In one of the many memorable scenes in John Hughes’ movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Ferris, his girlfriend Sloane, and best friend Cameron join a group of young children looking at the masterpieces in the Art Institute of Chicago. At one point, the very melancholy and anxious Cameron becomes captivated by Georges Seurat’s “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.” 

The more he stares at the painting, the more the little girl at the center of the piece seems to stare back at him. Cameron zooms in on her to the point where she soon becomes a bunch of undefined splotches of paint. Maybe, in this moment, Cameron sees himself: a muddle of paint with no real beginning or end. Maybe he isn’t sure what he is looking at. Perhaps he’s lost in his thoughts about where he is in life and what his life will become.

I think we have all had encounters like this in a museum with a particular piece. This happened to me recently when our family visited the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York City to view an amazing gallery by Henry Taylor, a black California-based artist known for portraits depicting a variety of scenes from black life using mixed media.

One piece that caught my eye was Screaming Head. It is an acrylic painting of a black man sitting on a bench. His hands are clenched behind his head but somehow he is screaming out of the top of his head. Like his brain is screaming out because his mouth cannot. Or maybe this particular man feels like crying out but doesn’t want to because social norms dictate he has to be strong and keep it bottled up inside. Maybe he doesn’t have the freedom to say what is really on his mind. It felt like it was speaking to me.

I believe men often suffer in silence when it comes to issues we face. We want to stick to the old-school machismo: men don’t cry, men don’t complain, men aren’t supposed to be anything that makes us less of a man. We aren’t often given room to just scream out when facing any number of obstacles life throws our way. Not having that release valve can often lead to tragic results.  

But I believe we need room to scream. 

Men need room to cry. 

We also need a shoulder to lean on when life seems overwhelming. 

If we can be allowed to release our frustration and anger in a constructive and healthy way, we can be better men, fathers, brothers and leaders.

But how?

It means taking time for self-care. Like going to a movie by yourself or spending a few hours on a hobby. Maybe it’s eating some takeout from your favorite fast-food restaurant in your car without having to share your fries. Or maybe, it’s asking your partner to take the kids to school so you get an extra hour of sleep.

Sometimes just posting anonymously in a Facebook group of other dads who understand your strains and stresses can become your safe space. Letting others know you feel alone helps you realize an important fact: you are not alone. Someone out there is dealing with loss, with bills, with children who don’t want to listen, and so on.   

Whatever your outlet for self-care is, it doesn’t mean abandoning your duties. It means taking a break from them for a little bit to get our heads straight. This is no different from moms giving themselves spa days or a night out with the girls.

As for me, in these last few years, I have transitioned. I’ve become less of a stay-at-home dad by taking on other roles. Being a father isn’t all that defines me anymore. I am also an author, a teacher, a husband, a friend, a son, a son-in-law, a heck of a cook and so much more. 

I am defined, but the definition of me is always changing and I truly believe the same can be said about you.­

You are defined. 

You have depth and emotion. 

You are loved.

Even if you feel like you don’t see it, know that others see it in you.

And never let yourself get to the point of feeling like an undefined muddle of paint splotches on a canvas. And like the Henry Taylor painting, don’t keep your screams bottled up because that can often lead to an explosive result.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio via Pexels.

When it comes to dynamic duos, Batman and Robin of Gotham have nothing on Led and Jake Bradshaw of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Led, 48, a professional comic book illustrator, and his son, Jake, an 11-year-old with autism, have bonded over superheroes and comic books. But flash back to nearly eight years ago, when Jake was first diagnosed — Led wondered what the future held for his son. He worried about their relationship. He knew nothing about autism but began reading everything he could and asking therapists and other professionals lots of questions.

While scrolling the internet, looking for the latest sci-fi and comic book news, he came across a reference to art therapy and its impact for children with autism. Led, who began drawing at age 3 and never stopped, would add drawing for 25 minutes every day to Jake’s routine. Colors were used to express emotions. Led would engage Jake and ask why he was happy, angry or sad.

He beamed over his son’s obsession with superheroes, reminding him of his younger self. Jake had a speech delay but Led indicated he didn’t recognize it as a sign of autism. Art, something Led was totally at ease with, could help Jake express himself, even without words. He empowered Jake to draw himself as a superhero. That’s when things really took off.

Jake Jetpulse: A superhero with autism born

By embracing Jake’s passion, while luring him into learning, they have created a series of comic/workbooks, The Adventures of Jake Jetpulse, that gives readers a glimpse into Jake’s life on the spectrum.

The villains and monsters in Jake Jetpulse comics are from Jake’s nightmares, Led said. Jake would draw them and name them. To fight off the monsters, Led made “monster repellant spray.”

“I didn’t know what I was walking into. I was just being an attentive dad,” Led said. “I’ve created the superhero universe with him. The stories come from his experience, and I draw to bring it to life.”

Little did Jake realize, he was reading and learning while gaining more confidence. His teacher at school, at the time, shared the comic and activity books with other children.

“If you’re diagnosed with autism, that’s not bad,” Jake said. “It’s OK. You’re still unique and you can do anything.”

Working on social skills at school

Jake brings his creativity and his love of writing and drawing to his classroom at AHRC New York City’s Brooklyn Blue Feather Elementary School.

If it was up to Jake, “he would sit and draw all day,” said Rose Dorcia, his teacher. He is friendly, sociable, talkative, and very inquisitive, she added. “He reads very well, with good pronunciation and he understands most of what he reads.”

Like other children on the spectrum, Jake struggles with social skills. Rose said he’s learning how to approach other children if he can join their activity in an appropriate manner. He’s also working on reading body language, she said.

Led also continues to learn, every day from Jake. By encouraging Jake to pursue his special interests, he has learned to communicate better with him.

Led’s tip for other parents of children with autism?

“Do everything you can to be the best advocate for your child,” Led said. “Establish relationships with therapists and others who work with your child. Ask them, ‘What can I do at home, so my child doesn’t forget this.’”

And most importantly, he added, “make things fun.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AHRC New York City is a nonprofit organization that advocates for people who are neurodiverse to lead full and equitable lives. It helps more than 15,000 people annually, and calls for better education, living arrangements, prospects for work and fuller lives in the community for the neurodiverse.

My 2-year-old daughter placed her head on my shoulder while I investigated every face in Picasso’s Le Moulin de la Galette.

I explained to her that this painting was an earlier work by Picasso, before he began to create his own unique style. We stood while I chatted away about Moulin being Picasso’s first painting in Paris and the epicurean body languages of the painted figures over to Kandinsky’s Composition 8. I bent down and pointed at the geometric war taking place while circles provide warmth and calmness. With a quiet voice, I spoke about the circles within the painting and how they bring attention to the other shapes while providing a sense of tranquility.

And then I asked her to count the circles.

Moving from one painting and sculpture inside the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum to the next, I quietly explained the art pieces the best I could. I am not an artist nor do I have a deep understanding of art, but I appreciate the craft and the pieces. There were times my daughter decided she had enough and walked away. And there were moments when it seemed like she would let me talk for hours. I held her hand, cradled her in my arms, or ran after in her to keep her from touching the artwork. At the end of our Guggenheim experience, we split a brownie and a croissant in the museum’s café.

Chances are, my daughter will not remember our day together. Sure, there is the possibility that a memory is stored and will appear at a particular time. However, I will always remember the first time I took my daughter to the Guggenheim.

Fatherhood isn’t a one-off experience where I do something fun and great occasionally and hope it carries my children through their life. It is one day built upon the next. Like Picasso’s artwork, my fatherhood style has evolved over the years. At first, I was a carbon copy of all the dads I studied in parenting books. As time moved along, I developed my own kind of parenting. And like Kandinsky, there are moments of chaos, but within the chaos, I try (TRY!) to provide peace and bring everyone together.

Ticket information:

• Adults: $25
• Students and Seniors (65+) $18.
• Under 12: Free
• Membership: $75 per year for individual or $160 for family
• To skip the line and purchase online, click here.
• On Saturdays between 5 and 8 p.m., tickets are “pay what you wish” donation based.

Hours:

• Monday-Wednesday, Friday, Sunday: 10 a.m. – 5:30 p.m.
• Thursday: Closed
• Saturday: 10 a.m. – 8 p.m.

Activities for Kids:

The Guggenheim offers regular programming for children, including art classes and art appreciation, as well as tours geared for young kids and family activities. For details, see its website’s For Families section.

Disclosure: We proudly partnered with WaterWipes for this event and post.

Have you ever wanted to do a big art project with your kids at home, but dreaded cleaning up the table, walls, kids, brushes, and pets afterward? It can be stressful just thinking about it!

Thanks to WaterWipes, an Ireland-based company founded by a concerned parent seeking a better baby wipe, we had the perfect opportunity get super dirty at the Zimmer Children’s Museum “Art Crawl” without needing to worry about the cleanup!

The Zimmer Children’s Museum is an interactive museum that allows children and parents to explore everything from water play to shopping for groceries. There is even a small model plane! The Zimmer regularly hosts events like Etch-A-Sketch Day, safety awareness days, and a summer camp.

For our L.A. Dads Group, they set up a whole room covered in butcher paper with every color of the rainbow for kids (and dads) to paint to their hearts’ desire! There was also an art table for older kids who didn’t want to run around in their underwear getting covered in paint, and snacks for both kids and adults.

And the best part of the day? After all the fun was done, our fathers used WaterWipes to clean off little faces, ears, hair, hands, toes and more! WaterWipes are the world’s purest baby wipes made with 99.9% water and a drop of fruit extract. They  were even awarded the National Eczema Association Seal of Acceptance.

“WaterWipes are great. We have been using them since our first child was born three years ago,” said Kevin “Kwick” Wick, father of a 3- and a 1-year-old. “They are very pure – just water added and that’s pretty much it.”

WaterWipes are available through many major online and brick-and-mortar retailers nationwide. For more information, visit www.WaterWipes.com/us.

My wife and I first visited the National Museum of the American Indian – New York 13 years ago when we moved to NYC. It was also one of our favorite spots to take friends when they visited. And with enough blood in my body that I can rightfully claim to be a small part Native American (Choctaw), my kids feel an intimate connection to the displays.

The museum, part of the Smithsonian Institute and officially called the National Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center, celebrates American Indians and their history. There are rooms filled with paintings, pictures, artifacts and stories from all the major tribes. The Circle of Dance display is my favorite — a variety of clothing used for celebrations is displayed in a beautiful large room, while a large screen at the end of the room plays videos of the dances for which the clothing is used. The size of the room allows kids to try the dance steps they are witnessing on the screen for themselves.

Located in lower Manhattan inside the Alexander Hamilton Customs House, which is a beautiful feat of architecture constructed between 1902 – 1907, the museum is also worth visiting for its historical and architectural significance. The inside of the Beaux-Arts building is ornately detailed and many paintings and frescos date to the building’s early days. Some of the paintings do not quite fit the current use of the building, such as paintings that are left over from when one of the rooms showcased the greatest naval commanders in history. It is odd to see the glorified faces of those who brought disease, death, and persecution to American Indians next to the faces of American Indians commemorated throughout the museum.

There are other great reasons to visit with kids, such as Toddler Music Time, where little ones can sing and dance and create fun-themed crafts. My 3-year-old had a great time singing songs and pretending to be an animal. My 11-year-old and 9-year-old didn’t attend any of the classes, but they enjoyed walking around the museum and learning about American Indians while we were occupied with the class. As we usually do when visiting museums, my kids brought their sketchbooks and had a great time drawing some of their favorite exhibits.

The National Museum of the American Indian is open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and until 8 p.m. on Thursdays. Admission is free, but they love donations, of course.

The museum is located at One Bowling Green in lower Manhattan. The closest subway stop is Bowling Green on the 4 and 5 lines, though it is a short walk from the Whitehall St/South Ferry stations of the 1 and R lines.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad.

Editor’s note: The month-long residency of street artist Banksy in New York caused quite a sensation among the people of the Big Apple. NYC Dad Brandon Garcia and his son created a commotion of their own when they recently tried to check out one of his  spray art creations.

What could possible go wrong if I decided to strap on the Baby Bjorn and venture from the Upper Eastside to West 24th Street to see the new Banksy art.

What the hell was I thinking? Seriously? I should have known better. My 10-month-old son had sucked down 6 ounces of formula and ate 3.5 ounces of some fruit mix after his mid-morning hour long nap. I thought I was safe. I changed his diaper and looked out the window and saw no clouds in the sky, a nice blue mid-60’s day in the city which was as tempting as a mermaid inviting you to go swimming. Let’s rock.

I was shocked by how quickly I was out the door with him hanging on the front of me. Walking to 86th Street for a quick ride on the express train to Grand Central was brisk but the fact that my son now weighs around 20 pounds, give or take, turns the simple task of walking into a workout. Oh well I thought, at least its nice outside.

Stairs, stairs and more stairs awaited me at 86th Street then again at Grand Central. How a handicapped person moves around this city is beyond me. While I walked the long corridor to the shuttle train my thighs and calves began to burn. Damn! This is more of a workout than I thought it was going to be. More stairs between the shuttle and the 1 train.

I was exhausted and thirsty by the time I got back to street level at 23rd street so my first stop was a Duane Reade for some Gatorade. I opened and downed it at the register.

The kid ringing me up said, “That looks like quite the workout?”

I replied, “Yeah and I’m coming down from the Upper East Side. I’m already beat.”

The kid laughed, “Have a nice day.” Stepping out to the bright sunshine I thought to myself maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea. Screw it, onward.

The corner of 24th & 10th is one loud clusterfuck filled with ear-piercing traffic horns, a repair station for NYC cabs complete with more honking and yelling, trucks supplying cement to a construction site and tourists gawking at the dude wearing a baby walking down the street. I naively thought that maybe amongst all this mess nobody cared about the Banksy art.

Nope… UGH! About 75 people were clamoring over each other to take pictures. No worries. I have my son strapped to my body for safety, meaning I don’t have to worry about pissing people off with my stroller. Perfect way to see art, right? RIGHT?

The two paintings, graffiti or whatever you want to call them, were hanging from the Highline and cordoned off to appear like a makeshift outdoor museum. People could wait to see the art up close and enjoy refreshments but I was five to seven rows of people back from the yellow tape. No problem, I have the kid strapped to my front and seriously how long could it take?

Right about the time I thought I could do this a large concrete mixing truck arrived and honked a bull horn at all the people looking at the Banksy. My son was scared out of his mind and began screaming.

Then some guy looking like he was in charge of the construction site began yelling at people to get out of the way. While calming my son down I moved closer to the throng of people hoping to get into the hipster art bliss.

Out of nowhere a 20-something girl in front of me yelled, “OUCH.” She turned and gave me the dirtiest look, like I had just groped her in midst of all this madness. I smiled nervously and said to anyone listening, “Okay? Not sure what that was about.”

All I could do was use this to inch my way closer. I realized at this point I needed to back away from all the commotion to calm my son down. As I backed out of the scrum I realized that my son was clenching his left fist.

“Benjamin. What is that,” I said as I walked away. It was none other than a wad of hair that he plucked from the girl. “Oh God. It’s time to go.”

See all the Banksy art installments from October on www.banksyny.com.