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

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

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

Friday night lights out

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

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

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

Accept today’s routine, change is coming fast  

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

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

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

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

Tips for breaking out of a parenting rut

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

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

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

Photo: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

Talk about your lazy holidays. The daily routine of my teens over their recent December school break from school was as uniform as it was non-eventful – wake up really late, eat, Snapchat, Instagram, repeat. 

Dad sighs.

The routine of my non-teens (ages 7 and 9) was a bit different – wake up a little late, eat, YouTube reels, go outside, play, come back in after 20 minutes, repeat.

Dad sighs. 

Is this normal? 

Everywhere I go, every fellow dad I speak with tells me that sleeping followed by endlessly gazing at a phone is the go-to teenage activity on these lazy holidays. On average, teens need eight to 10 hours of sleep and, with a nonexistent holiday break bedtime, I would expect them to awaken later. But noon? 

The phone coma, though, I cannot stand. When I’m only mildly frustrated, I simply encourage my teens to go to the gym, for a walk/jog or to clean their room. They typically shun my suggestions as “boring.” When I’m all-out pissed (by 3 p.m.), I force them out of the house, relegating them to chores I make up out of desperation. These each end similarly – my teenagers claiming boredom after feeble attempts and eventually sinking back into a video of a chiropractor cracking necks. 

My little ones, while prone to quicker shifts between activities, require the same daily prodding to get outside or to free play with non-connected things around them. I worry about them watching their zombie-like older siblings and deferring to a tablet versus knocking on the neighbor kids’ front door. 

These behaviors are, I gather, normal. Given how busy families are I do think some lazy days during breaks are just fine. But every day for two weeks? 

Dad sighs.

Should my kids’ lazy holidays worry me?

While I acknowledge holiday break lethargy is normal, I have three major worries as I watch my kids.

First, if any of them use their social channels to call friends out. For instance, there are times when my kids will say “XX is at the beach but he/she can’t go to bowling with me?” This blame-game excuse for why they are left at home is lame and unhealthy.  

Next, I see my kids using Snapchat or Instagram to judge the willingness (or availability) of friends to do anything. 

“Can you and Jimmy hang today, Lynden?” I might suggest.    

“Wait, let me check Snap to see if he’s around. Nope, looks like he’s with Jake,” scrolling continues. 

Huh? 

I worry none of our kids are reaching out to each other. I am convinced they are on their phones while laying around, claiming they are bored while secretly hoping someone else takes the initiative to reach out. Reaching out is easier now, right?!!?

My final worry spurned by my kids’ holiday laziness is that tired seems to beget tired.  Because of their day-long coma, the odd times when they are presented with decent social options, my kids might choose to pass.

What does/should/can this break tell me about my kids?

Under the backdrop of this inactivity during the holidays, should I re-evaluate the lengths I go to keep my children active throughout the year? If they are sooo exhausted, should we cut down on the soccer games, school plays, dance recitals, or music lessons? If they haven’t touched a soccer ball during the break, why should I shell out big money to have them travel the state for competitive tournaments? If no one reaches out for a playdate or to go to a movie, should I worry that my sons or daughters are the school nerds? 

These questions swirled in my head during our recent break as I watched my kids. I could have answered each differently every time, with varying levels of frustrated concern. 

As I reflect now, though, I come back to the idea that my job is to provide and support my kids. With that mindset, I need not try to answer these questions as much as I acknowledge they will not be answered today. Fueled by that awareness, I can ask the right questions of my kids instead of having them feel judged or scared to be themselves around me. Maybe the constant worry and over-analysis does nothing for my family in the long term.

So, as with most parenting conundrums, I am left looking in the mirror.

What might my holiday break routine say about me? Mine was not like my kids’. I would wake up, exercise, eat, then worry, judge, plan, get frustrated, and repeat. 

Just like my kids’ routines, though, mine might be as normal as, ultimately, meaningless.     

Dad sighs.

Photo: © DimaBerlin / 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.

My daughter has never eaten a hamburger. Or pizza. Or chicken nuggets. In fact, she’s never had a smorgasbord of foods most 8-year-olds devour with abandon: grilled cheese, hot dogs, spaghetti, mac and cheese, and — my personal favorite — tacos. Who doesn’t love a good taco?

Oh sure, she may sniff, touch, and occasionally lick these foods. But to actually bite, chew, and swallow it? Well, that’s just asking too much.

My daughter is more than just a picky eater. She’s what feeding experts call a “resistant eater.” This means she eats just 10 to 15 foods (or fewer), limits her food groups (to mostly carbs), and often expresses disapproval, sometimes with a harrumph, over the presence of a new food on her plate.

This food fussiness stems from my daughter’s autism, which makes her uncomfortable with changes in routine. Adding to it is a sensory processing disorder (SPD), a neurological condition that causes difficulties with processing information from the five senses: taste, sight, touch, smell and hearing.

The SPD manifests as a preference for snacks with a crunchy texture and bold flavor. For her, these are smoked Gouda Triscuits, barbeque quinoa chips, cheddar Pringles, and, her mainstay, white cheddar popcorn. The autism appears as a need for certain foods to always be the same brand. I once bought my daughter SkinnyPop white cheddar popcorn instead of the usual Smartfood brand because it was on sale. When I pulled the popcorn from the grocery bag, she took one look at the unfamiliar green and white packaging and uttered, “No, Daddy.”

Fussy eating appears during solid food introduction

While there are no reliable statistics on the feeding and eating problems of autistic children, one widely reported study found they are five times more likely to face mealtime challenges — from narrow food selection to rigid eating behaviors — than their typically developing peers.

When my daughter was diagnosed as autistic in 2017, shortly before her third birthday, I focused less on what went into her mouth and more on what was coming out of it — hardly any discernible words. I didn’t know much about the connection between autism and eating habits.

My daughter’s unique palette and pickiness began to emerge at 6 months old. This was when my wife first introduced her to solid food: yogurt, apple sauce, assorted baby foods, cereal, pears (which always ended up on the floor), and even pico de gallo (she apparently liked the light kick of jalapeño).

There was the occasional bite of a pork chop here, a forkful of blueberry pancake there. But, as our daughter grew older, she never really took to eating a broad variety of foods. At 13 months she consistently drank milk from a sippy cup, and that was only after my wife successfully transitioned her from formula in a bottle — a change our daughter mightily resisted.

To ensure our daughter got the proper helping of nutrients, my wife started mixing the milk with varieties of Naked Juice, a brand of fruit and vegetable smoothies. That eventually evolved into a blend of Naked Juice and Greek yogurt (packed with protein and probiotics) for her school lunches. I jokingly refer to these smoothie blends as the “Elixir of Life” because without them I’m certain our daughter wouldn’t be thriving or hitting her growth and weight targets. In my daughter’s words, “Smoothies are very tasty at lunch and recess.”

Still, getting your child to eat shouldn’t be this complicated.

Strategies for combating a resistant eater

Doctors confirmed our daughter didn’t have swallowing or gastrointestinal issues, but that didn’t relieve my constant worry about her nutritional intake. Can she continue to thrive on such a limited diet? Am I packing enough food in her lunch box to last the school day? Will she ever outgrow these food aversions?

I reached out to my daughter’s therapists for tips and advice. Through them, I learned just how complicated the act of eating is. It involves 26 muscles, eight sensory systems, six cranial nerves to chew and swallow, and engages every organ in your body. As speech-language pathologist Judy McCrary Koeppen notes in The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism: “Eating is a multisensory experience. Each mouthful brings the possibility of a variety of flavors, textures, and temperatures.”

Whatever you do, they said, never withhold food or physically force a child to eat. That will only make things worse for a resistant eater, a picky eater or any child.

So we began with “food chaining.” You start with a child’s preferred food and gradually “chain” together similar foods with slight changes or variations until you get to the new food. For example, go from chips to crackers to crackers with a sweet topping to chocolate pudding. We did the best we could. Our lack of time and patience, though, caused us to abandon this tactic.

Then we tried bribery. Our daughter could earn iPad screen time if she tried a new food. It worked for a few weeks (I recall her taking bites of broccoli and salmon), but her motivation waned.

We knew consistency would be key to overcoming the limitations of our resistant eater. We worked with our daughter’s behavioral therapist to add a feeding component to her therapy sessions. Three times a week my wife and I pack a new (or less preferred) food for the therapist to try with our daughter. Eating is the goal, but touching and licking the food also counts as success.

Every time the therapist reports our daughter actually ate something new, I do a happy dance. So far she’s taken a liking to baby carrots, apple slices, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When you’re the parent of a resistant eater, you celebrate every victory, no matter how small.

Sharing a meal socially helps

My wife and I build on our daughter’s progress at home by offering her the same food we’re eating, even if we think she’ll refuse it.

My Italian sausage lasagna? Nope.

My wife’s savory beef chili? Declined.

One day my wife offered her rice with salted butter. She ate it and asked for it again later that month. The week before that, our daughter requested orange juice. My wife and I looked at each other with an expression that read, “Who’s child is this?”

With each bite of new food, our daughter is maturing as an eater. Just as some people are social drinkers, we’re learning our daughter is a social eater. She’s a bubbly chatterbox now and loves participating in occasions that involve food — birthday parties, holiday dinners, family outings. She just happens to bring her own smoothies and snacks to the table.

Last autumn a friend invited us over for dinner with his family. I warned him my daughter may not eat what was served. When the chicken lettuce wraps arrived at the table, to my amazement, she grabbed one and took a few bites before retreating to her snack tote. Months earlier, at a dinner party, she casually snacked on tortilla chips and mixed nuts like it was no big deal. But indeed, it was.

I used to think my daughter, as a resistant eater, was missing out on moments because she was missing out on the food. That’s because my own childhood memories are intertwined with the scents and tastes of dishes prepared with love. The gooey and decadent German chocolate cake my mother made. The tangy sweet peach cobbler with the gloriously buttery crust baked by my grandmother. My great-grandmother’s New Year’s Day meal of collard greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread for good luck in the new year.

I’m realizing that as long as my daughter is connecting with the people around the table, she’ll never miss out on love, joy, and laughter even if she is munching from a different menu.

She’ll join in when she’s ready.

In the spirit of reconnecting fathers in real life after the pandemic kept us apart for so long, City Dads Group members around the country will take part in a National Dads’ Day Out on Saturday, Nov. 6. The event is being done in partnership with our friends at Dad 2.0.

Local event organizers will decide how to celebrate the day, but outdoor gatherings that include some light physical activity to promote bonding and better physical and mental health are being encouraged. For example, our Columbus, Ohio, chapter plans on meeting for coffee than going on a hike at a local park; the NYC chapter will has its participating fathers take an “urban hike” from Manhattan to Brooklyn via the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Real life happens in real contact with real people, and when we’re deprived of that contact, our collective mental health suffers. For dads, that suffering means we’re less effective in the most important role of our lifetime,” Dad 2.0 organizers wrote in a website announcement about the join event.

National Dads’ Day Out events have been confirmed in the following metropolitan areas and more will likely be added as the date draws nearer (links go to the City Dads organized event):

• Austin
• Charlotte, N.C.
• Cleveland
• Columbus, Ohio
• Dallas
• Denver
• Detroit
• Houston
• Indianapolis
• Kansas City, Mo.
• Las Vegas
• Los Angeles
• New York City
• Orlando
• Portland
• Providence (through Boston Dads Group)
• Salt Lake City
• Twin Cities (Minneapolis/St. Paul)
• Toronto, Canada

Event information and RSVPs available via each city’s Meetup page.

“Since the beginning, City Dads Group has been on a mission to bring fathers together in real life. We hope guys that are ready will join us for this much needed opportunity to connect with fellow dads of all stripes,” said Matt Schneider, co-founder of City Dads Group.

National Dads’ Day Out will be sponsored by the creators of American Underdog, an upcoming film about former professional football quarterback Kurt Warner’s rise from supermarket employee to 1999 Super Bowl MVP.

Whenever one of my children receives a birthday party invitation, I have one question — and only one question — I want answered. I don’t care where the party is. I’m not particularly interested in what the activities or theme will be. Heck sometimes, I don’t even care who the party is for. The question I want to be answered is, “Is this a drop-off birthday party or one where the parent stays?”

Birthday parties where the parent of an invited kid has to stay are the worst.

The. Absolute. Worst.

These parties amount to a parent watching his child at a location beside his own house. It’s usually two hours with other parents, sitting in some uncomfortably small chair in a bounce house or other “kid centered” facility. What’s worse? Watching the host load your kid up with soda and cake before sending them back home with you. And to think, you bought a gift for someone to put you through this.

Of course, I guess it won’t be long before my kids won’t even want me to know about what they are doing with their friends, let alone want me to be there with them during parties.

I suppose there could be worse ways to spend your weekend besides attending a birthday party with your child. Sure the chairs are tiny and the conversations are awkward, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing to meet some of the parents of the friends your kid hangs out with. And who doesn’t love to watch their children play and have fun with a group of friends, even if they are scarfing cake and chugging soda while they do it.

Maybe the “parent stays” parties aren’t so bad after all.

What is your birthday party preference? Stay and hang out or get out of Dodge?

A version of this first appeared on Indy’s Child. Birthday invitation photo: © Prostock-studio / Adobe Stock.

You know Chad. Every business in America has one.

Chad is the nice-looking, smiley, firm-hand-shaking, future C-level executive-to-be at your office. Chad is smart, but more than that, he has that “it” factor that propels him to the front of any promotion process. When you think about Chad, he seems more accomplished than pragmatically productive.

I am no Chad. I tried but have fallen short. I’m OK with it, mostly because after my wife and I started having kids, I realized I could set out to provide some lucky corporation a future Chad of my making. Yes, I’d raise my kids to be witty, quick, effective communicators who weren’t afraid of the big stage or bright lights. They would be built to dazzle any high powered, future boardroom – just like Chad.

Fifteen years into this parenting thing, though, my kids are no Chads.

Not only are my kids are not exuding the skills required, COVID-related changes to corporate America have me thinking that the Chad I knew in my young career will require a makeover to sustain his seat at the top.

The company I work for, like many, has been closed its offices to in-person working since mid-March 2020. Working remotely has ushered in a different skill set required to collaborate. While I talk to communication with colleagues via the phone, email and daily Zoom meetings, we are far more isolated than before. I had better get used to the isolation as many workplaces may have employees permanently work remotely as they harvest the productivity gains of employees’ evergreen availability and the savings on office space costs.

While I enjoy this new work-from-anywhere phenomenon, Chads may not. After all, there are no golf outings for them to rub shoulders with other C-level guys. Fewer opportunities exist for them to deliver a rousing lecture about next quarter’s sales outlook. Gone is their chance to leverage their off-the-charts charisma to make an executive-level first physical impression for new employees. Corporate Chads have been relegated to working in the connected-but-disconnected world where, to my chagrin, my kids feel most comfortable.

Will a nerd rule in a remote work culture?

Chads might find it strange that my kids:

• Rarely communicate with friends outside of group chats
• Only try to impress each other by shooting meaningless selfies back-and-forth via SnapChat
• Find normal curiosity – like asking a teacher for clarity after class — a waste of their time
• Would rather perform a Google search than ask another human for assistance
• “Socialize” in the isolation of their rooms via gaming consoles with (mostly) strangers
• Place far more value on the result (i.e., the letter grade) than the process (learning a concept by understanding test materials)
• Have no idea of that the “it” factor is — only surmising that “it” must involve the number of followers one has on Instagram

Instead of lamenting my inability to mold my children into a Chad, maybe their nerd view of the world, way of communicating, and flexibility in handling a global pandemic will redefine the successful professional of the future.

Might this be a real life “Revenge of the Nerds”?

If there is existential risk for the traditional Chad, should parents stop badgering our kids about their lack of social skills? In a world that requires more technical prowess than intrapersonal skill, should we care about kids’ communicating via choppy texts, selfies and cartoon emojis?

While I see the balance of technical and social skills to be shifting, I’m not ready to write Chad’s eulogy just yet. I still place value on my kids’ ability to have healthy relationships with people around them. We shouldn’t take for granted that our kids know how to foster traditional friendships. They are not around each other much anymore. More than ever, I’m pushing hard for my children to stay involved in activities outside of school. After all, activities are the only time our children are without a connected device during their waking hours from middle school on.

I’m learning to turn my attention from building Chads to re-emphasizing the importance of befriending humans in the world of IBM Watson. I struggle, though, with helping provide appropriate balance between technology and social skills.

I want my kids to have good, deep friendships with people around them. I want my kids to navigate rooms of strangers. I want my kids to use technology to bring this vast world closer. I want them to be as happy in public arenas as in their bedroom sniping strangers on Fortnite.

I’ve come to the realization that my kids won’t be Chads. That might not be such a bad thing.

Maybe kids, in general, are nerdier now. That said, I’ll stop short of saying that nerd qualities – like perceived social isolation and lack of charisma – will prevent them from becoming a solid contributor in their chosen field of work. Our kids may be successful because of (not despite) the things we worry most about: lack of face-to-face connection, inability to speak publicly, and more interest in virtual relationships.

We are living in a “Revenge of the Nerds” re-boot – one making today’s nerd tomorrow’s Chad.

Nerd photo: © chomplearn_2001  / 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.

I met a friend for coffee the other day. It’s something we try to do on a regular basis, which, apparently, means once every eight months.

Our schedules have proven difficult to align, despite our living two miles apart, having kids at the same school, and working in similar creative fields. It takes half a year and two dozen texts to create 90 minutes of quality time at Starbucks, 15 of which are spent standing in line. This is the sum of our parts, a modern life defined by new math and the old habits we cannot help but cling to.

This is a pattern in my life when it comes to friendships, and I’m not sure how I got here. That is, I have great friends around the globe and corner, but I don’t spend nearly enough time with any of them. Granted, my own anxiety and the comforts of home tend to keep me in more than my younger self could ever have imagined, but I’m still social, awkwardly so, and often want for company.

Work is at least 60 hours per week, filled with meetings and deadlines, edits and interviews. My wife works even more, with her schedule scattered across both sides of the wee hours, the coming and the going. The boys have extracurricular activities, and when they don’t there is homework, friends and binging The Office again. Also, the daily reality that they no longer want to spend quality time with me, despite a good decade begging for my attention.

Finding the time, will for friendships

Everyone I know has something similar. We are all trying to juggle the commitments of work, family obligations and the things we want to do, plus assorted health concerns, financial considerations and the respective battles that each of us is fighting. All things considered, meeting for coffee once every eight months seems fairly reasonable.

So how is it, with a life busy between work, family, volunteering and six streaming services, do I still find myself with regular bouts of downtime? I do enjoy time by myself, but even I can have enough of me. I could fill that time by lifting some weights or picking up the phone, but I despise both of those things, regardless of the benefits they may carry.

What I want is an unexpected knock at the door and a smile through the peephole, a random text to grab a beer on a Tuesday or my kids to help in the kitchen because they enjoy the company.

In jukebox terms, I’ve spent 16 years whistling Cat’s in the Cradle, only to have Piano Man sneak up behind me.

The fact is, I’m often lonely, and I know I’m not alone. Plenty has been written about the importance of continued camaraderie and adult friendships as we age, and while I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have the relationships I do, I can’t help but wonder if we’d all be better served by putting a larger focus on them.

Perhaps that requires a bit more flexibility or accepting that there is a difference between inviting and imposing. Maybe instead of waiting for a moment, I just need to make one.

After all, it’s hard to expand your comfort zone if you never attempt to leave it.

We should grab a coffee sometime.

Photo: © pavelvinnik / Adobe Stock.

I was on the other side of the room so I’m not exactly sure what happened with Penny. I just know I saw her crying and spent the rest of the birthday party comforting her.

Through barely muffled tears, she told me part of the story before we left. Through slightly more muffled tears, I deciphered additional details on the car ride home.

She and a few of her friends were in the bathroom together. (This is, by the way, super common for them. I don’t know why women use the restroom in packs, but I do know it starts young.) One of them was, apparently, still “busy” when the mother of the birthday girl knocked on the door. When they innocently exited, she reamed them out. She made it clear that they wouldn’t be invited to any more parties ever again.

W T actual F, right?

That was Penny’s perspective, anyway. And she bawled her little eyes out.

I didn’t speak with the mother before we left. I just wanted to comfort my daughter, find out what was wrong, and get the hell home.

But I couldn’t just let it rest.

My baby got hurt and I had to make it better. I had to find out what happened, at least. I know the mom and the mom knows Penny. There had to be a good explanation.

I texted the mom that night to hear her side of the story while letting her know how distraught Penny was. I also hoped to subtly convey that explicitly un-inviting a 9-year-old to all future parties is kind of a fucked-up thing to do. (If you really don’t want her at another party, don’t send an invite. You don’t have to be a dick about it a year in advance.)

Why did you yell at my child?

The mom explained that the girls locked themselves in the bathroom because, apparently, they didn’t like the game that was being played. They were hiding in there, goofing around on an iPhone, refusing to come out even though she knocked on the door repeatedly. She felt like they were disrespecting her (and her time putting the party together) and being mean to her daughter on her birthday. It was a yell of protection as well as anger.

I followed up, explaining Penny’s side of the story as I understood it and my wish that things had been handled differently. She emailed a sincere and thoughtful apology to me and the other parents involved, admitting that she handled the situation poorly and should have spoken with the adults instead of yelling at the children.

From an objective parent’s perspective, I understood her frustration. She was, after all, throwing a party for her child, and the guests – who are supposed to be her child’s oldest friends – seemed to bail on it. She also explained that she was going through some crap with her father’s health, so under additional stress.

Let me be clear: If my child is misbehaving and I’m not there to witness it, I trust her friends’ parents to reprimand her. Not yell at her necessarily (unless she’s doing something dangerous then YELL LIKE HELL), but tell her she’s not doing the right thing. In turn, I’m very comfortable telling her friends that they’re being little assholes when they are, in fact, being little assholes. Probably not in those words, of course. But it really does take a village to raise a child not to be a douche and we all need to do our part. Unfortunately, sometimes the villagers fuck up. I suspect that’s what happened in this case.

I’m still not exactly sure what happened in the bathroom, but I know my kid. And I know those kids. And they’re all good kids. And they all take a long-ass time in the bathroom.

I believe my daughter when she tells me they weren’t playing in there avoiding the party. I believe her because she’s given me little reason not to. And, again, I know how long she and her friends take in the bathroom. Frankly, it’s a little much.

Lessons for kids (and adults)

I’m not glad this happened, but there were some important lessons. And life is all about the lessons we learn along the way. Here are a few I talked about with Penny and some she’s figuring out on her own.

1. Everyone makes mistakes.
2. Everyone can be an asshole sometimes.
3. If you make a mistake or you’re being an asshole, own up to it and apologize.
4. There are two sides to every story.
5. Everyone is going through their own crap.
6. Empathy is important.
7. Even if you didn’t do anything “wrong,” you can get in trouble.
8. Perception matters.
9. Friendships can survive misunderstandings.
10. Maybe don’t take so damn long in the bathroom. Seriously, what the hell are you doing in there??

Penny and the birthday girl have seen and played with each other since the incident. They’ve known each other forever, and it’s all good in the hood, water under the bridge, forgiven and all but forgotten.

Our paths have not crossed with the mom, yet. Penny is sensitive and has a long memory. I’m not sure how that interaction will go. Hopefully with a hug. Hopefully with mutual apologies. Hopefully with the parent being the adult.

A version of “Yell” first appeared on Amateur Idiot / Professional Dad.