back isn’t being too grumpy, I’m downright delightful. Also, I’m not sorry for enforcing the rules. I’m not sorry for saying, “Yeaaaah, that’s a bad idea,” when my son is dangling over a dangerous precipice. Nor do I feel guilty stopping my daughter from getting too close to the dinosaur-infested waters of our local swamp (we live in Florida – it’s all swamp). I’m particularly not sorry for consistently steering the family away from bad decisions which I know will result in tears, meltdowns, fiery bedtime debates, or just general bedlam and reckless tomfoolery.

They can all suck it! It’s not me. It’s THEM!

Folks, we live in strange times. Times that are extremely difficult to navigate. Genders are fluid, fluids are filled with poisonous microplastics, and I’m just on the edge of being too old to adapt to any of it. Some men believe I’m too soft. Some men believe I’m too hard (be proud of the inappropriate jokes I’m omitting here). Everyone has a digital megaphone from which they can loudly judge the decisions and lifestyle choices of others, and here I am just trying to figure out how far I can let my kids ride their bikes from the house, knowing I’ll hear, “Well, Mommy lets me ride my bike in the street.”

Do I look like Mommy?

Sometimes resistance is a sign you’re on the wrong path. Other times, especially when assuming your natural role as a parent, resistance is a sign you’re doing something right. As parents, we have to be a little annoying. One of us has to be cool, because doing cool stuff is fun, and a little freedom goes a long way. But one of us absolutely needs to apply the brakes. Someone has to speak up, take the heat, and be the sopping wet blanket that ruins all the fun. Some call it balance. I just call it my genetic birthright to be the Gloomy Gus dialing everything back.

Hold strong my fellow parents. Don’t be afraid to be the annoying one, and perhaps most importantly, remember that on the gloomiest of days, when the kids have beaten your ego so bad not even a friendly shaman could help you find it: It’s not you – it’s them!

It’s always them!

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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 Phil Nguyen via Pexels.

I am going through a long and sentimental (bordering on mawkish) ending of sorts. It involves a 20-year-old Coleman pop-up camper.

My wife and I bought it new just after we were married. This was well before we had the twins, well before I even dreamed that was on the horizon. It’s old and worn now, ravaged by time, memory, miles and many backyard sleepovers. I am trying to figure out what to do with it as it’s barely roadworthy.

We were so delightfully young and naive when we purchased it. For weeks we looked at floor plans, considering size and amenities, before finally deciding on a smaller one that could be towed by my six-cylinder Chevy S-10. A smaller size would also make backing it up easier. Truth be told, I suck at backing a trailer. This one proved small enough it actually be hand-pushed into a space when necessary. It never occurred to us we might be camping with twin toddlers or giant teenagers, so we based our needs on just us. It contained no toilet and an interior set up to accommodate just two newlyweds and a guitar.

The camper’s been in our backyard for some time now. The boys like to hang out in it as the WiFi reaches that far. I’ve got to put it down before … well, I can’t.

You see, when we bought the camper, I purchased a nice leather-bound journal. I put it in a drawer inside the camper and vowed to write a bit about every night spent in it. And I did. The writing is not very good, few metaphors or deep insights, but the years are covered, each trip dutifully noted. Through the pages, the boys grow up, I age, the relationship with my wife deepens and a continuity and connection is established. Over the years, it has held the stories and hopes of a young family growing together. Stories of thunderstorms and frightened toddlers, scraped knees and sleepless nights. Hopes for the future in the minds of 6-year-olds and my hopes for their lives moving forward.

I am very glad I bought that journal. It sits to my left as I am writing this right now.

I spent a couple of recent evenings in the old camper, looking through what was in it when I came across the journal. With a curious urgency — fueled perhaps by the beers — I put it with the pile of things to take into the house.

Here’s the thing. The “ending” of that old camper is a new “beginning” for that journal. It is done with its long present and now can begin to show me my past: a past where I hoped for my boys’ future. It is so strange how, as one writes in diaries and personal journals, how prescient we can be. There’s an entry from 2011, written of an early morning at a state park in central Ohio, where I say: “The boys are getting along surprisingly well. They rarely fight or bicker and are good friends, it seems. Who knows how long that’ll last, but I really hope it does.”

How could I know then that, nine years later, they’d still be best friends?

Or, that at the time I was watching the beginnings of what I think will be a lifelong friendship?

How, perhaps, would I know that camping and bonding in the close quarters of that little camper would help that along? Maybe I had helped it through sheer happenstance and in a leather-bound journal I’d noted it. Now I can look it up.

Recently, a fellow father and writer on this website purchased a used camper. He solicited advice from a social media group we are in. I typed a long answer — advice on gear and the such — but I deleted it. The real advice was too ethereal and came from a place I’m at now, a place he’ll get to, a place he already is. Camping, like so many other family adventures and hobbies, is about memory-making. Their worth can only be revealed later. However, at the time you’re making them, you still somehow know that even if you don’t realize it then.

About the author

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. Bill also coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

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This blog post, first published in 2020, 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.

Remember when you were a kid and every year on Thanksgiving your family would …

And on every July 4th you would …

Can you fill in the blanks?

I’m sure if you can’t for those holidays, there are others where you had a standing family tradition. You looked forward to it, and the holiday was not complete without it. Then you went through a stage in your teens where you rolled your eyes at this tradition.

As you look back on your childhood, it’s those traditions you remember. It’s those traditions that make you smile and form the picture in your mind when the holiday comes up. It’s those traditions you talk about with anyone who will listen.

There’s no secret formula to forming those traditions – at least none I’m aware of. Sure, repetition seems like a needed ingredient. Sprinkle in some loved ones and fun. And well, I think you have a tradition.

I believe our Thanksgiving tradition will remain memorable for my children. My wife has made dinner for her family ever since her father’s last Thanksgiving, and he passed away nearly 30 years ago. It’s the one holiday that we know where we’ll be and who we will be spending it with.

The family has another Thanksgiving tradition: naming the turkey. That’s right: while eating the bird, everyone is given a slip of paper and a pen. They write a name on the paper, fold it up, and drop it into a hat (when someone has not been able to make Thanksgiving dinner, they’ve texted). The names are read aloud, and a winner is selected based on crowd reaction. Last year’s winner was Num Num, named by our great niece (those were her only words at the time).

My wife spends Thanksgiving morning cooking and watching March of the Wooden Soldiers, and the boys and I go to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. This will be my oldest son’s seventh year of attendance and his brother’s third. We’ll point out our favorite floats, complain about the cold, and wish we were taller to get a better view.

But they love being in New York City.

They love taking the bus and train.

They love the snacks.

One day, my boys will be getting ready for Thanksgiving. Maybe they’ll be getting together for the holiday, like their mom and her sister. Maybe they’ll just be calling each other sometime during the day and sharing memories of naming the turkey, or trip to New York City. Either way, I’m happy and proud that we gave them this Thanksgiving tradition.

A version of this first appeared on Me, Myself and Kids. Photo: mgstanton via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

I love to travel with my kids. But while relaxing moments can happen on a trip with young children, the overall experience is often far more taxing. Here are some of my top family travel tips on surviving and thriving during your next adventure with the littles:

Be early

Everything takes longer with kids in tow. Some little hiccup always seems to occur, be it extra fuss about a toy, an emergency visit to the restroom or something else. I’m a bit of a punctuality nut, but just two weeks ago our family nearly missed our flight to Disney World. We ended up being the last people seated on the plane — first for me. So remember, with kids, always leave and arrive earlier than you think you need to.

Bring distractions

Of my family travel tips, this one is essential on longer journeys. Pack the tablets and headphones, obviously. Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with giving kids iPads or the like on a multi-hour plane ride no matter what some say. Looking out the window gets a bit dull even for me, and I love to fly. Also, if your trip includes long waits in lines, like during our family’s recent trip to Disney World, tablets can be a plus. But don’t rely on just those. Mid-trip for us, one tablet broke (full-screen smash). Our 5-year-old daughter needed something else, and even our 8-year-old son wanted something other than his tablet. Break out the coloring books (Crayola Color Wonder are particularly helpful), the fidget spinners and other similar toys you can keep in your pocket. And don’t forget those easily portable snacks. You will need them all!

Pack light, but pack smart

You don’t need to bring everything to enjoy a trip with kids. Yet, some of the most important items are often overlooked. A reporter at Consumer Reports recently asked me for the most indispensable item for a diaper bag that no one remembers — my response, without hesitation, was toenail clippers. They’re compact, easily pass through airport security, and come in handy for the many times we suddenly need to cut something be it a travel packet of Tylenol or the packaging for a toy the kids are begging to play with right now. Yeah, pack smart.

Patience, patience, patience

It’s so easy to get swept up in the sights, sounds and new experiences on a family trip that you might not realize your kids are struggling a bit. When we traveled to Ireland last summer, we drove a lot from place to place, and moved almost as much from hotel to hotel. We didn’t build in enough downtime, and — boy — did the kids let us know. When you’re on the road, there are different stimuli, different foods, different beds and more. Everyone’s going to have their rough moments. Being patient is critical.

Don’t forget yourself

This might seem opposed to the last one, but it’s not. Parents traveling with kids need to remember that these trips are for moms and dads too. Some trips have built-in breaks, maybe a childcare center on a cruise ship or a family member traveling with you who can give you a break. Even if you don’t, find time for yourself. If there’s something you want to do, don’t sacrifice it because the kids are being grumpy. This can be a juggling act, but remember you’re the one paying for this trip, so the kids shouldn’t have all the fun.

Laugh at the crises

This final one of my family travel tips is the hardest to follow, but it honestly helps a lot. Some bad stuff, more than likely, is going to happen. On our Disney trip, we brought along our au pair. This was only her second-time ever on a plane. We all had only carry-ons with us, and put them in the overhead bins. When we arrived at the Orlando airport, someone got off the plane with her bag. Crisis! We reported the bag and talked to the airline, but in the end, we finally just left. What could we do? My wife and I felt awful, but also assured our au pair she’d have lots of extra shopping time to replenish the clothes she’d lost. Then, lo and behold, the airline called and the bag was returned! It’s not always that simple, but if a crisis happens, try to step back a bit and shrug. It sucks, but you’re still on vacation. And vacations are adventures, after all.

What family travel tips do you have?

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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.

Family travel tips photo by Hanson Lu on Unsplash.

A friend of mine from college was in town recently so we got together to catch up. Seeing him again was great because it brought back some great memories and encouraged me about today’s young people.

For the record, I feel I’m 90 years old when I write “today’s young people.” However, in this context it’s true. My friend’s son is in his senior year of high school. My kids are 3 and 5. I don’t feel like an “old” dad but, suddenly, having a good friend talking about his near-adult child made me feel weird.

Having a kid forces you to grow up immediately and become more mature. What would I have done had I become a father in my 20s rather than my mid-30s? I know lots of guys who became dads in their early 20s. It all worked out fine for them. But for me, it seems alien and out of place. Being a dad and, more importantly, being mature enough to parent responsibly is something I couldn’t even fathom until I was in my mid-30s.

My friend and I met for lunch at a fast-food restaurant with one of those attached playground rooms. He marveled that my sons were always by my side. They always wanted to be near me. They’d pop out of the playground room to ask questions, play peek-a-boo and generally be cute.

“One day, they just stop wanting to be with you all the time,” he said. “They get their license, get a group of friends and you’ll see them for dinner. Maybe.”

I peppered him with questions about raising older children. As his son is applying for college, I asked about that process. He was frank about the costs, how much he could cover and how much debt he’d have at the end of four years. It was shocking to realize that the total cost for four years of college for the two of us cost only slightly less than one year of college for his son.

But he also put some of my concerns at ease. Some things had changed for the better since we went to college. For starters, a rising freshman now has an idea of what to expect employment-wise from their proposed major. They know their job possibilities, where those employment opportunities are located and how much they’ll realistically earn after graduation. We never had an idea of how much money it takes to exist, make it, succeed or prosper in the real world. Believe me, had those information fields been filled in for me when I was in college, I would’ve gone after a more stable and profitable profession.

My friend went on to tell me about some of our school friends who now owned small businesses, were chefs, city planners and one who is a high-ranking explosives expert for a large state bureau of investigations. We marveled at how we all ended up in such a diverse arena of employment.

My friend had to start his drive home. He left me feeling that the kids who are going to college today aren’t going in as blind as their parents did back in the day. It was also a great reminder that no matter how annoying, tiring, messy, repetitive and frustrating small children can be; a day will come when I’m not as cool to them as I am now.

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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 Daddy Mojo and ran here in 2015. It has since been updated. Photo: PublicDomainPictures.net

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.

Few phrases my kids say break me down quite like, “Dad, I’m scared.” 

Most times, they say this about trivial things: the dark, their first soccer match, or an impending exam. My response comes easy in these cases. Usually, it’s nothing more than a pat on the head, a quick boost of confidence, and encouragement to keep trucking. 

When situations become more serious – like those my family experienced recently during Hurricanes Helene and Milton in Florida – parents have a massive responsibility.  The expectations for us to protect and serve our families rachets up immediately whether it’s a tornado warning, blizzard, a derecho, or, I suppose, a global pandemic. This is what I call “Disaster Daddin’.”

Disaster Daddin’ combines preparation and recovery. It boils down to one goal: to be the impenetrable force of stability for our loved ones. That does not mean we are not frightened or able to show vulnerability. No, this means that we embrace the family’s attention to get through the predicament together.

From our home in a suburb of Tampa, Fla., this month had me in Disaster Dad Mode far too often for my liking. 

While we were incredibly fortunate compared to others, helping my family get through a natural disaster taught me several important lessons in preparation and crisis parenting. 

1. Hurry causes worry

Every aspect of parenting through a disaster comes down to planning and preparation. A plan should not be hatched as all hell is breaking loose around you. If you have time to prepare, take it seriously. Work on it with your kids. This will not only distract them from the escalated concerns but also will help them when it’s time to execute it. Waiting until the last minute will stress the entire household out – especially the kids. Children are emotional sponges, easily sensing our stress and nervousness. 

Our disaster preparation before Hurricane Milton included my kids helping board windows on the house two days before the forecasted landfall.  At this point, this was more of a project than an emergency. My 12-year-old enjoyed the manual labor. This experience would have been far worse for everyone if done as a last-minute, “We need to do this NOW!”  situation. 

If the disaster does not provide adequate time to prepare, parents must step up. Your kids will pick up on the urgency and feel increased anxiety as a result.  Be aware that making unpredictable, last-minute decisions dials up household stress levels as go time draws nearer. 

2. Reinforce your responsibility to keep everyone safe

Whether you’re facing a hurricane or a blizzard, before the storm starts you should tell each family member this: “I would NEVER intentionally jeopardize your safety. Never.” 

When my family recently evacuated for Milton, I sensed my kids were nervous (if not fully freaking out) as we drove for hours to a spot my wife and I had determined to be safer. I acknowledged their fears while en route by telling them I was frightened, too. It became clear to everyone in the family minivan that we were in this together and that my wife and I would never take them toward anything deemed dangerous. 

3. Embrace spending time together in “old school” style

Disaster Daddin’ provides a great (if limited) way to do things with your children that have disappeared for many families. These include playing board games, coloring/drawing together or just talking. When we initially lost power, there was a 12-hour or so period where my teens were desperate to charge their phones. When it became clear that it might be a while before normalcy (i.e., electricity) would be restored, their priorities changed. 

From our powerless-but-safe hurricane crash pad, we played Uno, Sequence, charades, Pictionary and Scrabble together. Amazingly, even the teens were not constantly clamoring for TikTok or Snapchat (at least for a while). 

Disaster Daddin’ can provide the ultimate “back when I was your age” moment for parents. Assuming you remain safe, do not waste that unplugged time!

4. Celebrate your safety by helping others

For families that are relatively fortunate after a disaster, there is a tendency to return to normal as quickly as possible. My kids wanted to return to soccer practice and hanging with friends right away after Helene and Milton. While returning to our pre-disaster life was a priority, I did not want our kids to forget that some of our neighbors might not have such a luxury. 

As our area rebuilds, I’m encouraging my family to help in a way that suits them. For example, we had our kids reach out to their circle of friends to make sure they had (at least) what we did – food, water, clothes, etc. 

With our kids’ sense of community being mostly online now, the aftermath of a disaster allows us to reframe “us” to mean the people around us, not a YouTuber we connect to half a world away. 

Hearing “I’m scared, Dad” is the worst. I hope you never do. But, if you do (and you likely will), Disaster Daddin’ will help make your family stronger.

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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 Juan Pablo Serrano via Pexels.

Men — it’s time again to grow a mustache for your fellow man’s health: Movember 2024 has arrived!

City Dads Group and Fathering Together are joining forces with two other fatherhood organizations in November 2024 to form a “No Dad Alone” team to participate in Movember, a fund- and awareness-raising campaign to spark conversations about men’s physical and mental health issues.

Movember challenges dudes every November to grow a mustache that will serve as a living awareness ribbon and talking point for the cause. The funds raised during the campaign go for research into and public education on issues such as testicular cancer, prostate cancer, mental health and suicide.

The event is annually run by The Movember Foundation, a leading global organization that brings awareness to serious health concerns for men. It has raised hundreds of millions of dollars since its founding in 2003 to help fund hundreds of health projects globally, according to its website. The organization’s work hopes to counter some of these frightening statistics regarding men’s health:

• Testicular cancer is the most common cancer diagnosed in men ages 18 to 39.
• Men, on average, die five years earlier than women in the United States.
• One in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer during their lives.
• Four of every five suicides are men.

* Join our Movember 2024 #NoDadsAlone team! *

Movember 2024 finds City Dads and its partner, Fathering Together, teaming with The National At-Home Dad Network and Fathers Eve. In June, the groups agreed to join forces as part of a “No Dad Alone” campaign to amplify each other’s messages to help fathers recognize they have help and support in their parenting work.

City Dads has teamed with fatherhood organizations for Movember since 2011, helping to raise more than $135,000 for the cause.

You can help our Movember 2024 team and the cause in several ways:

• Join our Movember City Dads/Fathering Together team. Sign up at our fundraising page. You’ll get a personal fundraising page to link others to.
• Grow a mustache. Shave your face on Oct. 31 and then don’t cut the fuzz off your upper lip for 31 days. Show it off to all, in person and on social media, and tell them why you are growing it. Don’t forget to ask for a donation to help the cause and link to your fundraising page.
• Move rather than mo. Sometimes you can’t grow a mustache. Maybe it’s genetics, maybe it’s because it would jeopardize your marriage. You can still help by committing to walk or run 60 miles in November — one mile for each of the 60 men lost worldwide every hour to suicide. Again, use your personal Movember Dads page for fundraising.
• Host a Mo-ment. Get with your Movember supporters — in person or virtually — for a game night, a sporting event or maybe an initial “shave off” to get the ball rolling and draw attention to the cause.
• Donate. At the least, you can always simply give to the cause. Donate to an individual or our Movember #NoDadsAlone team as a whole.

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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.