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)

My son’s impending entry into kindergarten this fall is causing problems in my life. Not the least of which will be his eventual ability to read the channel guide as I try to quickly scroll past the names of his garbage programs.

I need to make all sorts of schedules now. Schedules mean planning, and I don’t like planning. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing six months in advance? I don’t even know what I did two days ago, and that was two days! Ago! (I went on a bar crawl, so what did you expect? I’m surprised I’m awake right now.)

But I’m a parent. Of a soon-to-be kindergartener. Planning has become an unavoidable part of my life. I mean, it’s even part of “planning” an escape.

It’s like I’m being mocked.

Unfortunately, planning and scheduling and budgeting are a major part of being a parent. It’s totally lame. But planning is what separates man from the animals. It’s what makes you an adult. It’s when you are forced to constantly look ahead and consider the future. And not just the future of your own life, but the future of other people’s lives. Endless potential trajectories require countless contingencies. Once you start factoring other people into your life, it becomes a logistical nightmare – times infinity when you have kids!

I have enough stress without having to try to predict it.

His schedule is my schedule — ripoff!

Over-planned parenthood is your everyday reality when you become a parent. In the early years, it was not such a big deal. When your kids aren’t yet in school, they don’t have tons of extracurricular activities unless you count doctor’s visits and the occasional play date. They are still pretty easy, relatively speaking. That changes fast.

So right now, let’s focus on the most important thing: vacation!

We won’t find out what school he’ll be attending for another few weeks, but already we’re faced with planning our summer and our fall. We want to go somewhere, but since the kid will be in the real deal school system in September, we are beholden to that system’s calendar. This means planning is a lot more difficult. It’s no longer about getting time off of work; it’s also about making sure the kid doesn’t miss learning about consonants and vowels or whatever the hell goes on in kindergarten these days.

(He’s been in preschool since the past September but that hardly counts; we’ve never worried about pulling him out of preschool if need be. But kindergarten is the real deal. Kindergarten is important. Kindergarten has a German name! You don’t fuck with kindergarten.)

It’s also about making sure we don’t get screwed.

Kindergarten has an actual schedule to adhere to so we have to take our vacations at the same time as everyone else. If we don’t book something now (read: two months ago), we’ll be paying through the nose for the world’s last remaining hotel room. Which means we have to plan ahead. By the time we’re done, I’m going to need a vacation just from planning my vacation.

I certainly never planned for this! I just wanted the tax break.

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A version of this first appeared on Dad and Buried.

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.

“Ohhhh, turn it up! It’s Graduation Week!”

That was my message to my 4-year-old who was about to finish pre-kindergarten and to my 10-year-old who was graduating 5th grade. Yup, two in the same week!

Graduation Day will make any dad proud and, since my dad never made it to any of my graduations, it means even more to me. My dad never made it because he had to work. How many other parents are in that same situation? I understand some people can’t make it, but if you can make up for a lost day of wages and still choose your work or other things over an hour or two of showing love — that’s no bueno.

Kids can only graduate from a grade once, so missing it when you could be there is lame. It’s a proud moment that doesn’t happen every week, and you should never miss an event at which your child is the star. Pictures of this special day are cool, but being there is priceless.

Have fun with graduation

Graduation is supposed to be for the kids, but you know dads like me still have to have our own fun with it. We wake up every day and make sure our kids get to school, so we deserve this day as much as they do.

I found a deal for $5 “big heads” on Groupon and jumped on the opportunity. It was a simple and cheap process that brought us tons of fun and memories.

The look on my kids’ faces when they saw themselves as huge cardboard heads was insane. All their friends and parents smiled while asking where we got them from.

I’m a sucker for making my kids feel like stars and making sure I had fun with it helped big time.

Take lots of photos

We have all encountered rude parents who block your view and photo ops at graduation. Often they are so excited they don’t even know they are doing it. It is what it is.

If you have to get in someone’s way to take pics of your kids, do so but don’t be rude. Don’t just barrel people over. Think about what you are doing.

Whenever my kids got called for an award or even their diploma, I weaved my way to the front to take a picture. If you’re a little shy like me, you do need to get over it. If you don’t, you will end up with some wack photos.

I abide by the rule of asking for forgiveness later, not asking for permission to capture the moment. however, always make sure you don’t mess it up for someone else. Get out of the way once you have your shot.

In conclusion, graduations are special for everyone involved. Childhood goes by way too fast and you never get a replay of moments like these. Do all you can to be there, take dope pictures and have fun. You will thank yourself when you see how proud your kids are and the smiles on their faces when you hug them. That feeling is the best.

A version of this first appeared on Cool4Dads. It first ran here in 2019 and has since been updated. Photos: James Lopez family.

Our daughter was born two weeks late. I remember going into the hospital nursery and thinking she looked more developed than most of the babies. That’s when I concluded that this meant she would hit all her infant milestones and first-year benchmarks quicker than the rest.

I often think back on a story my dad told me from his childhood. My grandmother insisted that he was potty trained at 3 months old. When asked why, my grandmother said she would look in his crib, and, if his eyes were watery, she knew he had to go to the bathroom. A silly story, of course, but it only reveals to me how we convince ourselves how special our kids are for the “normal” things that they do.

But are children smarter because they talk earlier? Will they be more adventurous and dexterous because they walk earlier? Will they have a more developed and discerning palate if they eat earlier? If we read to them earlier will they read sooner? These questions can go on and on, but I can say that by pondering these issues too much we put undue pressure on both ourselves and on our daughter.

Infant milestones: Helpful or hurtful?

Our daughter missed some of the so-called earlier first-year benchmarks that she should have hit and those so-called failures fed into our neuroses. We questioned whether we were doing anything wrong or if there was anything wrong with our daughter.

Our doctor assured us that infant developmental milestones and benchmarks were only a guide. However, in a competitive world of “whose child was more mature and more advanced,” we were left wanting. We created a self-induced paranoia that got us worried that there was something wrong with our daughter. Were we to blame? There needed to be a reason. 

I remember when I was finally assured that to keep my sanity I should ignore those infant developmental milestones and other benchmarks. We just needed to do what we could to encourage our daughter no matter where she was in the growth process. This finally hit home at one of the dance/music/movement classes we had enrolled our daughter in.

We liked the class leader because of her ability to not only encourage and enhance the life of our daughter but also to be approachable to us as parents when questions arose. I remember the day of my “approach” like it was yesterday. Concerned our daughter was lagging because she wasn’t crawling, I went to her after class. I told her my concerns and she gave me a simple answer. She told me that when our daughter was ready to walk, talk, sing, or in our case crawl then she would do it. We should allow ourselves the peace of mind to know that our daughter would do everything at her own speed and when she was ready.

Guides, not absolutes

Sure enough, she was right. 

We continue to recognize this idea while attempting to potty train our daughter. We realized she understands the idea of going to the potty and will occasionally go; however, she just isn’t ready yet. She will tell us when that time arrives. 

I believe infant benchmarks are certainly important as guides, but that is only how we should use them. There are definite warning signs of developmental delay to be aware of. However, it is generally recommended to avoid hitting the panic button until your infant is missing milestones by several weeks. Then you should talk to your doctor.

Today, we have a child who through love and encouragement is where she is supposed to be right now. When we put pressure on ourselves to follow those benchmarks as the rule of law, disappointment and doubts in our ability as parents were too often the result. There was so much more nuance to raising our daughter. Instead of paying attention to where she should be, we need to just enjoy her for who and where she was at every “benchmark” age. 

Take it from a convert. Save yourself the anguish and enjoy your children as they are.  The mood swings and tantrums of an almost 3-year-old will make you long for the days when they couldn’t crawl, roll over, or talk. 

About the author

Matthew Pasher is a part-time stay-at-home dad. He’s an avid reader, and a Liverpool fanatic who can make a mean mac and cheese from scratch when asked.

This article first ran in 2012 and has since been updated.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about Halloween with older children comes from 2017.

Last night was Halloween, and there were ghouls and fools aplenty. All our favorite shows were represented in various levels of costumed detail. Movies, too. Star Wars and superheroes, the staples of my own childhood, still remain firmly affixed upon those of my children. There were red balloons and orange buffoons, clowns from every angle.

The ratio of candy given to the amount received was squarely in their favor. My boys laughed. They had fun. They ate more sugar in one night than in the past six months combined. It was an evening of playful mischief and warmly lit wonder.

Man, I’m glad that’s over.

Except, and I’m not supposed to tell you this, it isn’t.

That may be because deadlines created by evil editors in eye shades are forcing me into actually writing this a week before, only pretending to have survived yet another Halloween. Or it may be because we live in a world so much scarier than anything the holiday can throw at us. Either way, we seem destined to live out the rest of our lives (or the next three years, whichever comes first) in a very special episode of American Gothic, but slightly more racist.

Maybe it’s both.

The thing is, I’m having a hard time getting into Halloween this year. There are several reasons, including, but not limited to the aforementioned fact that nothing make-believe can compare to the terror of our actual reality. Knowing that, it makes conversations about costumes and decorations feel mocking and hollow, the gallows humor of a Target aisle.

Also, I quit eating candy.

Additionally, the boys themselves seem less than excited about Halloween this year. As I typically fuel my enthusiasm from theirs, our home shows nothing to suggest the season but a couple of gourds rolling around our doorstep. The spiderwebs hung themselves.

For a while, I thought the boys may be apprehensive, seeing as each of them are in new, bigger schools than they were last year. Maybe they just needed some extra time to get a feel for how Halloween worked at the current level. I may have been too optimistic.

The oldest did have a costume idea that he seemed relatively interested in, where “interested” means he mentioned it once. He thought it would be fun to dress as Monty Python’s version of the Spanish Inquisition, which if you are familiar with the sketch, is quite funny. However, I had to point out that the context may be lost on some people, which would leave him as:

• a non-Catholic kid appropriating a different culture (the irony being that the Spanish Inquisition was established to deny others their respective culture through acts of great severity), and
• wearing religious stuff to a public school, which may or may not be against the rules, but certainly out of my comfort zone.

The youngest remains uncommitted.

I suppose my fear is that this is yet another milestone on the path out of childhood, the one where holidays, while still enjoyed, lose a bit of the magic that once made them monumental. They are no longer the pinnacle of a season, but rather Tuesday with a wig on it.

Factor in the heat (it’s over 100 degrees today), carry the one, allow for whatever, and you’ve got The Great Bupkis, Charlie Brown (rocks sold separately).

Honestly, I don’t know what will become of Halloween this year, if this is new for us or just a phase that we are going through. I’m pulling for the latter. I will do my best to keep the season, but at the end of the day, I just want my kids to have fun. We could all use a bit of that.

UPDATE: We did it. The boys picked out costumes on Monday after school while I went through the slim pickings of discount candy a couple of aisles over. The youngest chose a werewolf mask, the oldest a decorative light. One cut shirt and a jigsaw later I found myself sitting in a neighbor’s house with a group of other parents (and the frequent passerby) watching the Dodgers take it to Game 7 while the boys enjoyed the safety of mob mentality, a pack of sugar-bellied kids knocking and laughing and hopefully saying “thank you.” They were back by the bottom of the 8th, taking the corner and rounding for home.

My dad has always been the type to give unique gifts for Christmas. For as long as I can remember, a personalized gift from him would be under the tree for every family member. It was his thing, and he enjoyed everyone’s reaction to what was in their special gift bag.

Last year, he gave me a photo album. He filled it with photos of me when I was a boy and some newspaper clippings of my various academic and athletic achievements during my teenage years. While I had seen most of the pictures, I appreciated having them in one location to look at whenever I felt nostalgic.

One of the photos I’ve always treasured is me on my very first day of school. That picture of a young lad back in 1987 is the only recollection I have of that rainy day. But every time I see it, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come in life and lets me know that time waits for no one. It certainly hasn’t for me.

So nearly 36 years later, I recently came back to that photo again. I came back to it because my son, Emory, was getting ready to start his journey in “big school.” While technically he’s “only” starting Pre-K, he will be in a regular school setting with kids all the way up through eighth grade. And here I was looking at that picture, representing the past and present of life. Things were coming full circle.

This dad journey I’ve been on since 2018 has been filled with an ongoing series of “firsts.” New experiences for both parent and child. That’s one of the really cool things about fatherhood. You get to share these exciting moments with your kids. Many of these bring you back to when you experienced them at their age – like the first day of school.

I have to admit I was probably way more excited than my son was leading up to and on his first day. With that excitement also came nerves and uncertainty. Had we picked the right school? Are the teachers good? Will Emory make friends? I realized that the root of my anxiousness and worry was just the desire I had for him to be able to create memories, make friends, and enjoy the experience of school like I did. While that photo of my first day of school is the only memory I have from that day, I do have other vivid memories of kindergarten. I remember my teacher, my classmates and nap time. I can still visualize the playground at the school.

As a dad, my hope is that I’m doing enough to prepare my kids for what they will face when they head out into the real world. Sure, it can be frustrating at times and you question yourself often, but the reward is seeing your children thrive when they step out from underneath your shadow.

For me, that moment came when I dropped my son off on Day Two of school. I watched him, in all his 4-year-old glory, walk confidently up the steps into his school, not even stopping once to turn back around and look.

It was a picture worth a thousand words.

First day of school photo by Jerry Wang 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.

Clad in a hot pink swim cap and matching goggles, my daughter waded into Lane Six of the pool. She grabbed a barbell-shaped floaty and pushed off. With assistance from an instructor, she attempted to flutter kick with her body extended like a mermaid.

Her legs flailed about, splashing water all over her instructor’s face. She weaved in and out of the lane like a drunk driver in traffic. This first swim lesson was a far cry from The Little Mermaid and more like The Little Engine That Could. Nevertheless, I cheered as if she were my own little Ariel.

Welcome to Swim Girl Summer. That’s been the seasonal moniker around our household ever since my daughter started swim lessons a month ago.

For months she’s hinted in a not-so-subtle way at her desire to conquer the water. Every time Wheel of Fortune flashed a vacation prize package with a brochure-worthy image of a resort with a pool on our TV, my daughter would ask, “Can we go to the beach and the pool, pleazzzze?” To which my wife would say, “Yes, but you need to learn how to swim first.”

Of course, that’s the response she was hoping for. We played right into her hands.

And we didn’t mind.

Drowning statistics spur swim lessons

Swim lessons are something we’ve wanted for her. It would give her another tool to help her navigate life. Giving our daughter, who is Black and autistic, the lifelong gift of swimming was not only a recreational nicety but also, to us, a matter of life and death.

Drowning is the leading cause of accidental death for autistic children of all ages. They face a higher risk of drowning due to a tendency to wander off, according to data from the National Library of Medicine. And when it comes to race, a study commissioned by the USA Swimming Foundation found more startling facts. Nearly 64 percent of Black children, 45 percent of Hispanic children and 40 percent of white children have no or low swimming ability, it found, putting them all at risk for drowning.

Our daughter first took swim lessons as a toddler at the local YMCA and learned water safety in between, but that seemed like eons ago compared to the sprouting 8-year-old she is now. With each new aquatic milestone, my daughter is swimming against the tide of those sobering statistics.

Sometimes you motor, sometimes you float

During her weekly swim lessons, my wife and I sit with other parents in a viewing area behind a large, glass-paneled wall looking out onto the pool. It’s like peering into a giant fishbowl full of kids — all ages, sizes and abilities — as they splish and splash in the shadow of a colorful mural that reads, “The Big Blue World.”

My daughter is always in Lane Six. From my vantage point, I’ve seen her confidence build as she taps her inner Michael Phelps. Sometimes she swims ahead of the other kids in her lane; other times, she stays behind. Sometimes she extends her arms in front of her; other times, they’re bent from fatigue. Her leg kicks are so powerful on occasion that she resembles a motorboat amid the shimmer and bubbles; then there are occasions when a leisurely cruise is just her speed. No matter what, she’s constantly moving forward.

It’s a bit surreal to watch my daughter both succeed and struggle from behind the glass. She can’t hear us, but we speak to her as if she can. (Good job, sweetie. Come on, push through. You got this.) She can see us, but doesn’t pay attention to us; she’s usually laser-focused on the instructor. But I know she feels us with her. She occasionally looks up from the pool with her big toothy grin and waves until we wave back.

There are moments in this Big Blue World when the father in me wants to rush to the other side and coach her. However, I know it’s best for my daughter to figure things out for herself. I won’t always be there.

Perhaps that’s my own lesson this Swim Girl Summer. As my daughter grows older, parenting will often feel like a never-ending toggle between knowing when to dive in and when to stay ashore. I just hope I’m preparing her enough to swim in the world beyond the pool.

All photos by Johnathon Briggs.

I stood outside the school as my 4-year-old lined up with his pre-K class in a single file. He looked at me and raised his tiny hand. We mirrored one another’s waves. He lowered his hand and took a step forward. As he did this, his little hand raised once again and waved. I waved back. Before he entered the door, he looked back one more time and waved at me. With tears welling up in my eyes, I waved back.

Fourteen years later, I stood outside the Army recruitment center with my son and his mom, where a bus would take him far, far away. Before he entered the building, he raised his hand and waved goodbye. With tears streaming down my face, I lifted my hand and waved goodbye.

I had 18 years to prepare for the moment, but it wasn’t long enough.

It’s pretty common for parents to wish they had done a lot of things differently when their children become adults. Before my son boarded a bus to Uncle Sam’s, I looked back at my life as his dad. Many regrets flooded over me. Times when my discipline was too harsh, struck me. Moments as his soccer coach when I was too hard on him have always been a constant sorrow. Then there were movies I wanted to watch with him, music I wanted him to hear, and more things I wish I had said. And things that I wanted to hear him say.

When I used to push him around in a stroller, I would occasionally hear another dad say, “It goes by fast.” I heard it so much that I would get annoyed. Silly, I know. Now that I’m looking back on his life, I admit they were right. Life indeed goes by fast. Way too fast. So fast that it makes me angry.

I believe I was a pretty good dad, yet, those regrets hurt. And so, I try to remember the good moments. The moments where we laughed and played. The times I sat on the floor with him and played with Star Wars action figures or kicked around a soccer ball in the backyard. The moments I placed a Band-Aid on a skinned knee, or held him after getting a shot. I recall every soccer game he ever played and every award he’s ever received.

And yet…

I grieve at the loss of childhood.

Being a stay-at-home parent is a privilege. It means you miss nothing. I’ve had a front-row seat to my children’s lives. We got to experience the world together. Now that he’s in the Army, our lives branched off. We have a job as parents to prepare our kids for adulthood. To pave a way so they can ride. His journey is his now and not ours. I’ll be relegated to being a sounding board and hearing stories about what’s going on in his life. If advice is sought, I’ll be ready to offer it.

The door closed behind him and I stood outside his school 14 years ago, wondering, “What now?” I slowly turned and walked toward my home. A home that would be a lot quieter without him. When the doors to the school opened up later that day, I was waiting outside. My arms were wide open, and I hugged my son.

A few weeks ago, I turned and walked toward my home, wondering, “What now?” A home full of noises from his younger siblings awaited, but his absence left a deafening void.

I’m waiting and my arms are ready to stretch.

A version of this previously appeared on One Good Dad. Photos by Jason Greene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter change.

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

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

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

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

Paradise lost.

Sometimes, life transitions to the better

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

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

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

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

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