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

My family has a lot of stories. Happy, sad and funny stories. Whether they’re true, apocryphal or greatly exaggerated, I’m sure many families have stories that come up when everyone gets together. My Uncle Steve, for example, always used to refer to the “Spaghetti Incident” as something hilarious that happened when my mom was a teenager.

One of my favorite family stories from my childhood is about how my brother and I, along with all our little friends, would easily and regularly climb up on the elementary school roof. There were concrete blocks sticking out about half an inch in intervals that looked like a perfect ladder going up to the top of the one-story building. We would climb it like mountain goats to retrieve basketballs, footballs or just to look around.

In reality, I’d only seen one person ever climb the roof. He was a “big kid,” probably a high schooler who went to retrieve a basketball. I just remember fearing he could get caught and get in trouble. Or worse, fall and hurt himself.

All of us younger kids had the same fears — getting in trouble, getting hurt.

So, the “climbing to the roof of the school” story, while I tell it regularly and back it up whenever my sister also tells it – well, it never happened. But I will argue to the death that we ALL did it. And thatour buddy, Bjorn, ate his lunch up there. The view of the mountains was incredible.

In that same vein, I tell my child family stories about his great-grandparents and other relatives he hasn’t met. I’d like him to take inspiration from his family. It would be wonderful if I could instill pride and dignity into him from just our own, immediate and extended family members.

My son always asks for stories during our bedtime routine, something that can easily stretch into 30-minute ordeals. Some I just make up on the spot. I pick things at random, a purple elephant who went to town, a green koala, and so on. I love him, but it gets tiring.

Family tales of inspiration

One evening when he asked for a story, I started inwardly groaning. So I took a deep breath. Then, I began to spout some nonsense about a character who had four arms – when inspiration struck.

I told him a third-person story of myself as “Young Michael.” A down-and-out 18-year-old:

Young Michael was riding the city bus all around town, collecting paper applications (this was waaaay before the internet, son) and for some reason, Young Michael kept riding the bus past his house to see what was at the end of the bus line. He had never thought about going farther in that direction. What was over there? A minimum-wage job at the mall would be good enough, right?

Then, at the last stop on the line, on the last outbound route of the day, Young Michael got off the bus. He walked around to see what he could see. He turned to take in the view and saw a … car wash!

Long story short – Young Michael got a job at the car wash, at the end of the bus route that wasn’t on his list. It turned out to completely change the trajectory of his life, his family’s life and many others.

The lesson I ended with was to let curiosity be your guide. Remain determined to achieve a goal. Don’t settle for “just OK” when it comes to your life.

If Young Michael hadn’t wondered, “What’s down that way?” Or, had he said, “A job at the T-shirt shop is good enough.” He never would have met the man he considered a second dad who inspired him to get his life together and join the Marines, go on to college, earn an MBA, and become the man – and dad – I am.

This one brain flash has given me the inspiration to lionize my history and my family’s history to pass down to my son. Of course, as he gets older, he’s going to know it’s hyped up. But, hopefully, the lessons will be repeated enough to give him confidence in himself.

I believe all of us have many courageous stories to tell. Stories of yourself, and stories of your family. Why not take some time, think about how to present them, and then give the gift of your experience to your children?

I don’t see it as self-promoting, I see it as motivational speaking.

Family stories photo: ©Africa Studio / Adobe Stock.

Weddings, births, deaths, graduations, new jobs. All momentous events worthy of celebrating. These major life transitions either mark the beginning or end of an era.

However, many milestones pass largely unremarked. Time doesn’t pause and say, “Hey, pay attention! This isn’t going to happen again!” There are no warnings like, “Yo! Only three more weeks left of this!”

For example, it could be a job we had with awesome co-workers that we didn’t realize how awesome they were until someone moved on. Maybe we were on a team on which we didn’t realize how well all the players had bonded until a few dropped off and new ones came on board. Perhaps, it’s a regular pickup basketball with friends that suddenly stops comes together.

These moments we didn’t see coming to an end can hit you strangely after you realize they have passed. However, I see one on my horizon.

It will be the day I’m no longer able to take my kid everywhere with me.

From flexible work to a ‘normal’ 9-to-5

For six years as our family’s primary caregiver, I’ve had my son with me: in the backseat, in my arms, on my shoulders, holding his hand everywhere.

He’s been with me to several hundred home showings for my real estate job, which allows me flexibility in work hours. He’s been to well over 100 closing appointments in his short lifetime. That kid has put in probably a couple thousand hours at my offices.

Then, of course, there’s the many visits to parks, museums, libraries and grocery stores we’ve shared as well as all those smoothie lunches.

Enter change.

My son goes from half-day kindergarten to full-day first grade in the fall. I’m looking at getting a “normal” 9-to-5 job when this happens.

I’m just going to be a regular Joe. Dropping my kid off at school, going to work, going home. He’s going to be just a regular kid, going to school, going home.

What I’m losing in this deal is my sidekick and my “freedom.” Losing my somewhat special status as an at-home dad.

Gone will be our lazy mornings of French toast at 10 a.m. No more smoothie lunches after the library or park. No more spontaneous trips to matinees to watch the latest kids’ movie. So long, spontaneous camping trips. No more optional bed times because now we both have some place to be in the morning.

Paradise lost.

Sometimes, life transitions to the better

I say this now. I’ve had my doubts over the past six years. There have been many moments when I’ve felt weighed down being the primary caretaker. Ego and envy has sometimes gotten the better of me. My natural desire to always be a provider for my family has battled with my full-time responsibilities for my son’s well-being. Career ambitions curtailed, recognition delayed.

Of course, I’m only looking at the negative.

There’s an exciting adventure ahead for both of us. My son’s going to learn a whole lot of things, and meet new friends. With him at school during the day, I can change my work hours so I don’t have to have so many showings and listing appointments on nights and weekends. This will give us more distraction-free time together.

This next phase, it’s going to be absolutely fantastic. Though I felt I had to take some time to observe and mourn the end of this part of my life, in hindsight, they were some of my best years. I just didn’t fully recognize it while I was living them.

Life transitions photo: © peterschreiber.media / Adobe Stock.

How is it that I get on my own nerves?

In my case, I’m socially awkward. As a child, I’d always be the quiet one, not sure how or when to interact with others. Seventy percent of my interactions with people were, to my estimation, “weird.” Then, I’d spend the day or week thinking of how I could have been wittier, or more responsive. Better listener, responder, etc. I have these memories going back to elementary school.

It took me many years to come to grips with this and accept I had a closed personality. Many more years to learn compensating techniques. And awkwardness is still prevalent when I am not confident of my role in a social situation.

If we’re meeting for social purposes, it’s OK. However, if it’s professional, I need to know what it is. If it’s a brief, chance interaction, I’ve developed enough “small talk” to get me through a few minutes. If it’s a blend of fun and professional, or small talk lasts more than those few minutes, or none of the above, I’m lost. I’m awkward. I usually shut down, not knowing what to do.

Introvert or awkward?

Basically, if I have an interaction I’m not mentally prepared for, and I “botch” it — like shaking someone’s hand while I’m sitting down when I knew I should always stand, or saying the wrong thing — I’ll replay it in my head repeatedly and plan how to be better next time. I’m always striving for continual improvement in life, to figure out how can I win at everything all the time. (Side note: This mindset leads to a lot of disappointment and feelings of loss, as you may expect. Try it at your own mental health risk. But for some reason, it doesn’t stop me from trying.).

My fear is that my son may be following my footsteps. He’s quite intelligent, capable, learns easily, active, good-natured, loves to ride his bike and laugh. However, he seems to like to take his time and assess situations before he opens up. Similar to me.

Being a part of the Anchorage Dads Group, going to our events and seeing everyone else’s kids immediately running and playing while I’m holding my kid until he gets the lay of the land is sometimes worrisome.

Why isn’t he doing the same? Why does he need to be held for 20 minutes first? What am I doing wrong to socialize him? Am I unwittingly damaging him through my awkward parenting style and personal deficiencies? The self-doubt runs rampant in my head as I’m hanging out with the guys who’s kids are having the time of their lives.

However, a watershed moment happened the other day.

Our group went to meet at a playground, like we usually do on Mondays. My son is in my arms, watching everyone else. We go to the woods that surround the playground to get a stick, suddenly, he practically jumps down and starts running around the trails and trees having fun. Then other kids go into the woods and he’s leading some other kids on a “trail run.” WOW!

Child finds his own path

It dawned on my cloudy mind that maybe I’ve falsely thinking that my son needs to be like everyone else. Maybe my kid just doesn’t like the playground? Hahahaha – such a relief.

My wife and I take him to the woods and trails about five times a week. Playing in the trees, running the trails, bushwhacking, mountain biking, throwing rocks into the creek, playing stickball with sticks and rocks. We’ve been taking him on walks through the forest since he was born, telling him that the woods are a place to recharge, breathe the clean air, look at the trees, listen to the wind. The forest is his home away from home. He’s just more than comfortable in the wild.

Maybe the playground to him is like swimming to me or after-work softball to my wife? People love swimming and softball, but we have minimal interest in the respective activities. I’d be more than happy to go hang out with people and socialize, but I’m not going in the water above my mid-thigh. My wife will play softball if she absolutely has to, but is extremely pleased to not have to participate.

Why did I write this giant explanation of myself to come to the realization that my “awkward” kid just doesn’t like the playground and he might be like me?

The thought process.

The journey of discovery.

The mountain I made of a molehill. The highs and lows of parenting and worry for the child. He’s 3 and doesn’t really know the words to articulate, “While I don’t dislike the playground, I’d prefer if we did something else. I might play with the others, I may not. I would rather just go to hang out and see the other kids.”

While talking through this issue with another member of our dads group, he said something to the effect of “I don’t think anything will cause deeper personal introspection than parenting.”

What if my son does turn out like me and is somewhat socially awkward? Lucky for him, his mother and I are there to coach him through these things. Probably half the world is in the same boat.

My lesson learned from all this? RELAX! He’ll be fine. Unbelievable how many times I need to relearn the same thing.

Awkward reflection Photo: © Kirill Grekov / Adobe Stock.

It should be the easiest thing in the world for me to do. As an at-home dad, you’d think all I did was hang out with my kid, right? Yes and no. It’s complicated.

While my 2-year-old son comes first, I do work. Real estate doesn’t sell itself (well, kinda, but that’s not the point). I also oversee events, social media and more for the Anchorage Dads Group; I’m on the board of a nonprofit, and I have to jam in time for my wife as well. Life is busy.

Caring for my son consumes a lot of time and takes priority over everything during the day. Everything revolves around his eating and sleeping schedule. Even a lot of my work is about him.

However, on a Monday morning, I found myself where I am frequently — rushing while time flies past. Rushing to get breakfast made; rushing to get the kid fed, cleaned and dressed; rushing to get lunch packed and us on the road in an hour or less. This is our routine almost every weekday.

“Am I really taking all this time we have together, filling it with hustle and bustle, fighting to get him into the car seat, and relegating my role from father to that of chauffeur and chef?” I wondered.

Yes.

“Am I missing out on developing his mind in favor of imprinting upon him that getting everything done in the morning as fast as you can is the most important thing?”

Yes.

“Am I going to regret not taking one measly morning or two a week to stay at home with him, cook a complicated and involved breakfast, read together, and maybe listen to music with him?”

Yes.

Good parenting beyond what the books say

I’m doing so many things right as this time flies by. Excellently good, in fact.

My professional education and experience has made me fairly knowledgeable about the philosophies of parenting. My kid NEVER get processed food. Never gets sugary food or drinks. His first two birthday “cakes” were a banana with a candle in it. He is on the cusp of reading already. At age 2! He can draw several letters. He can count to 20. He gets basic mathematics teaching at least once a week. He can hit a ball pitched to him AND run to first base, dribble a soccer ball down the field to score a goal and shoot a hoop with good form. He has a solid group of friends (with great dads) he looks forward to seeing frequently.

My role in all this has been the hustling chauffeur, chef and coach/instructor. Simple and basic “play time” is missing. It’s hard to remember the last time we had just regular ol’ horseplay. His “unstructured playtime,” as prescribed by professionals, is by himself while I do my work.

My mom made a comment on her last visit to the effect of “ages 2 to 5 are the best ages because that’s when kids are the most fun.” Really? Where’s my fun with him? It’s hard to remember the last time. He has fun scheduled all the time, but I’m a secondary part of it. What’s our “thing,” other than me bundling him up and shoving him into a car seat to go to the next thing on our list?

Evening reading time and play is primarily saved for his mom and their time of the day.

Seeing a picture of me just a year ago, where I was lifting him upside down by his legs, really got me missing a less busy life. It made me regret over-scheduling ourselves.

Such an easy solution is within my ability – cancel unimportant things. I can make everything necessary fit, but I need to shut down those activities that aren’t important so I can just be present.

Back to what’s “our” thing. I’m going to make “our thing” exercise. Just a couple of days ago he surprisingly did push-ups, squats and leg lifts with me. We followed that up with the introduction to premium wrestling moves: body slams, DDTs, power slams, and then the Boston Crab (very lightly!).

Maybe I’ll throw learning into “our thing”? Get him fully reading at age 3? Adding and subtracting at age 4? He can already count to 20, maybe we can hit 50 this year? He can recognize the word “cat,” maybe I can get him to write his name?

All it’s going to take from me is to slow down and focus on spending time — our time — together.

Time flies photo: © peopleimages.com / Adobe Stock.

An earthquake is one of those rare natural events that make you feel so very small and absolutely temporary. We are completely at the whim of our planet.

The Nov. 30 earthquake near Anchorage, Alaska, caused little damage compared to other 7.0 or higher earthquakes around the world. Although many homes, roads and businesses were damaged, larger buildings held up, structure fires were few and quickly doused, and no deaths were reported. However, the earth violently shaking for 20 to 30 seconds inspired awe and caused much fright and worry. The immediate aftershocks caused a panic worse than the main tremors.

Are we outside the tsunami range? How many aftershocks does it take to shake my house down? Should we stay inside at all? Did the gas line rupture?

You can imagine how children reacted. Some didn’t mind, thought it was fun. Some were scared. Some needed to talk about it.

My son is at the age where he’s aware of everything that’s happening but, at age 2, hasn’t yet reached the stage where he can articulate all his thoughts. Especially not after a completely new and traumatic event.

He experienced his home – the place where he sleeps, eats and plays — shake and shudder violently for almost half a minute. He didn’t know what to think, do or say.

Not once, but three times. After the initial 7.0 shaker, then came almost immediately two immediate 5+ aftershocks.

That’s when we packed a go-bag and headed into our truck to listen to the radio.

Silent but observant during panic

Our son didn’t know what was happening other than his mom and dad were nervous. Tension could be felt in the air. He stayed mostly silent but observant.

We drove around for an hour or so, looking for an open coffee shop since the power went before I had a chance to make the morning joe. We finally found one inside a grocery store.

The store was pandemonium. Aisle floors were filled with cans, boxes and burst soda cases. Fallen ceiling tiles were being trampled by the masses of people stockpiling water and food. Employees ran around cleaning and helping customers. All this impacted our toddler, I’m positive. The chaos and tension between my wife and I, then the panic and chaos in the grocery store. He just didn’t know what to make of it.

When we got home, my wife went in first to make sure the house was OK. I kept the kid entertained in the driveway.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down. I just stood there with him, hands in my pockets, looking down. I began tapping my foot; he began tapping his foot. There was a thoughtful silence between us.

Standing there with him, I began to recognize this moment as something …

Talk like a man

Over the years, in high school, in the Marines, college and adulthood, I had stood like this with many, many, many men. It was a work-up to discuss something major.

Guys really do talk about their thoughts and feelings all the time. Just because it’s not open and emotive doesn’t mean it’s not happening. It happens quietly with trusted friends all the time. There’s almost a silent reverence for the moment. You can tell the other guy has something on his mind and you just let him work it out. Body language and the use of silence are key.

I thought maybe this was one of those moments with my son. He’s a toddler and doesn’t know many words, but it felt right. So I kept myself in the moment.

Another silent minute went by, just tapping the foot, kicking the snow, hands in pockets. Then my son looked up with that same look in his eyes I’ve seen in other men when they bring up these weighty matters with other men. “House shake,” he said.  His halted words and body language gave everything away. He was scared and was processing what happened.

“Yep, the house shook. It’s done now though,” I replied matter-of-factly.

I delivered my response as I would have to another grown man. Not crouched down, talking in smooth, reassuring tones. Nothing condescending or “kiddie talk.” All I did was reaffirm his thoughts and confirmed his feelings.

“House scary,” he continued. His words were simple, but his body language was complex.

“Yep, it’s scary. The worst is over now, but we’ll get some aftershocks. They’re going to shake the house again, but it won’t be as bad. Your mama is in the house checking it right now. If she sees it’s safe, we’ll go in and be fine.”

Maybe another minute or two went by. We stood and fidgeted in silence.

He talked; I listened 

My wife returned and said everything was fine. Our TV fell and broke, but that’s nothing compared to what could have happened. We were thankful for our house standing.

My son turned toward the house and walked up the stairs. Sure, it was slow and maybe a bit tenuous, but he did it.

Our first “man-to-man” talk happened when he was only 2.

He had stood up on his own, thought about his words, then spoke his mind to me.

He didn’t cry or want to be held. I didn’t pick him up or drop to his eye level.

He didn’t expect much as far as advice. I just reassured him that his feelings were valid and gave him the next steps of what was going to happen. No false promises.

He spoke; I listened.

When he was done, we were done.

Sometimes a guy just has to get something off his chest.

Photo: Contributed by the Jenks family.