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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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This blog post, which first appeared here in 2017, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

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

Being a stay-at-home dad with a daughter has particular challenges.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my daughter. She can be the sweetest, most compassionate, caring and loving person. I cannot describe how much I love her hugs and kisses.

But she always wants to go into the women’s restroom. Whenever we are out, I always pause before deciding what to do. Do I just let her go by herself? What if she locks herself into the stall, can’t turn on the water or reach the soap? How do I not look awkward waiting patiently outside the women’s room?

In public places, such as airports and parks, I prefer to take her with me into the men’s room. However, when she has to go, she has to go! One time, we were at a park when she just ran into the women’s room, and as I ran after her, I stopped in my tracks when I saw the security camera at the entrance. I didn’t want the cops to show up and arrest me for going after a girl in the women’s room!

I was almost arrested once. One day at Santa Monica Pier here in Los Angeles, my daughter was about to pee her pants but we found the men’s room closed for cleaning. I stood at the door of the women’s room, yelling inside every 30 seconds to make sure she was OK. Just as she finished up, a cop car showed up to “check” that I wasn’t some “weird guy” on the pier Once the officer saw my young daughter, he understood my predicament.

Taking her to the men’s room can be equally awkward now that she knows that boys have penises and girls have “jinas.” She asks why boys get to pee at the urinal and she cannot. Sometimes she walks up to other people while they are using the urinal. This is when I realized the concept of privacy isn’t inherent; it has to be taught. Add to that the judgemental looks you get from others when a father helps his daughter to the men’s restroom. Those looks of indignation that “mom” should be doing it (or the assumption that there is even a mom) or that unsolicited advice on how to raise your child. Y

Another restroom challenge is when I have to go and ask her to “stay put” for just enough time to allow me to finish my business. Most of the time, she listens. One time, however, we were visiting the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. She was so thrilled by the experience of seeing the bridge that she forgot to tell us she had to pee, and she started to pee in her car seat. We quickly jumped out of the car to go to the restroom and clean up. It was a big public restroom with dozens of people coming in and out.

After I had cleaned her up, I asked her to wait while I used the facilities. But she wanted to see the bridge again! I almost peed my pants as I ran outside— zipper still down and screaming her name—to catch her. Thankfully, I caught her just before she stepped into the road to cross the parking lot.

I breathe a sigh of relief when a family restroom is available because we can all use the restroom together without a challenge arising. I can change my toddler. We can both go to the restroom in private. I don’t have to worry about her running out the door. It’s nice to see more restaurants, malls and public sites have family restrooms. Sadly, too many non-family people use them for the same reason that I like using them–privacy. It is frustrating when I have waited patiently, too many times, outside the family room just to see a non-parent come out and don’t care even to apologize when they see a family waiting–even when my daughter is doing the “potty” dance. We need more family rooms and stricter enforcement of rules around them so actual families can use them.

Fellow dads—how do you navigate going to the restroom challenge in public facilities? How do you address privacy issues? Do you have any fun stories to share? Post them in the comment section!

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This blog post, which first appeared on our L.A. Dads Group blog in 2017, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

When it comes to music, I am a fairly avid metalhead. I am a drummer and skilled air guitarist. I even rocked a mullet with pride through my teen years and well into college. As hard rock is in my blood I assumed, like other genetic traits, my headbanging passion would be passed on to my children. 

When my wife and I found out we were having our first baby, I was thrilled with the notion of educating my child, girl or boy, in the artistry of classic “dad rock” legends like Eric Clapton, Neil Peart, and Pete Townsend. One of the greatest gifts I received as a father-to-be, was a set of CDs that set classic rock songs to lullaby music. While I find something somewhat insidious about playing “Stairway to Heaven” set to the chimes of a lullaby for your sleepy infant, I was secure knowing it was the right thing to do. To complete this induction, after my first daughter was born, I went out and got the perfect complementary clothing: a Rush onesie. I think at one point we had a Black Sabbath outfit, too. All to pass on my love for this music to my daughter. 

Well, have you ever seen the movie This is 40? In one scene, the father (played by Paul Rudd) tries to “enhance” his daughters’ musical education. Dismissing the pop-style tween music that seems to dominate the music scene these days, he tries to introduce them to Alice in Chains. The early Alice in Chains. Steeped in brooding lyrics and heavy guitars. Specifically a song about a man trying to get home from the Vietnam War. That’s some hard-core dad rock. A tough sell for most people much less young girls. In his frustration, he comments crudely on how he wishes just one of them was a boy. 

I have two daughters now. I couldn’t have ever anticipated it, but there is something unbelievably sweet about having girls that I don’t find myself yearning for a boy as many dads do. A boy who would want to rock out would be fantastic, though. … (sigh)

A Rush to dad rock heaven

A good friend and fellow dad and I used to make an annual pilgrimage to see at least one Rush concert a year when they were touring. He has a son a few years older than my daughter and this kid loves Rush. He has his favorite songs, sings along, the whole deal. When we used to go to see Rush, we’d see many dads with their sons and daughters. It was a wholesome show of great music, lasers and video. Completely family-friendly. It has been a dream of mine to someday take my daughters, when they are old enough to enjoy it, to a concert of one of my favorite bands from my youth. Of course, I fear the advancing ages of those bands may prevent it, but my bigger fear is that they simply won’t want to go. 

When my eldest daughter was around 18 months, I would play many of my favorite songs for her and dance around the living room to try and get her excited by it. She would placate me for a few minutes before exclaiming, “Daddy, I don’t like this sound.  Turn it off.” Every time, deflated, I would capitulate. I would tell myself, ”Well, Rush (or whatever band it was) is an acquired taste. Progressive and grunge is a tough sell. I should start with Journey or The Eagles. You know, old-school dad rock.”

Two years later, I have not had much luck. Not for a lack of trying, though.

It’s got a backbeat you can’t lose it

I came home from work last week to find my eldest daughter, now almost 4, and my wife bouncing around the apartment, elated to be singing “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepson. My daughter had an enormous grin on her face, laughing so hard she could barely sing and dance. “Again mommy,” she screamed over and over again. 

She now sings the song herself on command for anyone who will listen. A tiny little piece of me cringes on the inside every time I hear it. Yes, it’s adorable and she is so full of life when she sings it and I love to hear her do it, but a part of me cringes. Every time. 

The other day, my youngest daughter (9 months old) was in a teething crying fit that I could not resolve. My wife and other daughter were out. I fired up some random tunes to try and soothe her. 

The raw heavy guitars of Blue Oyster Cult came on.

And, to my complete surprise, she just stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at me and smiled. 

I sang the song to her and she laughed. This went on for a good 20 minutes. Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll indeed. 

It never ceases to amaze me the personalities that our kids have from birth. My girls are still quite young and I won’t ever give up on their musical education. In the end they both have a deep love for music. Whether its Pink Floyd or Taylor Swift, I suppose it’s that deep love of music that I need for them. If they love their music as much as I love mine, I guess I did OK.

This article originally ran in 2013, and has been since updated. Dad rock photo by Alena Darmel via Pexels.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about a dad’s introverted teen daughter comes from 2018.

I recently ran into the mother of a girl at my daughter’s high school. Both our kids are seniors this year; they know each other and are casual friends.

After congenial hellos in the line at our neighborhood coffeehouse, she asked, “So! What are Riley’s plans after graduation?”

We’re not totally sure yet, but are looking at colleges in the area.

“The whole college thing is overwhelming, isn’t it?” the mom exclaimed. “How are her grades? How are her SATs scores? Are you applying to places that put a big emphasis on extracurriculars?”

Grades were fine; test scores, fine. I had no idea how much certain schools care about extracurriculars (because of how I’m a bad dad and stuff), so I kept my answers polite but short, without elaborating much.

But this mom could not be stopped.

“Hey,” she said, “did Riley ever decide to try out for any school plays? The last time I saw you, you said she was thinking about doing theater. Theater can do wonders for a kid’s social skills and confidence. Skyler isn’t a theater kid, but she’s really loving her debate team. Plus she’s on the yearbook staff. And she’s doing cheerleading, can you believe it!?”

Riley and I had briefly talked about theater as an extracurricular pursuit, but it ultimately wasn’t for her. I said as much to the mom, then mentally kicked myself for it.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly doleful. “Sounds like she’s still our little introvert, isn’t she? You know what? It’s going to be fine. You shouldn’t worry. A lot of kids grow out of it.”

That’s when I had to suddenly use every ounce of maturity I had to excuse myself politely. It wasn’t just that her tone was condescending and offensive. It was that it was laced with the arsenic glaze of “Thank God my kid isn’t like your kid.”

Thanks for that, but I like my kid just fine, fuck you very much.

Dad and daughter — different teen spirits

I was also an introverted teen. It took me a while to come out of what I perceived at the time as my “shell.” I was shy, awkward and pretty unsocialized. (And, as it turned out, deeply, deeply closeted. But that’s a whole other bunch of blog posts.) I never stopped being weird in my own ways, but I did discover a few social skills and ended up making valuable friends, many of whom are still in my life today. I tapped into some dormant extrovert traits around my junior year. I discovered confidence through my school’s fine arts programs, learned the fine art of partying from my more rebellious friends, and found ways to connect with people from different social circles. As a result, I have deeply fond memories of high school.

But when I became a parent, I firmly told myself that when my daughter became a teenager, I wouldn’t use my own experience as a barometer for what was and wasn’t right for her — a common parenting mistake.

This is good because while my high school experience was about friends, school activities, and sneaking out to late-night parties, my teen daughter is not.

Her high school experience has been different. She has a couple of friends, but very rarely does she have anyone over after school to study or hang out. She’s involved in a couple of afterschool activities, but nothing that has enlarged her social sphere. She doesn’t party. She spends most weekends at home with us and seems content with that. She’s a straight-laced, good kid.

Yes, my daughter is an introverted teen.

Neither she nor I need a Myers-Briggs test to tell us that. I see it in her behavior, and I recently came to appreciate it more than I used to.

Why do people worry about introverted teens or introversion in kids in general?

Because introversion so often runs against what we’re told are valuable skills: sociability, confidence in large groups, and the overall ability to be the life of the party. It’s the stuff of popularity and acceptance. The stuff we see in the kid Most Likely To Do Everything Impressive After Graduation.

In our cultural context, despite what people claim to understand today about the range of personality types, and the values that come with being both an extrovert and an introvert … the extrovert still always seems to win.

Introverted teen at her best

What does life with my introverted teen daughter look like?

• She is smart and funny, yet has limited energy to sustain it with others.
• She likes being around people and has fun in social settings, as long as she can retreat for short breaks to re-energize.
• She likes parties as long as she has an exit strategy available to her. She doesn’t like the feeling of being trapped someplace where there are tons of people. (You know what? Me neither.)
• She likes attention, but only when she knows to expect it, and only in measured doses. In other words, she wouldn’t like having friends throw her a huge surprise birthday party. She does, however, like getting together with a few friends at a time to hang out.
• She has friends but prefers them at arm’s length much of the time. She doesn’t do the deep sharing thing easily with others. The close friends she does have, she cares for deeply.
• She’s a good listener with tremendous intuitive skills. She pays attention. Nothing gets by her. When I’m feeling sad or upset, she will notice and ask what’s wrong. And because she’s so intuitive, I can’t get away with the classic parental deflection answer: “Oh, I’m just a little tired.” She sees right through that.
• She enjoys her own company and is almost completely immune to peer pressure. No one will ever pressure her into doing something she doesn’t want to do.
• She spends her free time diving deep into her own artistic creativity, drawing, sketching and manifesting a world around her that’s more colorful than the one others see.
• She solves problems and addresses challenges by talking them out to herself, rather than looking for others to serve as a sounding board. This means she’s got resilience, resourcefulness, and the ability to think critically on her own.

I do believe that there’s a healthy middle ground between extroversion and introversion, of course. The ability to draw energy both from being with others and from taking time alone? That sounds great. Do you know anyone who has that particular yin-yang balancing act down?

My daughter still has growing to do. As always, I look forward to seeing how she’ll evolve as adulthood approaches. But do I want her introversion to end up being just a phase? Do I want my wonderfully strange, creative, thoughtful girl to “grow out of it?”

Not even a little bit.

Introverted teen photo by Igor Cancarevic on Unsplash

Announced by the clatter of a vintage typewriter, a text message from my wife illuminated my phone. The message contained photographic proof of a mission accomplished: our daughter’s ears were now pierced.

In the photo, she stood in profile, her hair pulled back, a tiny earring adorning her left lobe. A stud, crafted in the form of a red heart outlined in gold, glinted in the light.

When my daughter returned home, her face beaming with excitement, she rushed over to me.

“Daddy, I was so brave!”

“Yes, you certainly were, sweetie.”

Bravery has been a consistent theme of late with my daughter. It started this past spring when she expressed her desire to conquer the water by learning how to swim. This led to “Swim Girl Summer,” the name we gave the season in a nod to her weekly swim lessons.

But now, with her ear lobes properly punctured, our daughter has ushered in a new era: Fly Girl Fall.

‘Mommy, I’m ready to be brave.’

The seeds of this season were planted in the months leading up to her 9^th birthday in August.

My daughter dug through her avalanche of toys and trinkets to unearth a pair of purple clip-on earrings shaped like butterflies that a friend gifted her. She’d stopped wearing them months earlier, but was suddenly sporting them as if they were prized possessions. Her fascination with earrings reached a point where she started using a glue stick to affix pink beads to her earlobes—and proudly wearing them beyond the confines of our home.

Sometimes our children show us better than they can tell us. It was obvious she wanted her ears pierced.

My wife had postponed getting our daughter’s ears pierced when she was a baby. She feared the earrings might appear disproportionate to the size of our daughter’s head, an effect she humorously likened to resembling “Frankenstein.” And as our daughter grew older, we wondered if she could tolerate the piercing procedure and the subsequent healing period. But after my wife explained that getting her ears pierced may be uncomfortable, our daughter declared, “Mommy, I’m ready to be brave.”

So my wife scheduled the piercing appointment for the first Saturday in August as a birthday gift.

Reflection of child’s unique personality

As parents, we often find ourselves marking our children’s growth by traditional developmental milestones. We wait eagerly for them to take their first steps, say their first words, and lose their first tooth. These milestones are important, of course, but the true markers of growth aren’t confined to developmental timelines. They’re reflected in a child’s unique personality and the choices they make.

I came to see that my daughter’s desire for pierced ears was not just about keeping up with her friends or being like Mommy. It was an expression of her individuality.

Our daughter, who has autism, has always been a determined and independent spirit. “Self-directed” is how her developmental pediatrician once described her. From a young age, she approached challenges with the tenacity of a boxer, a trait that has always stuck with me because I was wearing a Muhammad Ali shirt the day she was born. Whether learning to tie her shoes or how to regulate her big emotions, she’s tackled each task in her own way. Getting her ears pierced was just another manifestation of her growing into her own person.

In a world that often fits children into predefined boxes, my daughter is beginning to forge her own path. It’s in the songs she chooses to sing, the books she chooses to read, and now, the earrings she chooses to wear.

Whenever I look at that photo of my daughter’s freshly pierced ears, I feel pride for the confident young girl she’s becoming. But also a touch of wistfulness for the days when she was small enough to cradle in my arms.

I replied to my wife’s text message with a heart emoji. The little red heart outlined in gold hanging from my daughter’s ear is not just an earring. It’s a symbol of her blossoming individuality, a reminder that she’s finding her own place in the world, one small choice at a time.

Photo contributed by the Briggs family.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2014.

There’s a theme circulating on the Internet right now, mostly related to prom season – dads who threaten their daughters’ dates.

I’ve seen it on T-shirts, tweets, Facebook messages, and other places. The posts usually include a reference to the father’s guns, bullets, and, sometimes, boots. A list outlines the father’s expectations for the potential boyfriend and usually ends with a comment that if some boy mistreats his daughter in any way, then the above-mentioned guns/bullets/boots will be used on said guy.

These are well-meaning dads who want to display their devotion to their daughters, I’m sure. And as the father of a little girl, I get it.

I understand the love you have for your daughter, but let me be clear. If you mistreat any of my sons when they show up to your 1950s doorstep to take your daughter out on a date, you’ll have to answer to me.

I do not take disrespect lightly and that rings true from adult to child. I’m teaching my sons and daughter to respect others, so don’t be a jerk and act like a tough guy when my boys come around your girls.

Because you know what? If you act that way, they won’t come around and your daughter will probably sneak out to meet them anyway.

I get it. I get that you want to preserve your daughter’s innocence. That you want to be the only man in your daughter’s life. But you won’t be. So instead of bragging about how you’ll threaten your daughter’s dates with your guns and the “whooping” you’re going to give that boy if he breaks her heart or mistreats her, teach your daughter:

To stick up for herself and others.

To be wise and independent.

To be smart and courageous.

To value her own image and hold it in high self-esteem.

To make good choices.

To hold on to something that’s worth waiting for (and that means having “The Talk” with them). That’s what I’m teaching my girl … and my boys.

So go ahead and post your blah-blah-blah and that you have blah-blah-blah and you’ll do blah-blah-blah if some guy does blah-blah-blah.

But I suggest, instead, that you quit talking and start raising. (And encouraging, for that matter.) Throwing out ridiculous threats won’t stop boys and girls from doing anything. The best way to protect them is to raise them to make good decisions for themselves.  Have frank discussions about the risks of engaging in certain behaviors and the benefits of waiting for the one that may change their lives for the better. And you don’t want to risk scaring away the person that could do that.

Threaten daughter’s dates photo: © Mdv Edwards / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2016.

Since the internet and calendar tell me I’ve got a kid approaching age 13, I offer you eight observations that will give you important insight into what you need to know about raising a tween.

1. Your Silence is Golden … Sometimes

I get it, fellow dads, you’re fixers. Same here. But when you’re raising a tween you will find she will go through some stuff that you can’t fix, complicated stuff that she doesn’t even want you to try to fix. Often during this time, a steady shoulder to lean on — literally and figuratively — is all that’s required of you. You’ll know when your sage advice and vaguely related stories of your own youth are needed. That’s when you can strap on your cape and save the day.

2. What are You Wearing/Doing to Your Hair?

Tweens will, especially if they weren’t permitted to have any decision-making power in their “younger days,” push boundaries and your buttons when it comes to fashion. While you should have been granting them this freedom all along, it is important to understand they are trying to define themselves to the world. This is a good and important thing. So pick your battles wisely. Eventually, the “Can I color my hair?” or “Who said you could color your hair?” conversation will happen. Have a spare towel and a pair of plastic gloves at the ready.

3. Watch What Your Face is Really Saying

Michelle Icard nails it in her great book, Middle School Makeover: You may think you are saying nothing while your tween opens up about him or her or them or it but your face is anything but quiet. Raising a tween means paying more attention to your facial expressions than you ever thought necessary. (Listen to the Modern Dads Podcast with Michelle Icard about this very topic!)

4. Smell Like Tween Spirit – Eww

Babies smell like rainbows. Toddlers like every food ever made AND then combined. Tweens … well, tweens smell like sweat and hormones and awkwardness. Water bill be damned, daily showers are now essential.

5. It’ll Inevitably Come Unhinged Raising a Tween

Usually, by using nothing more than a Phillips head screwdriver, you can take a door off its hinges. Keep this in mind if door slamming becomes a part of your life when raising a tween because it gets awfully hard to slam something that isn’t there.

Now for a few things that might fly in the face of conventional wisdom about raising a tween …

6. They’re Never Too Old for a Snuggle

Admittedly, it might not happen as frequently as when they were 5 and maybe not in front of certain (or any) friends, but your tween will still crave a good snuggle and they won’t necessarily refuse a hand to hold while walking into a concert with you either.

7. You Can’t Spell ‘School’ Without ‘Fun’

OK. None of the letters in “fun” are found in “school” but tweens, while obviously growing up, are still kids and kids like having fun. That’s a fact. It’s important to remember not to strip all of the school time fun away just because the kids are starting to look like mini-adults.

8. Toys are Still Fun

It’s not all texting and dystopian books with tweens, or at least it doesn’t have to be. Littlest Pets, Matchbox cars, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Legos, Minions, and more: pop culture toy icons don’t fade away when a kid turns 10 (only to return a decade later when that kid is suddenly a hipster 20-year-old). They are still fun and if given the opportunity to enjoy an elongated childhood, your tween can and will still be a kid.

A version of this first appeared on Out with the Kids. Photo: © Alinute / Adobe Stock.

In hope of avoiding early morning meltdowns over clothing choices, I had our 3-year-old pick her dress the night before. It’s white with pink, blue and polka-dotted raindrops all over. She went to bed that night happy with her decision. I was hopeful it was enough to help us through the morning routine that has become such a challenge of late.

When I went into her room the next morning, she was already wide awake, singing and talking to herself. I sat on the floor, engaging her in chatter while staying alert for signs she was ready to turn against me.

And when I sensed things were about to turn, I brought up the dress. It patiently waited on the hanger, dangling from a dresser knob. Once she remembered it, she eagerly got up and beckoned me to help her put it on.

After a failed attempt to put it on feet-first (the neck is too small to fit around her waist), she had her first meltdown of the day. Next, we tried the head-first approach, which worked. I pointed out how pretty the dress looked on her and asked if she’d like to look in the mirror to see for herself. She didn’t bite at that, but she changed her tune when I brought up the choice of what socks should complete the outfit.

Socks are on, we were ready to move on. As we walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, I hear something I was not prepared for.

“Daddy, I want makeup so I can look pretty.”

I instantly recoil.

Wearing makeup starts … at home?

My mind raced to determine where our toddler got this idea. Who told our child she needed lipstick, blush and mascara to look pretty? Was it one of her friends at daycare who has an older sister? Did one of the cartoon princesses she adores take a trip to beauty school in an episode she watched? Or was it in an article from one of the Toddler Cosmopolitan magazines I’ve seen lying about in her room? I’ve been meaning to cancel that subscription.

Then I remembered.

My wife let her put on makeup recently. She was trying to calm her down and give her something to do while they were getting ready for a weekend getaway.

I doubt my wife actually said something this absurd to our child, but now it appears the seed had been planted. We needed to do something about it.

I stalled for time. What’s the right thing to say to a 3-year-old girl about what qualifies as “pretty”? As a parent, I thought this conversation would come much later. Maybe I’d even be prepared for it by then. But that’s the thing: parenthood can throw lots of things your way when you’re not ready for them, and it’s up to you to sort them out and make the best of the situation.

+ Read: 5 things to know about kids and makeup +

On top of that, I’m a guy. I grew up concerned about action figures, cartoons and video games. I could not have cared less about how I looked as long as I was comfortable.

Now, as the father of a girl, I’m in a world I know very little about. I’m grateful I have my wife to help me through these moments, but I also want to take an active role no matter what it involves. I will absolutely learn about issues young girls face when the time comes, but for now, I want my child to be a child. I want the focus to be on who she wants to be as an individual, rather than how she looks. Or, for at least as long as that’s possible.

Finding words of wisdom

Eventually, I found my words.

“You don’t need makeup to look pretty. You’re pretty already and I love you,” I said.

If this was a TV sitcom, my child would stop and think about what I had just said. Then, she’d agree with me. We’d share a hug and a smile. One of us would then say something witty and the audience would laugh and applaud.

But in real life, my child responded with a louder and more stern demand for her face to be painted.

After some more back and forth I eventually laid down the law. “You’re 3 years old and you don’t need makeup,” I said.

She wailed and went to a corner to pout. I took this new meltdown as a chance to finish getting ready myself and let her cool off.

After some time, I managed to convince her to get to daycare. But right before we left she stopped and asked to look at herself in the mirror.

I followed close behind and watched her admire her dress and hair in the mirror, eyes full of stars and a huge grin on her face. I knelt beside her, gave her a big hug, and said, “I know you wanted to wear the makeup to look pretty, but you’re pretty even without it. See?”

She smiled again. I held out my hand to lead her off to school for the day.

As we walked, hand in hand, I thought about how both wonderful and challenging life as a parent can be. As much as I don’t want my child to get older and face the harsh realities that await her, I will do everything I can to be there for her when things get tough. I love her and think that she’s pretty and beautiful no matter what clothes she wears or what she puts on her face.

Although if I had my way, she’d walk out of the house dressed like this for as long as possible. Pretty, indeed.

A version of makeup first appeared on Our Little Mixtape. Photo: © Irina Glazaceva / Adobe Stock.

A meme poking fun at parents who had to balance the holidays with throwing parties for their kids who had mid-to-late December birthdays recently floated around the internet. As soon as I saw it, I had to chuckle because, in the middle of trying to make sure everything was in order for Christmas, I had to think to myself, “What about Eden’s birthday?” Sure, the Amazon orders for my son’s gifts from Santa had already been placed, and my wife was taken care of, but what were we going to do on the 27th, my daughter’s birthday?

Back in mid-2021, my wife learned she was pregnant with Baby No. 2. At that time, we were finally finding our footing as parents of a 2-year-old. We were sleeping pretty well and were in that sweet spot before the “terrible twos” really started to show their ugly face. Nonetheless, it was exciting for us to soon grow from a family of three to four.

I did the math in my head and guessed we were likely looking at a December baby. When we went to the OBGYN for our first appointment, they confirmed that Baby Girl Hudson would be due on Christmas Day! Throughout that year, I was back and forth on where I stood on having a Christmas baby. On one hand, I thought it would be really cool. I have some friends and family who are Christmas babies and they love it. And besides, it would be the easiest birthday to remember. On the other hand, I thought about how difficult it could potentially be to try and balance a child’s birthday with everything that comes with Christmas. I thought about how my child would possibly never be able to have a “real” birthday party because her friends would always be with their families and loved ones on Christmas.

Fast forward to December 2021. Christmas eventually came and went with no baby. Our precious Eden ended up coming two days later on Dec. 27. Although it is still the holiday season, she’ll have a day just for her.

As we approached her first birthday a few weeks ago, it was a joy to be able to celebrate with our extended family who we were with for Christmas. It made me realize that balancing the holidays with your child’s birthday isn’t a bad thing at all. We ended up singing “Happy Birthday” and having cake the night of Christmas. It was the perfect end to a beautiful, albeit long, day. Just as I did when my son turned one, I took some time to reflect on my first year as a girl dad and father of two. Three things (among many others) have stood out:

Experience matters

When our son came along, I had no idea what I was doing. I’d never changed a diaper before he was born. It was trial by fire until we sort of figured out what we were doing. When Eden came along, I was three years in the game as a dad. A seasoned vet. I was a more confident dad this go-’round. There was really nothing that surprised me during her first year. From how to deal with the early sleepless nights, to going to the pediatrician, to being able to read and understand my wife in her postpartum state, having “been there before” made this past year much smoother.

Children can fill lifelong voids

As an only child, I’ve always wondered what it was like to grow up with a sibling. I never really dwelled on it because it was just the way life ended up for me. However, now as a dad of two, I catch myself in awe of their interactions on a daily basis. While things got off to a rocky start with Emory being jealous at first, now that we’re a year in, they are inseparable. They go to school together, play together, and show each other affection. It has allowed me to experience something as a dad, I didn’t know I needed. It’s amazing to watch – even when it gets a little testy between the two.

Little girls will melt your heart

My friends told me to get ready. Those guys who were already girl dads warned me that there would be nothing like it. That my little girl would have me wrapped around her finger. I didn’t believe it would be like that. Boy, was I wrong. I love my son unconditionally. We have a father-son bond that I pray lasts forever. But a daughter’s love is different. This past year, I’ve been softened by her presence. Her smile eases the pain of a rough day. She has given me another reason to be the best dad I can be, and even more of a reason to look forward to the holiday season each year.

Photo: © yanlev / Adobe Stock.

“What’s that?” asks my daughter, Libby.

It is a discarded dildo, laying on the dusty trail between the train station we just left and her elementary school.

In a flash, two tiny figures appear in mid-air. Over my right shoulder, a fella named Cool Hand Luke goes into high gear: “Don’t be so nervous. She’s old enough to know what’s going on. You better do it now or she’ll learn about it from TikTok and that weird friend of hers … the one who’s been in fifth grade a couple of times …”

“It looks like a branch. Where did it come from? Lemeee …,” Libby starts to reach for the abandoned sex toy.

“Don’t!” I grab my daughter’s arm.

“Why?” Libby, my relentlessly curious 10-year-old, asks. She wants answers. Now. Based on the way her eyes have narrowed into slits and are trained on me, our daily walk will go no further until I produce something sage.

The second member of my invisible entourage chimes in, one Ward Cleaver: “She is too young. I implore you: do not contaminate her mind with inappropriate images. It will play on her psyche. Tell her it is an old piece of rusted pipe.”

With Luke’s little arm wrapped around mine and Mr. Cleaver staring at me with naked disdain, I have a decision to make … and right quick.

“Ah. Well … sometimes … people …”

The words are like lead weights on my tongue. I try again:

“It’s like … when people play baseball … but not on a team … alone … in a batting cage …”

“Dad, are you sick? Your face is all sticky.” A blind man could have made Libby’s observation.

Truth and face the consequences, or …

Cool Hand Luke, swigging down his first beer of the day, sticks his face into mine. We are nose-to-nose: “What’s wrong with you, man? You want her to become a lonely, clingy cat lady? Tell her for crying out loud: you’ll both feel better. Then, we’ll all get a drink and celebrate!”

Mr. Cleaver, who had been scanning my psychological profile, snaps the folder shut, looks at me through rimless glasses, and says: “Do not repeat your father’s mistakes. Libby is entitled to have the childhood you never had. Children, whether they know it or not, need their parents to parent. Your father was … cool … and we both know how that turned out.”

When I was about my daughter’s age, I became hooked on “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, the ones where you got to decide what the hero of the story would do. It was great to be the star. If you chose right, you saved the kingdom and married the princess. But one false move and you were thrown into a dungeon on top of a tower for the rest of your life.

I took those books so seriously. I really thought they could transport me to times and places far away.

Now I’m right smack in the middle of a real-life fork in the road. What kind of woman will little Libby grow into? Depending on the answer I am about to give she will either become a kick-ass, amazon warrior who grabs the world by the tail or a sad recluse with nine cats and nothing but Netflix for company.

Pressure, anyone?

I take a deep breath, take my little girl’s hand in mine, and take the plunge: “OK, sweetheart. Here’s the thing. That thing is …”

“Libby!”

My daughter’s best friend is charging toward her from the end of the trail, right where it links with the crosswalk leading to their school. Libby bolts toward her. They nearly collide halfway between where I’m standing near the dildo and the end of the dirt path.

“What’s going on, Ellie?’”

“They’re gonna say who won. Come on!” Ellie grabs my daughter, and they head off. Today’s the big day. I completely forgot. The principal is about to announce to the entire school the winner of this year’s young architects contest.

Libby had spent hours making sure her Eiffel Tower mockup was perfect. As tired as I was some nights, commuting two hours each way every day, I would instantly snap to attention whenever she wanted to show me the work she had done that day on her masterpiece.

Waiting for me in our living room as I walked into the apartment, my mass of frustrations magically melted away. Libby needed her dad: enough said.

Heading back to the train station, I let out a laugh. I’m no architect: not even close. Chances are nothing I told Libby about her Eiffel Tower will affect the outcome of the contest.

The only thing that matters, the only thing that will decide what kind of woman my daughter grows into, is my giving a damn about her.

Kids are not messed up by bad advice, only bad parents – the kind that can’t be bothered.

Even though the train I embark on for the long ride to work is packed, all is quiet. Cool Hand Luke and Ward Cleaver have clocked out for the day, and my mind is clear.

No doubt they’ll be back the next time I have a Choose Your Own Adventure moment with Libby. Just like those books from long ago, Cool Hand Luke and Ward Cleaver mean well … but should be taken with a grain of salt.

About the author

Gidon Ben-Zvi is an accomplished writer who left behind Hollywood starlight for Jerusalem, where he and his wife are raising their four children to speak fluent English – with an Israeli accent. Ben-Zvi’s work has appeared in The Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Algemeiner, American Thinker and Jewish Journal.

Choose your own adventure photo: © Sondem / Adobe Stock.