When my daughter was born, my paternity leave consisted of whatever paid and unpaid time off from work I could bank before the big due date. It took me almost two years, but I saved a month’s worth of vacation, sick and personal days. During that month, I changed diapers, helped my wife recover from a C-section, and bonded with my child.  

At the end of my paternity leave, which was still an oddity then, I returned to work. I had no choice. My wife’s maternity leave was at reduced or no pay at all and my family needed my health insurance and paycheck. Things were fine until they were not.

My wife had to have gallbladder surgery during her maternity leave. She also popped a stitch carrying our newborn down the stairs and was in a lot of pain. I wanted to be there but couldn’t. I felt helpless.

What prevents men from being engaged fathers?

It is no secret mothers carry most of the mental load of parenting. There is a demand, and rightly so, for fathers to be more engaged. However, after the argument for better paternity leave policies, there is no path for this to happen. Many men are prevented from becoming engaged fathers.

To put it bluntly, many fathers can’t afford to spend more time with their kids. It’s the exact same situation I found myself in 17 years ago.

According to a 2023 Pew Research Center study, 55% of marriages “have a husband who is the primary or sole breadwinner, and 16% have a breadwinner wife.” The study also reports 29% of marriages where both spouses earn the same amount. While that last number is encouraging, the onus for providing an income for a family still falls primarily on men.

Now add in the average annual cost for childcare (a little over $10,000) and health insurance ($23,000). An average American family is already 33 grand in the hole the minute they have a child. This is before we get to the rising cost of diapers and formula, the housing market, or general inflation. Working parents everywhere are struggling just to survive. The term “side hustle” has now become part of a parent’s lexicon.

As a stay-at-home dad, I have seen the struggles my wife has endured as our financial caregiver. This goes beyond missing baseball games or not helping with laundry. She has fought back against misogyny and sexism to keep our health insurance. I point this out because being the primary breadwinner keeps one of the parents from being as engaged as they would want to be. And this cuts that way for most fathers.

Finally, societal and grassroots support systems in place for fathers are lacking. There is very little mentorship, acceptance or consistent quality advice available for fathers. A simple but telling sign: there are still men’s bathrooms in this day and age without changing tables. It’s such a simple fix that would help fathers and mothers everywhere.

My own experiences have shown me that fathers in the everyday parenting world are either treated as a potential threat or lavished with false praise for doing the simplest parenting job. When I go out with my dads’ group and their kids, especially early on when we had six dads with strollers, we’ve been stopped and asked to pose for pictures. I know of one father who was told to sit quietly during a playgroup with moms and not to speak unless someone approached him. And although that is a dramatic example, it still points to the problem.

What’s the solution to creating more engaged fathers?

To have more engaged fathers, ones that take on the mental load and are allowed to participate fully in family life, we have to make it possible for them to do so.

The burden of financial caregiving needs to be lessened. This includes affordable health insurance not tied to your employment and reasonable childcare. This is more difficult. In 2022, The Inflation Reduction Act was passed but cut out provisions for pre-kindergarten funding, lower childcare costs and enhanced tax credits, among others. This is disastrous for not just fathers. Not only did we not ease the financial difficulties for parents; we made it worse.

When legislation like this is passed, it’s mostly discussed on how it affects women and children. Fathers are often forgotten about in governmental policies and programs, which only adds to the dad as a “less than” parent association. For example, look at the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children, or WIC for short. Even though fathers can access the program, it’s not exactly inviting. Caregiving is genderless. Luckily, in this case, The National Fatherhood Initiative, one of the largest non-profit fatherhood-focused organizations, works with “human service organizations to be intentionally and proactively father-inclusive.”

To correct this thinking, we all need to treat fathers as parenting equals and expect them to be engaged. That means parenting spaces need to be more welcoming. When I go to story time with my children, I don’t need to ask why no one wants to sit next to me. I don’t need to be stopped for pictures with my dads, and please don’t applaud me for going to the grocery store with three kids. I’ve been doing it for 16 years, it’s normal.

And as it is normal, there continues to be a need for more fatherhood organizations that encourage the everyday involvement of fathers. These have been growing over the last decade such as Fathering Together, Movember for men’s mental health, and many others. There has also been more fatherhood advice that reaches dads where they are such as podcasts like The Dad Time Out Show and the Dadass Podcast, which recently worked with the Columbus City Council to install 130 changing tables. This is the kind of societal change that will go a long way to show that fathers are welcome, needed, and valued.

Becoming an engaged father doesn’t end with paternity leave. It’s the beginning and the first step to a future that is better for all parents.

+ + +

This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: Takako Harkness Photography courtesy New York Baby Show

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

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

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

That’s where I want to push back.

Dads need support, inspiring examples

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

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

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

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

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

The silent story of fatherhood

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

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

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

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

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

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

We exist. You just have to look and listen.

Fatherhood story photo by Pavel Danilyuk via Pexels.

When my first kid was born, I was terrified someone would take her from me. It was as if a little Rumpelstiltskin would show up and say, “Give me your firstborn!” Then he would run away with my kid to a sauerkraut factory. He’s a greasy little man in my visions.

What really worried me is that the moment my kid started crying, fusing or just existing, a mom or grandma would swoop in and take her away from me. I’m a dad, and dads are not built for caring for children. We all know he is an idiot that doesn’t know a onesie from a jumper. And the baby is crying because the baby doesn’t like Dad. Who the hell is the chump anyway? He smells like meat and sauerkraut.

That was my real fear. Not only would I not be good enough in others’ eyes, but I wouldn’t be good enough in my child’s eyes. I would be second best. Someone else would be her rock.

So, I took my kid and hid with her in the middle of the night. We watched Star Trek and the only judgement I got was from Captain Kirk. We boldly went to strange new worlds, exploring life together as I fed her, and my wife slept. This wasn’t a “favor” I was doing for my wife. This was for me. This was to ensure that no greedy hands would prevent me from being my daughter’s father in every way possible.

And it was there, with the Enterprise 1701, that I realized my kid didn’t prefer mom over me. The kid didn’t care at all. I was her dad, and that’s all that mattered. We are told that moms are more nurturing. It is explained to us that we don’t have that special gene that babies respond to more. We can’t ever know that bond.

What a load of crap.

Dads are meant for caring

“Babies are biologically programmed to engage with and be responsive to any and all adults who regularly provide care for them.”

That quote is from the book Myths and Lies about Dads by Dr. Linda Nielsen of Wake Forest University. Read that quote again and let that sink in. Truly.

How many times have we been told as fathers that we are JV team? Oh no, we can’t take the baby. Only moms know how to do that. And how many dads have used that excuse to get out of caring for their children? Man, that last one bothers me because you are robbing yourself of bonding experiences that can’t be recovered. It’s those late nights when our kids truly look at us and think, You know what, this guy is all right.

Those are the moments when we become a father, and we are often robbed of those opportunities. And that grand theft continues throughout their childhood as we are sidelined and gatekept by the well-meaning but misinformed.

Look, I know lots of dads who shun their duties. But I also know many of us had to fight to be involved, and even now we are ridiculed for it. We’ve all heard the stories of being yelled at while at the park or ignored during story time. We’ve all had our masculinity questioned because we stay home with our kids. Both fathers who shirk their responsibilities and fathers who are the primary caregivers can exist in the same universe. We shouldn’t be treated the same. Our kids shouldn’t be plucked out of our hands by small little people.

Dads are also born at children’s birth

“When a father holds his baby against this bare chest, his prolactin increases while his testosterone, blood pressure, and heart rate decrease.”

Well, look at that. Dads actually change biologically when our kids are born. We become calmer and less aggressive. We get ready to assume the role of caregiver. This is another fact from Dr. Nielsen’s book. We should all take note.

This week I helped an at-home dad. He was brand spanking new to it and felt like a failure. He had tied his worth to a paycheck and didn’t realize that when we dads care for our kids, that is our job. That it has as much value as when a mom does it. We change, we adapt, and we teach them the Vulcan death grip. No, we don’t do it like moms, and that is fine. Let moms be moms and dads be dads.

I hope he listened to me when I told him all this. I hope that he gets all the benefits of being Johnny on the spot. Dads are literally built to take care of our kids. Don’t let any little troll tell you otherwise.

Photo: © Halfpoint / Adobe Stock.

Nine-year-old Anna likes dance parties, having her hair done by my teenage daughter, and wearing a necklace full of her enemy’s tongues. As Dungeons & Dragons warriors go, she is a sweet little pixie that you don’t want to mess with. She also helps her father grow vegetables for those less fortunate than herself.

I introduced my kids and their friends to D&D during the pandemic. Their fathers are all part of our Kansas City Dads Group so many have known each other since birth. We’ve had a lot of adventures together during the last 15 years, but lockdown might have been the most challenging. I rely on my dads a great deal, and it was hard to be away from them for so long. My own kids felt the same. I realized it was as though they didn’t get to see their brothers and sisters anymore.

Trying to find a way to make Zoom meetups fun and interesting, I dug out my old Dungeons & Dragons books from the ’80s, bought some dice and figurines, and gave it a shot. Three years later, my little murder hobos have kicked me out of their D&D campaigns and now rampage through the imaginary lands without me.

I’m one proud dad.

A memory three years in the making

In the beginning, our “littles” had the attention span of barbarian goldfish. The group called them the Pixies, and they had special powers. When your need was great, you could summon a pixie to add an extra roll of the dice. The teenagers of the group used them with ruthless efficiency in big boss fights. Victory was snatched from the will of mind flayers and gelatinous cubes. When in doubt, call in a pixie.

The rest of our Dungeons & Dragons troops, which ranged in age from 12 to 15, often battle planned around the availability of the pixies. They took to my initial campaign with vigor, although not with the tactics I had hoped. For example, they hated talking and bargaining. Why bargain when you have a barbarian with an 18 Armor Class and a short temper? After a few sessions, it was clear that I could no longer lead them into innocent villages. My little imaginary townspeople were running out of tongues.

Eventually, the quarantine ended, and we had the final epic battle together. It took three hours, multiple visits from unpredictable pixies, and a lucky roll by a rogue — but the final boss was beaten. I thought they were done, and that it was a memory that made the pandemic a little bit better.

The next day the kids were setting up meetings on their own. 

They started collecting dice and putting D&D books on their Christmas lists. They invested in spell cards, studied lore and rules, and took turns being the Dungeon Master. And when they were done, I would get to hear the epic battles and the impossible dice rolls. Sitting from my chair in the living room, I could hear them debate a tricky section of the rules. And they did it all on their own, my little harbingers of doom.

I witnessed firsthand how they learned to cooperate, problem-solve, and use analytical thinking. They asked me to explain plot points and inciting incidents. I heard the stories that they crafted and they blew me away. To see all of this happen was amazing to me, and more than I could have hoped for in the beginning.

From tabletop to the big screen

The minute the D&D movie — Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves — was announced, I knew I had to take them.

I bought movie tickets and worked out all the details with their dads. How could I not? I introduced a hobby during a low point in all our lives in hopes that it would provide them with the connection they needed. The other dads and I joined in during those first early games as either a hapless wizard, a sly bard, or even role-playing an NPC to make this all happen. Honestly, I thought they would quit as soon as the pandemic was over. But to my joy, they kept playing.

I’m going to spoil them with popcorn, candy, and new sets of dice. We are going to cheer on the good guys, boo the bad guys, and probably secretly love the ones that are a little bit of both. For me, this is the culmination of that first campaign, when a little pixie asked if she could cut off the butt of a fallen monster.

“Um,” I said.

“I cut off his butt!” The pixies cheered, and the rest of the group laughed.

“OK,” I said.

“And I put it on my necklace!”

“Yeah, I think that is too much. Let’s not tell your mother about this.”

Often, I think about the long-term consequences of being a father. The actions that we take ripple out into the future, and sometimes mean more than we intend them to. An innocent act that can grow over years and transform into a core memory that they will keep for the rest of their lives. It occurs to me that a lot of my parenting wins are the result of me stumbling in the right direction.

Which is fine, as long as I can call upon a pixie to save the day.

Dungeons & Dragons photo: © EGinvent / Adobe Stock.

When my niece asked me to help her apply to colleges, I gladly volunteered not knowing the process itself is one of the biggest challenges. Understanding the college application process, I learned, is like looking at one of those funky pictures to test if you’re colorblind. You know a number is hiding somewhere in that dotted thing, but since you can’t see blue or green, it all comes out as splotchy mush.

Grades, extracurriculars, personality, essays — they all have their place in the college admissions crucible. But it’s no longer just about filling out an application and waiting by the mailbox. It’s a code, and those who can crack it have a higher chance of being accepted. Seriously, the process is so convoluted these days that there are actual professionals whose only job is to help you navigate it.

But she’s my niece, and I am awesome. This was a quest, and if a lifetime of playing video games has taught me anything, I rock at quests. If there is a dragon to fight then I’m your guy.

Don’t let your Common App be common

The first thing you realize on this quest is that you are not fighting just one dragon in a dark cave. Instead, there is the one dragon you know about and another 20 lurking in the darkness. If you didn’t swear before, now you will learn how.

Before we begin, a book recommendation: The Price You Pay for College: An Entirely New Road Map for the Biggest Financial Decision Your Family Will Ever Make by Ron Leiber. This is your quest map, and you’ll refer to it often.

Everything starts (kind of) with the Common App. This is the generic application many universities use. But not all of them. Some only use parts of it. Some universities also have their own application process that is separate (or in addition to) the Common App. See, even the beginning is complicated.

There are questions and essays in this app, which brings me back to the only things I remember about my own experience. An essay! I can write an essay! No, you can’t. Your kid has to write the essay. But as dads, we get to help. And in this case, one of my fellow Kansas City Dads Group members had the expertise I was looking for.

Andy Arends has worked in admissions for years. He told me, “The Common App makes it easy to blanket apply to many different colleges, but take the extra step and tweak each application. Relate your lived experience to your academic interest, and then take it one step further. Explain how you will use that college experience to change the world.”

That’s solid advice. Now we begin to get some behind-the-scenes action steps. I love knowing so many dads. This is the power of our community.

“Avoid being vague,” Andy told me. “Stay away from superficial discussions of a college or major. Show deep knowledge or a very specific experience.”

What to look for in a college: good fit, rentention

But there’s more to getting into college than looking good on paper.

One of the best pieces of advice I received from many dads who have been through this, and also from Lieber’s book, is that picking a college is about looking at its overall value. You should consider how will the college fit with your life, not how you fit with theirs.

“You need to start with retention rates,” said another college admissions expert. (Note: Many asked me not to use their names in this article, which you know means they are giving us the good stuff.)

The retention rate is the percentage of a college’s first-time, first-year undergraduate students who return the next year. Retention rate, she said, tells you more about a community and the people who go there than many other factors. It shows the commitment of the student body. The more comfortable you feel, the better your chances of finding your community. For my niece, this was a big factor. She wanted a college where diversity mattered.

Second, several people recommended your child develop a relationship with the college recruiters. Basic networking matters even here. It won’t guarantee that you’ll get into the school of your choice, but it can’t hurt to have your name front and center.

Apply when and to how many colleges?

But still, one of my biggest questions was when to apply.

“Early. The sooner the better,” said another college admissions expert who works for a D1 school. His point: the college application process is competitive. When you apply early, you will have less competition for a limited number of spots.

Also, the earlier you are accepted, the better your chances at getting more financial aid. All the college admissions people I talked to and Lieber’s book backed this up. (Paying for college — that’s a whole other process that seems separate from this rigmarole. That will take a whole other article.) But know that almost no one pays the full sticker price for college. Even the wealthy work the system. But what you can do is play financial offers off each other. At that point, it’s a negotiation.

This means your kid needs to apply to more than one school.

“Reach for two dream schools,” I was told. “Then two you feel confident about, and two that you are sure that you can get into.” This is exactly what my niece did.

Big choices after college application process success

My niece and I followed all that advice throughout the fall semester of her senior year. She wrote an amazing essay. She applied early, sending applications to at least six colleges. And the result was better than we hoped. She got into her dream school.

But now the challenge really starts. She received a full ride to a different school and numerous other generous financial aid packages from others. This is where the fun really starts because, again, it all comes down to the value question.

It’s not only where she will fit in the best and graduate. Now it comes down to how much she wants to invest in that future. Will the degree or program from her dream college give her a leg up in the world, or will it not matter? I can’t answer that question because the value here is her choice. Lieber’s book goes into this a great deal, and here with the college application process over, I still find myself reading those sections over and over.

The biggest truth, though, is that this isn’t my success. I was merely playing the role of Gandalf through this whole thing. This victory belongs to my niece. She put in the work, filled out the applications, and wrote an amazing essay. I was her hype man. At this stage in all of our children’s lives, I feel like that matters as much as anything else. But that doesn’t mean that my heart does swell with pride.

Our next step is to go through the financial side of how to pay for everything. I’ve written about how college costs have skyrocketed. It’s another quest, with more dragons, but I have no doubt my badass niece is up for the challenge. I’ll be her bard when she needs it.

College application process photo: © terovesalainen/ Adobe Stock.

It all starts with the crusted ravioli. Is there cheese inside or meat? Since this is a fancy party, maybe it’s something I haven’t imagined yet. Perhaps a jelly of some type infused with gold leaf foil. That would be fancy as fuck and this is a fancy fucking place.

I take a bite. Fried goodness crunches in my mouth. I contemplate the ravioli instead of paying attention to the conversation my wife is having.

This is a party for my wife’s boss and his new bride, a celebration of the nuptials. They are mingling while we hang with another couple on the couch. They seem very nice. The couch couple tells pretty good jokes and has no obvious evil intentions. I have to be on the lookout to survive any of my wife’s work social functions or parties. As an at-home dad, I have been out of the office politics game for a pretty long time. The only ulterior motives I usually run into involve scamming another cupcake or juice box. 

On a side note, there are cupcakes here. I’ll get to them in a bit.

Advantages of being the ‘plus one’

Around us are the work people and various family members of the newlyweds. Everyone seems nice. I just have absolutely no connection to any of them. I am the “plus 1” — the rando guy who shows up just to judge you on the quality of your food and if there is free alcohol. I give this party a “plus 10.” There is free whiskey, pizza, and these ravioli things.

I go to these parties every year with my wife. During that time, I have become a master at blending in and small talk. I find it easy. There is no pressure here on me at all. My wife has to say all the right things, talk to the right people and basically not make a fool of herself. But me, I’m different. I have no one to impress. No one even knows who I am and my wife can safely distance herself from me at any moment.

I’m two glasses of whiskey in as I study the ravioli. It’s definitely got cheese in there.

Always be busy

My wife usually does a terrible job with me at these things. I don’t mean she embarrasses herself. I mean she forgets to introduce me. At the beginning of this party, she left me hanging, talking to some guy about hair dryers and steak. I love steak so it was all good. Hair dryers, not so much. My wife is in advertising so you would be surprised at the conversations that get linked together. Such as the meat hair dyers –both clients her company represents.

I have learned it is better to roam around and just introduce myself, networking for no other reason than practice. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Once you learn there are no real consequences for what you say, because these people will never see you again, I can crack jokes left and right all night. No accountability — that is how you survive a work party that’s not your own.

My wife is talking to the husband of a work friend about advertising. They are deep into shop talk since he also works in advertising. I nod at the appropriate places, maybe tell a joke somewhere, then get back to my happy place — the crusted ravioli. Now I think there is some meat in there. I should see if anyone has a hair dryer handy so I can use it to figure this ravioli out.

That’s the next thing I learned about how to survive my wife’s work parties: always appear busy. No one wants to be the odd duck sitting next to the wall appearing to do nothing, looking longingly at people having fun. So I usually find something to keep myself busy — like a mysterious fried ravioli. So many questions, so many things to discover. 

Size up the so-called competition

I met my wife’s boss at the beginning. Seems like a nice guy. Tall as a pine tree in rural Arkansas. A friendly smile, a manly handshake, and easily sized up. This is my next trick in how to survive work parties that are not yours — determining who I could take in a fight. I’m not a violent person, not at all. I just like the mental exercise of it. It keeps me busy while everyone else discusses whatever advertising deck they are preparing. Her boss is a tall guy so he probably has a pretty good reach. So I would have to close that distance and get to his legs. Once he is subdued, I can get to the ravioli.  Advertising people don’t look very tough, so throughout the years, I’ve decided that I could take most of them. Maybe not the meat hair dryer guy though. He looks serious.

I’ve eaten about eight of the ravioli things so far. My stomach feels full but I’m going to keep eating. I imagined a whole fake fight just to get to this point, so I better keep eating. Definitely meat and cheese in here.

My wife and her friends have started to discuss which companies are on the downswing. They are bringing up names of people I don’t know, doing jobs I had no idea existed. I wonder how much they bullshit each other at these things? Probably a lot. It’s sad that they don’t get a chance to truly taste the delicious ravioli.

Go out with a bang

Then I spy the cupcakes in the corner.

They are fancy too. Not normal cupcakes bought from the grocery store. These have been catered. They have only a wisp of frosting on the top. I think I see a red velvet one in there. I call dibs. I eat four of them before my wife announces it is time to go. I say goodbye to my ravioli and the experience that we shared. 

This is my last lesson on how to survive the spouse’s work parties. When it’s time to go, go out with a bang. Shake the hands, smile, and leave a lasting impression.

We say goodbye to our couple of friends. My wife says something in advertising or Klingon, I’m not sure which, and we head to the door. The bride is there! I haven’t met the bride yet. As usual, my wife doesn’t introduce us. So yeah, do my thing.

“Hi! Great party! Really lovely time. Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” she says. She really does look wonderful. Pure happiness on her face. But she also looks a bit confused. Who the hell is this guy with ravioli crumbs in his beard?  “I don’t think we’ve had a chance to meet yet.”

“Nope. I’m a plus one. We should hang out next time. I’m very fun.”

As I leave, I hear one of the other guests start laughing asking, “Who was that?”

I’m basically a +1 ninja.

A version of this first appeared on Hossman At-Home. Survive work parties photo: ©Scott Griessel / Adobe Stock.

At the start of Beauty and the Beast, maybe 15 minutes in, Princess Belle is dancing in a meadow. She breaks into song as one does. What I see, as a father, is not the story of a woman who falls in love with an abuser. Well, I do see that. But what I see as a suburban father (and homeowner) is a field full of weeds. Oh, I’m sure others may call them “wildflowers” or “set design.” However, to the highly trained dad brain, I call them “shit that ruins my yard.”

Princess Belle needs to lay down some weed and feed. A whole crap ton, actually. She would probably be better suited to just going down to the local gardening store and getting a sprayer and a truck delivery. Seriously, she needs to buy it in bulk.

And I’m a little miffed at the Beauty and Beast village. No father figure in town has stepped up with his weed spreader to take care of the problem. If you don’t nip it in the bud now, at the source, it’s only going to spread. Then you are going to have the HOA coming down on your ass. Who needs that?

This is what fatherhood and its consequence — dad brain — has done to my movie watching. I constantly get pulled out of the story because I can no longer ignore some things that I see. I try to, but I can’t. The movie will be going along fine until I see something, that as a suburban father, makes me cringe.

Turn out the damn lights!

Take Blade Runner, both the old and the new movie. They are both very dark movies and I don’t just mean the subject manner. Hey, I’m all down for the robot love of the future. Apparently, all this robot love takes place at night. Which means a lot of lights. But here’s the thing, even with all those lights — neon and colorful — it’s still very dark. My dad brain starts to wonder: how much electricity they are wasting?

I know that shit isn’t free in the future. Is there some Blade Runner dad going around turning off all those lights when no one needs them? And if he is, he’s probably dying inside because it’s obvious they are using the wrong wattage. That light isn’t bright enough. This means they probably aren’t using the good energy-saving LED kinds. With so many lights to change, it’s probably the cheap knockoff shit which means they burn out a lot. How often do they have to replace those bulbs? Whoever runs that city is just making more work for dad. I would totally watch a movie where utility bills don’t exist. It would be some post-apocalyptic thriller where a dad has to scrounge around for the proper wattage light bulb and eat people on occasion.

Stop messing with my property values!

Marvel superhero movies send my inner rage out of control.

When Hulk smashes into a building, what I see is property taxes going up. Oh, sure, the buildings probably have insurance. But that means they are going to have to make a claim, which means rents are going up. Don’t Millennials have enough to worry about? Rents are already out of control.

And we all know that debris is going to ruin sidewalks and that’s the real rub, where the real consumer is going to get hit. Sales tax will have to go up to repair those streets. I don’t see Captain America out there with a hard hat laying asphalt. And let’s be clear, I can’t welcome all those Millennials into the suburbs. That will make my taxes go up, with all their demands for affordable housing.

Then the Avengers will follow and — bam — my sidewalks get jacked up. What happens if they break a water line? Who’s going to pay for that shit? If it’s on my property, me, that’s who. I’m going to have to sit out in the front of my house with my water hose, spraying down aliens and Iron Man while screaming “Get. Off. My. Lawn!”  And, I’ll mean it. Suburban dads have lawyers. I’m going to sue.

Killer little plastic bricks!

Every Lego movie makes me cringe. Sure, they are clever and action-packed. However, when there’s an explosion in a Lego movie, I see a thousand tiny parts going everywhere. Those tiny little Lego bricks hurt like a son of a bitch when you step on them in the middle of the night. It’s like I have PTSD from Lego injuries. The center of my foot gets sore just thinking about it.

And they jack up the vacuum cleaner, especially those clear ones that I can’t see. That’s a half hour just to fix the vacuum cleaner. Then you’ve got a busted scene and someone has got to put it back together. Yeah, that’s going to be dad. Three hours of work just so that I can do it all over again when Batman comes screeching through.

Finally, dad brain teaches a good lesson

Seriously, watching movies is exhausting with dad brain.

Aliens came on recently, the second one, the one that’s really good. Ripley was getting ready to beat some mother queen ass.

“Little Hoss!” I screamed. “Get in here!”

“What?” she asked.

“Come here and watch this movie.”

She sat and together we enjoyed Ripley running around trying to save Newt. The little girl gets taken, the mother Queen lays some gross-looking eggs, Ripley saves the day and they escape.

Little Hoss buried her head into my shoulder, right at the good part where Ripley doesn’t know that the Queen smuggled herself on board. Little Hoss knows something is coming. She can feel the tension of the scene.

“Look, baby, you need to watch this,” I said.

“Is it scary?”

“Yeah, totally. Watch.”

Sometimes being a father means facing those fears together.

The Queen rips Bishop in half. Little Hoss screams. Ripley runs away, leaving the little girl.

“She can’t leave! She can’t leave Newt!” Little Hoss yells at the screen. “Be brave, Rip!”

And then Ripley shows up in a front-loader robot to kick some alien ass. Little Hoss cheers. I cheer, even though I have seen this movie a hundred times. The fight is on.

“Get her! Get the Queen!” Little Hoss says. She’s jumping up and down.

“See that honey!” I said to my daughter. “That, that is what I wanted you to see. When you grow up, be Ripley. That’s who you have to be!”

A dad’s brain never turns off, I don’t think it can. That doesn’t mean that it always sees the bad things, though.  Sometimes it sees the awesome and takes the opportunity to show his daughter how to jump in some heavy equipment to throw monsters out of the airlocks.

But yeah, when I see an airlock, what I think is “Close that thing, you are letting all the cool air out. Do you have any idea how high our electric bill is? Were you raised in a barn?”

A version of this first appeared on The Hossman Chronicles. Dad brain photo: © AntonioDiaz / Adobe Stock.

There are no real rules to parenting. Well, there are some very basic rules like you must feed the kids and make sure they don’t look like a hobo catching the rail from Cleveland. But overall, you can parent any way you want. 

I have decided to parent like I’m in an action movie. 

“Must. Get. The. AHH!” My scream shatters glass. Twilight shards twinkle down on me.

“Dad?” my 5-year-old says.

“Son! Son!” I reach out my hand. “The couch won’t let me go; can’t let me go. No, it’s too late for me. Save yourself, son!” 

“Here, Dad,” he says as he hands me the TV remote. And there, just like a good action movie, the story arc is complete.

See, I couldn’t just get up off of the couch to get the remote. Where is the struggle? What did I have to sacrifice? Where is the drama?

Now I have some rules. Action Movie Rules.

Every struggle becomes sequel material

In the sequel to Get Off The Couch, the toy skitters across the hardwood floor. I inch my way forward in an army crawl. What is the toy? Why do I want it so much? What’s at stake?

It’s the toy to stop the mother of all toddler meltdowns.

So I belly crawl. The boy jumps on my back, uses my pants legs as a rope ladder, and tries to gouge out my eyeballs with his thumbs. There is a struggle. Good vs. Evil. Morally ambiguous motives fight righteousness that is confusing and complex. It is a battle that happens one plot point at a time.

Of course, I could just stand up and walk to the toy. But when do you see that in an action movie? No, it’s always the belly crawl when the object (usually the Holy Grail or a detonator) is 20 feet away. That’s Action Movie Rules. 

There are thousands of parenting books out there. Oddly, most of them now have the word “fuck” in the title. They have rules, but most are not connected to the real world or are painfully obvious. “Make sure your children eat in the morning!” Well, no shit. A lot of those books give advice that is completely useless like “when traveling by yacht, make sure the toddler is polite to the help.” Who actually parents on a yacht? That’s what the help is for. 

Breaking out the ninja moves

“I can’t believe it!” I yell at my daughter in the movie that completes the trilogy. “You betrayed me! My kin. You have gone against the family.”

My teenager stands motionless. Sweat drips off her brow. In her hand, she holds the last of the bean dip. A Frito hovers just over the lip of the can. The confused look on her face at my action movie setup monologue is the only opening I need. Against all hope, I charge. 

With a sweet ninja move I saw on the Netflix original Punisher, my hand locks onto her wrist. I use my legs as leverage and twist. The tables have turned! Now, I have the bean dip. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks. It’s cool, teenagers are allowed to almost swear in action movies. Just enough to let the viewer know that they are edgy and independent. 

“Justice,” I say, and my finger scrapes out the last bit of my prize, forever denying its sweet and chalky taste to the villain.

Everything looks great when it’s choreographed. But in real life, when things go south, the ultimate truth is that no parent knows what they are doing. We are all winging it, and we just edit the stories in post-production. 

In action movies, paper-thin metal filing cabinets can stop an AK-47 for some reason. Explosives are so simple that a 10-year-old can rig Nakatomi Tower to blow. Everyone can sprint. And most importantly, if you have a franchise, you can always come back when you are older for a surprise reimagining.

If only Action Movie Rules really ruled

From the top of the stairs I do a badass double flip and somehow don’t over-rotate. Not bad for a mid-40s washed-up action father. Something is wrong, though. Something is off. How do I know? Action Movie Rules: The hero always knows to go with his gut when something feels “off.” 

I hear it; a slight click. Without explanation, I run to the living room dodging several glass panes being carried by extras, and a guy pulling a tourist in a rickshaw. Action Movie Rules: Nothing has to make sense. 

I must make it to the thermostat. There is no time! I help an orphan on the way, have an emotional connection with him, and now he is my ward. 

I see the light spark on my Nest Smart Thermostat. It has gained awareness. Now we are parenting by Sci-Fi Action Movie Rules. That click I heard before was the furnace warming up. If I can make it, if only I can make it, I can stop the evil machine overlord from coming on and warming the house up from 69 to 70. The orphan gets kidnapped. I vow to come back for him. 

I strap into my exoskeleton suit and light a blow torch because that makes things look more industrial and gritty. I reach my hand out while a disembodied voice counts down.

Three.

Two.

One.

I turn the thermostat off, and the furnace shudders. I go back and save the orphan, which turns out was always my 10-year-old son. 

“That was close, Dad!” he says. 

“Yeah. Too close. But you know what they always say …”

“What, Dad?”

“It’s never close when you believe in yourself, even when the world don’t.”

BOOM! There is my tagline. The bad grammar will connect with the masses, and I’ll go viral. 

“You’re the best, Dad!”

“Yes, I am.” My words are slurred because somewhere between the first movie and the remake, I had a stroke. “Now let’s go home so I can have sex with your mom.”

A version of this first appeared on Hossman At-Home. Photo: © ra2 studio / Adobe Stock.

EDITOR’S NOTE: For more helpful tips on helping teens handle stress, visit The Center for Parent and Teen Communication’s special Managing Stress section.

Let’s scoreboard what my teenagers have been through in the last couple of years.

Pandemic. Virtual schooling. Dating. About 500 emails from the school telling them they’ve been exposed to COVID. Quarantine. PSATs. Three separate school-wide walkouts to protest slurs. And college recruiters asking them about their future.

Oh, and they get no more snow days. That last one just seems mean.

As an adult, that is enough to stress me out daily. But how about my teenagers? How does a teen today deal with a world that is chaotic, loud and confusing?

How to spot teen stress

When I’m stressed, I get angry and want to confront the source of the stress. When my stress contributes to my anxiety, I write snarky articles blaming the everyone in the world for being giant jerks. I also swear a lot. However, that’s not the way stress and anxiety present in a teen.

Dads are often advised to watch for their teenagers pulling away or getting frustrated. Advice like that makes me think the people who wrote it have never dealt with a teenager. To spot stress in your teen, it requires a bit more work.

“You have to engage,” Dr. Jeffery Bernstein, author of The Stress Survival Guide for Teens and 10 Days to a Less Defiant Child, said in an interview with me. “Create a safe space where they feel comfortable talking to you.” 

For me, that brings up visions of cat cafés and chai tea — both things I’d rather not do. I’m more of a dog person.

But I get what he is saying and have practiced it with my own two teenagers. I’ve ditched the “big fatherly talk” where I sit in a regal Victorian chair and have on a dad sweater. Instead, every day I take some time to engage with my teens on their level.

A safe space for talking, listening, observing

My son loves gaming, so I take the time to play with him. Yes, he mops the floor with me, but the point is that I’m there in his environment. This is where we can talk without any extra pressure. With my 15-year-old daughter, it’s scary movies. That time is devoted to her talking about her life.

Conversations come easy when they have the backdrop of something they like, and it gives me a chance to see if they are more withdrawn than usual. My teenagers are more open, forthcoming and honest in these moments.

Often, a teen under stress will verbalize their thoughts in these environments. They don’t know how to deal with the stressors in their lives or that they could even use help. When I am engaged in my kids’ spaces, it opens up those lines of communication. This is what Dr. Bernstein means by creating a safe space.

It’s not just one Ward Cleaver type of moment, but a series of small interactions during the month that last anywhere from 10 minutes to two hours. It’s there that I can help them verbalize rather than to internalize. I like that phrase enough that I’m going to turn it into a bumper sticker now.

Let’s talk coping strategies

Once I know they are stressed, that’s where I struggle as a father. Instinctively, I want to fight their battles.

“Don’t come into it with a fix-it mindset. Lead with empathy,” Bernstein said. “And then use modeling to show them how to cope.”

We need to empower our kids and teach them problem-solving and coping skills. That begins with you. Don’t fight their battles, let them figure out the solution with your guidance. Point them in the right direction of a solution and let them arrive there through their efforts. This will give them ownership of the skill. That ownership will stick with them longer than a lecture.

Sometimes that means that I share their anger and stress. That boy broke your heart? He’s a jerk. That test was hard? Oomph, tell me about it. That then allows me to provide them guidance and perspective based on my experiences. For example, if choosing a college is difficult, then I begin planning small steps with them.

We also have to model better with our own behaviors. When I’m stressed, I swear a lot more. That’s not the best example. A better example would be exercise, eating better, and sticking to a sleep schedule — three things parents the world over are terrible at. But it goes further than that basic cliché advice.

Model your stress management to your teen

We need to share with our children when we are stressed and make it relatable. This is where a lot of fathers fail, including me.

We have it in our heads that as dad, we should be indestructible. We want them to see us the same way they did when they were 3: perfect. They don’t need perfect right now. Our teenagers need reality.

That’s not to mean that we dump a series of adult stresses on them. Instead, Dr. Bernstein states that we should take a coaching approach.

I’ll let my daughter and my son know when I have a deadline coming up that makes me stressed. I’ll usually throw in a joke, but I’ll also let them see my actions. I’m proactive in my solutions. I’ll set a time to get the task done, reward myself when it is done, and then make a plan for the next step.

My kids also see me practice mindfulness. I take 20 minutes a day and run through a program on our VR headset. It helps clear my thoughts and focus on the here and now. As I practice these coping strategies, I’ve talked to my kids about why I’m doing them. That’s how I coach them, and they have begun to adopt some of these strategies.

Keep calm and carry on

Finally, we need help controlling our anger. No one can push our buttons like our teenagers.

“Remove your ego out of the conversation. See it as if you’re watching it from above. Don’t escalate the situation or take it personally,” Bernstein said in our interview.

Easier said than done. But when I speak calmly, I notice my children respond better. And if that’s not working, we all put ourselves into timeout. Timeouts as an adult are awesome.

And if none of the strategies above are working, then it might be time to seek out professional help. Having a third party to talk to may give your teenagers a chance to open up in a way that they can’t with you.

Yes, the world can be a stressful place for adults, and as fathers we need to be aware that our kids share in that stress. Teaching them coping skills is something that they will use for the rest of their life.

And if all else fails, then teach them to swear with the best of them. Don’t put that on me though, I’m stressed enough as it is.

Teen stress photo: ©Rawpixel.com / Adobe Stock.

My daughter is crying, tears coming from each eye like it’s a race to her chin. She hiccups a little when she tries to catch her breath. As a father, I feel that I have sufficiently done my job. I’m a good dad.

Little Hoss has her first cell phone.

Is 11 too young? I don’t know. I’ve been fighting this for at least two years. There was a time I was of the opinion that “You aren’t getting a phone until you are at least 16 and engaged to a nice young boy who requires no dowry.” My wife thought that was too harsh. So fine, I switched my opinion. We could marry her to the church.

“Honey, you are not religious. Like, at all.”

“Quiet woman! I’m making fatherly decisions!”

Those were some pretty rough conversations. She’s 11 though! I mean 11! She’s at that age where she still likes to snuggle with me on the couch. Little Hoss will occasionally play with Barbies if no one is looking and her toddler brother is with her. She still calls me “Daddy.” Not “Dad” – “Daddy.” 

She’s a little girl, my sweet pea, my destroyer of everything quiet. A phone is crazy talk, the thoughts of a loose father with loose morals. A man willing to thrust his daughter out into the world without any preparation at all.

But she’s a little girl who requires training bras. She goes to Girl Scouts and volleyball practice. She goes into the store and uses my debit card to grab a gallon of milk. 

My sweet pea, my little girl who doesn’t snuggle with me on the couch as much as she used to. Little Hoss has built herself a life outside of me. She is starting to gain independence.

Fuck. She’s not a little girl anymore.

This all started when we were finally able — thank you, Jesus (see, I pray!) — to break away from our cell phone provider and switch to another carrier. When we did, because of a great deal they were having, Little Hoss got her very own phone. It was free and, like every responsible father, I could not turn down a good deal. Nor can I turn back time.

We gave her that first cell phone and she immediately left me.

The string between us cut with a text. She jumped on the couch and her fingers began moving faster than a court stenographer’s. She would send me a text: “Dad, what’s Aunt Shell’s number?” I would text back. “Dad, do you have my cousins’ numbers?” I would send them to her. She is out in the world, the cold fucking world that preys on kids.

First off, how the hell does she even know how to work a cell phone? How does she know how to text?

“All my friends have phones, Dad. So do all my cousins.”

Fuck.

Thinking about putting my daughter into a convent has blinded me. I should have prepared her better to be out there. She has Google on her phone. There is internet on that thing. There are chat rooms and in one of them lurks Chris Hanson.

So my wife and I sat my daughter down that night and had “The Talk.” It used to be that having The Talk was just going over sex. Dad puts his pee pee in Mommy’s hoo-ha. They wrestle a bit and eventually your mother thanks God and it’s over. A baby eventually comes around.

But now, so much different than my own childhood, The Talk has to encompass a whole shitload of issues that I never had to. We have to go over inappropriate texts – both the bullying kind and the dick pic kind. We have to go over people in chat rooms, how some may not be the people they claim to be. That she should never go into chat rooms at all and, to be honest, I’m not sure they even still exist. But just in case, we have banned them.

We talked to her about digital predators in digital white vans promising treats and love if only she would meet them somewhere. My mind reeled. It ran from one nightmare scenario to another. And I laid it all at her feet.

I invited my wife to tell my daughter about some of the inappropriate things people have said to her. It’s a world where I have no experience. It’s rare that as a young teen anyone would say anything to me other than my dad telling me that masturbating should only be done in the bedroom, so put your junk away son. That was our talk. Uncomfortable but, hey, at least it was quick. (HA). Hearing my wife’s stories, I now have a whole list of people I have to track down and beat up. So Mr. Old Man from 1988 – I’m coming for you. We got a score to settle.

Catcalling, conniving, false promises, predators. All of it.

“Does that really happen, Dad?” she said. She called me Dad.

“Damn right. Not if you were in a convent, but it looks like that’s not an option for us. So, yes, that happens. Sometimes it happens a lot.” My tone was serious, more serious than I think she is used to from me. That’s when the sniffles started.

And to drive the point home, in my overprotective father mode, I pulled up Reddit. I went to a subreddit called /r/creepypms – which is not what I thought it was when I first saw the name of it. This is a place where women of many ages post all the creepy shit that people send them. I didn’t let my daughter read them of course. I just showed her how many there are, page after page after page.

That’s when the tears started.

So my daughter has her first cell phone. There are rules, of course. No texts without me knowing and only to people I know. No apps unless I know what they are and give approval. My wife and I have complete and total access to the phone whenever we deem it appropriate. All that and more so that at least we are sending her out into the world padded and with a safety net. And of course, if anyone from 20/20 ever contacts her, she should immediately come to me.

At the end of the talk, I sat down on the couch. Tired, exhausted, nightmares fresh behind my eyes. She came and sat next to me. She leaned over and put her head on my chest, I put my arm around her.

“People are weird, Daddy.”

“I know, sweet pea. Now show me what a Bitmoji is.”

A version of First Cell Phone appeared on Hossman At-Home. Photo: ©kmiragaya/ Adobe Stock.