While I often joke about the mom-centric attitude of my children, it’s definitely started to wear me down.

Every day I endure three kids going out of their way to remind me that mommy is superior. Just a bit ago, I stopped writing this to take my daughter to gymnastics. She began to whine and complain. My wife gave in, and here I sit, typing away, reminded I’m the lowest-ranking member of House Lemon.

Most of the time we don’t give in. My wife and I alternate duties, and the kids have to accept it. This doesn’t stop me from hearing about it, though. The kids who stay home with mommy cheer. The kid stuck with lame old dad mopes, whines, and generally makes sure I know I’m the least wanted. My brain can fully rationalize this reality, and I know it’s developmentally appropriate. I know if I wasn’t a stay-at-home dad, they’d likely be clamoring for time with me and less time with mommy. If I was more the pushover and less the rule enforcer, this parental pendulum might swing in my favor. My brain knows this, but my heart remains wounded.

It’s unfair to blame my kids, and it’s particularly unfair to blame my wife for being easy-going and generally more fun to be around. The blame here, if blame is the appropriate word, is upon me. I’m letting my lack of self-worth increase the sting of my kid’s choices. Maybe if my inner monologue wasn’t so negative, I’d have fewer feelings about the kids constantly choosing my wife over me.

I am consistently floored at how often my children are a mirror, reflecting the best and worst of who I am. Not just when their actions mimic mine, but it’s particularly illuminating when my reaction to them gives me previously unseen insight into who I am. Or, perhaps more accurately, who I’m not.

Maybe I’m weaker than I realize? Perhaps my kids are right and I’m the problem.

Or maybe.

Just maybe …

It’s them.

It’s all them!

Truth is, I’m rather fun. And, if the weather is just right, and my back isn’t being too grumpy, I’m downright delightful. Also, I’m not sorry for enforcing the rules. I’m not sorry for saying, “Yeaaaah, that’s a bad idea,” when my son is dangling over a dangerous precipice. Nor do I feel guilty stopping my daughter from getting too close to the dinosaur-infested waters of our local swamp (we live in Florida – it’s all swamp). I’m particularly not sorry for consistently steering the family away from bad decisions which I know will result in tears, meltdowns, fiery bedtime debates, or just general bedlam and reckless tomfoolery.

They can all suck it! It’s not me. It’s THEM!

Folks, we live in strange times. Times that are extremely difficult to navigate. Genders are fluid, fluids are filled with poisonous microplastics, and I’m just on the edge of being too old to adapt to any of it. Some men believe I’m too soft. Some men believe I’m too hard (be proud of the inappropriate jokes I’m omitting here). Everyone has a digital megaphone from which they can loudly judge the decisions and lifestyle choices of others, and here I am just trying to figure out how far I can let my kids ride their bikes from the house, knowing I’ll hear, “Well, Mommy lets me ride my bike in the street.”

Do I look like Mommy?

Sometimes resistance is a sign you’re on the wrong path. Other times, especially when assuming your natural role as a parent, resistance is a sign you’re doing something right. As parents, we have to be a little annoying. One of us has to be cool, because doing cool stuff is fun, and a little freedom goes a long way. But one of us absolutely needs to apply the brakes. Someone has to speak up, take the heat, and be the sopping wet blanket that ruins all the fun. Some call it balance. I just call it my genetic birthright to be the Gloomy Gus dialing everything back.

Hold strong my fellow parents. Don’t be afraid to be the annoying one, and perhaps most importantly, remember that on the gloomiest of days, when the kids have beaten your ego so bad not even a friendly shaman could help you find it: It’s not you – it’s them!

It’s always them!

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

Photo by Phil Nguyen via Pexels.

It shouldn’t be controversial to say an adult should never hit a child. That feels as reasonable as any statement could be, but a few might disagree. I can imagine eager fingers excitedly typing out varied scenarios and positing endless “what ifs” to find a way to work around this simple statement of fact: an adult should never hit a child.

Yet I’ve seen a spate of disturbing videos circulating on social media spaces of late. I’m disappointed these videos exist, but perhaps more disturbing is the reaction to them.

The videos depict adult, male teachers physically punching children. Each instance is a little different, but they follow a common formula. Student is misbehaving. Student is mouthing off. In short, the student is being a complete monster, and in one case, saying extraordinarily offensive things to the teacher.

In response, the adult, grown-ass male teacher physically attacks the student.

I’d like to think I’m pretty immune to the internet’s nonsense, but in this case, I find myself unable to shake the gross feeling these videos generate.

None of the behavior by the students is appropriate. Criminally underpaid teachers deserve honor and respect. The parents of these students have failed their kids. Past teachers have failed these kids. Society has failed them, too. And, yes, these kids do need to be taught a lesson. That lesson, however, should never be printed on the bony edges of a teacher’s knuckles – however smug that minor’s face may be.

Alpha Bros and toxic masculinity

I’ve been a father for a little more than 8 years. In all that time I have physically beaten my children zero times.

No swat on the bottom.

Not a pinch on the back of the arm.

Not even a slap on the wrist.

I never thought I would be that type of guy. My parents used minor physical deterrents to bad behavior, and I’m not traumatized, so I fully intended to use a similar strategy with my own children. When it came time to dole out corporal punishment, though, it never felt right. It didn’t make sense to hurt a child physically.

Have I gotten close? Sure.

Have I been beyond frustrated and had to assault an inanimate object? Yep – way more often than I’d like to admit.

But nowhere in me exists the desire to physically hurt my kids.

Part of me wants to dig into the teachers. I want to point out how weak and pathetic their actions are, but I’m capable of extending a little grace to these folks. These teachers have been through more in the last couple of years than I can fathom, and they finally snapped. I’m not excusing their actions, but I’m not looking to pile on. Their lives have been destroyed by these videos, and rightly so. I don’t need to add to that fire.

My issue is with the toxic masculinity crowd: The Alpha Bros sharing these types of videos to celebrate a child being physically dominated by a larger male.

This group of losers thinks it’s weak if a man kneels and hugs an angry child instead of screaming at him. These same folks think women are inferior. They behave as if any show of nonviolent emotion is a demonstration of weakness. They are desperate to be thought of as in charge and are likely to describe themselves as “an entrepreneur” while selling supplements online while living in their mom’s basement. These Alpha Bros have a 4Chan following, worship guns, and in general, have so little self-esteem, their only ability to feel good about themselves comes when celebrating the misery of others.

These are the trolls cheering on the teachers who physically attacked their students. They share these videos and talk about how soft society has gotten. “It’s good to see a real man finally standing up and doing something about it!” they type. In their world, a real man is one who is easily threatened by the words of an adolescent who poses zero physical threat.

If these are the hallmarks of a real man, I shudder to think how pathetic I am.

Define masculinity without the nonsense

I hug my children. I cried at the most recent episode of HBO’s The Last Of Us. My wife makes ALL the money. I must be pretty pathetic. I mean, how Beta is it to type angry words about all the big bad Alphas?

But you know what? I work on my own car – a German car, too. I mow my own lawn. Also, I use charcoal to grill large chunks of meat. I own firearms. I work out and even run ultra-marathons (OK, it’s been a while but still). My favorite sport is Mixed Martial Arts (MMA). But I also have an orchid collection and cry when Apple applies emotional music to rolling pictures of my kids. Soooo, there’s that.

Regardless of how we chose to define and measure masculinity and manliness, the pinnacle of manhood can’t be violence. A real man practices restraint. He knows the difference between wisdom and nonsense. These new Alpha Bros are devoid of wisdom and represent the worst of us men, not the best.

As fathers of the next generation, it is our duty to model healthy, masculine behavior. Yes, men do have specific needs. But there are healthy outlets for these feelings (sports, exercise, hard physical labor). Our job is to teach our young sons these healthy outlets. We need to point out the weak behavior of these imaginary Alphas, and lead with love and kindness.

Now, back to some MMA fights and my bourbon. I’ve had a long day of mending socks and cleaning the kitchen. This Beta life is brutal.

Photo: © Maria Sbytova / Adobe Stock.

Three years ago, my daughter was born. The magical (screaming, agonizing and exhausting) miracle of birth ends with cutting the umbilical cord. I’m aware some dads do this themselves. I am not one of those dads.

Blood grosses me out. Cutting an actual flesh-tether connecting my wife to my daughter … um, yuck. Hard pass.

Come to think of it, how the heck did we, as a species, used to do this birthing thing before modern medicine? Did cavebabies stay attached, waiting for cavedoctors to invent a surgical knife? 

But I digress.

I didn’t cut the umbilical cord. Didn’t watch too closely as the doctors did either. And … maybe I should have. Because years later, I’m pretty sure that moment wasn’t done right. The umbilical is still there. 

Not literally, of course. But there’s more than flesh in those bonds.

Daddy’s little girl still attached to her mom

I’m a stay-at-home dad, so my kid is my responsibility alone for most of the day. Yet, for the first six months, I was not-the-mama.

My daughter wouldn’t let me feed her. Kid, let me feed you! Nope. No bottles. No hugs.

Wouldn’t let me change her. I know I’m not Mommy, but this is my job!

Not a smile or a kind word for six months. Fun times. Aren’t babies supposed to naturally love both parents? I think this kid missed a memo.

The umbilical tie to her mom proved to be stronger than just a preference. My wife works from home. If she wasn’t nearby, I’m not certain we would have survived those early months with my daughter. Some birds chuck their chicks out of the nest to watch them fly. Well, that wasn’t an option for us.

The year after that first one grew better. I became tolerated.

She knew Bandit Heeler, from the show Bluey, as “Dad” before she was willing to call me that word. Then again, Bandit’s introduced with song and dance shouting “Dad” whereas I was just … there.

And clearly, I was not Mom.

No quick way to cutting the cord with mom

So how did I do it? How did I finally cut the cord? My daughter’s 3 years old, and oh, she’s still attached to her mother, don’t get me wrong. And I’m grateful they’re close. But guess who else she’s attached to?

Yep, that’s right … still mom. But also, most times, this guy right here.   

Guess who she runs to, and clings to? Who she sits on as a chair? Who she pours water on? Guess who she smears with markers? Who she tries to share her favorite food (her own boogers) with? Guess who gets invite to every tea party? And, of course, guess who gets used as a personal wagon to get places?

Cutting the umbilical cord took time. Oh, we tried the quick, surgical approach. This involved letting a babysitter inside the house before running as fast as we possibly could out the door without turning back. Imagine the loudest, most desperate scream session you can possibly envision. Maybe a billion decibels?

Yeah, we wish it had been like that. It was so much worse. The entire Earth caved in and I’m pretty sure flames came out of my daughter’s ears when we tried that.

The “spend time with dad” approach wasn’t a clean-cut success either. For example, as a former teacher, I always try to incorporate education into my time with our kids. I use themes like “colors” or “space” and so on to focus the kids’ attention. Well, I kid you not, we spent a week of necessary education around a single lesson: “Dad exists.”

Again and again, I’d emphasize this one concept. Puppet shows. Songs. Even good-old peekaboo. I think that week did help. A little.

I’m not exaggerating when I say my daughter’s love had to be earned and won.

Create a unique bond with your child

Ultimately, what worked best was not working on cutting the cord between my daughter and wife, but instead working on creating a new one — a true emotional attachment — between us.

In his book, The Ultimate Stay-At-Home Dad, fellow SAHD Shannon Carpenter talks about the importance of “Dadventures” — the journeys fathers take with their kids. This was a turning point my daughter and I. We started going on at least one Dadventure a week: a hike in the woods, a trip to the zoo, a visit to the children’s museum, and so on.

These are moments of pure joy for both of us, and it is through these deep, meaningful connections that a new umbilical began to grow. Not the icky blood-and-fluid kind, but the emotional tether that now bonds my daughter and I together.

Once, while navigating the packs of unsmiling moms at the children’s museum, my daughter kept running back to me and asking to be picked up. She put her hands on either side of my head and pulled me close, to kiss me on the cheek. This was a signal. I wasn’t Mom, born attached. I was Dad, and through hard work, play, and constant, constant love … I’d finally earned my own umbilical.

A cord I will always cherish.

Photo: © Kirill Gorlov / Adobe Stock.

While it is easy to be romantic on Valentine’s Day, it can be more challenging for moms and dads to stay intimate the other 360-something days of the year.

Face it, most of us became parents by enjoying the process of making babies, right? Now that the fun part is well behind us and we are left diapering, educating, shuttling and financing the results of that hard work (snicker), it’s sometimes difficult to find that loving feeling again.

So here’s four ways to stay intimate with your partner after all the chocolates in that heart-shaped box are gone today:

Start with having ‘The Talk‘

No, not that one with the kids. The one with your partner.

If sex is important to you in your relationship, then tell your partner. Find out where they stand on the subject. Learn what turns your partner on and, in return, they should know what turns you on. Discuss the obstacles — work, stress, exhaustion from kid care, a changing libido — that may be preventing each of you from finding the loving feeling more often. Understanding and respecting the needs, wants and desires of your partner is how everything should start and continue long after.

Keep romance alive with flirting

Once you have a better idea of what works and what doesn’t work you can start making things happen. A little flirting with your partner lets them know you are interested. Send them a text message, write a note on the bathroom mirror, or give the gentle touch on the arm or neck as you walk by – much easier in these days of working from home. It will make them feel wanted. It will remind them of how attracted they were to you early in your relationship, you know — before kid.

Find the time and schedule it

We’re all busy these days. Between work, shuttling the kids to their activities, and the few social things we still have going on, spontaneity is not as easy as it was when we were younger and had far fewer commitments. If you truly want to stay intimate with your partner, look at your schedules and block some time out just for the two of you. Then set yourself up for success. Remove all those obstacles to intimacy that you two have talked about — the kids’ presence, obviously; household tasks; your various screens, etc. This way, when the time comes you can give your partner all your focus.

Stay intimate without sex

When we start dating, intimacy was not sex. It was holding hands, cuddling, hugging, kissing, maybe giving your partner a foot rub or shoulder massage. While you may not always have the opportunity, let alone the time, for sex, you can work many of these other intimate times into your schedule, such as when you are sitting on the couch watching TV … even when the kids are present. Taking advantage of these opportunities helps prime the pump for more intimate adventures you might get caught up in later.

Stay intimate photo: ©Jirus / Adobe Stock.

Hey, my teenage sons — and friendly others — you might remember that I’ve been offering advice to you — my boys, not the others — instead of talking about what you’re up to as I did for so many years. Honestly, I thought it would be easy to give advice and drop wisdom bombs. You know what? It ain’t.

Before I get started, though, let me tell you a quick story.

Since right around the time you boys were born, 15 or so years ago, this same guy in the deli at our local grocery store has been slicing our ham and salami and bagging up fried chicken for us. His name is Neil, and he recently retired. I saw him the other day at a convenience store where we were both getting coffee. When he recognized me, he smiled and shook my hand warmly and said, “Hey, it’s Super Nice Guy!”

I was a little take aback, but who doesn’t like a nickname — truth be told, I always thought of him as Neil the Chicken Guy. I smiled and told him I always appreciated what he did for us and mentioned that he always gave me a couple of more pieces of chicken than I ordered. He said he was glad to do it. Neil also said he thought I was the kindest customer he had and that he enjoyed talking baseball with me and watching the boys grow up. I made an impact on this guy just by being nice to him, which is sadly rare way to treat a retail employee.

Just by being nice.

So, I guess that’s my advice for you this time is: Be nice. Good advice, right? Well, yes, I guess so. But, what does that even mean?

As parents, we say “be nice” all the time. I looked the word “nice” up: pleasant: agreeable; satisfactory. Sort of a generic entry there, don’tcha think?

Be good. Be kind. Be safe. Be nice.

I’ve been saying these things to you since before you could talk. So much so, in fact, that it begins to mean nothing. I wonder if they even mean anything to you anymore. We never define exactly what entails “being nice” or any of the other words we so casually offer as you go out the door. Perhaps, they’re only platitudes given up as much for ourselves as for you, as though I’m covering my own ass by telling you these things. You know, “I told him to be nice, officer. It’s out of my hands now.”

I notice, however, that there is a consistency here in all those trite directives I’ve been offering, but not where you’d expect it. It’s that first word, “be.”

Man, that’s a complicated word. But, it is a verb and that helps. I understand verbs.

The word “love,” for instance, is both a verb and a noun. I’ve never been able to pin it down as a noun. It’s one of those that is different to every person and in every case. But, as a verb, it is more definite, more actionable.

Maybe that’s what we mean when we say “be nice” or any of the others. The focus is not necessarily on the amorphous noun but on that little word in front. I am asking you to become nice, occupy nice, live in nice. And, you know what, I see you do it.

I’ve watched you be nice so many times over the years. A hand offered to help a player up on the soccer pitch. An encouraging word given to a scared friend or frustrated brother. An unsolicited hug for me or your mother. I’ve witnessed you being respectful to your teachers. I’ve seen you being kind to your grandparents. I’ve seen you be patient with younger kids, watched you be safe on a playground.

The only way we can see these nouns like love and honor and respect and integrity is when they are acted out in front of us. Listen, boys: it’s easy to see the meanness and baseness and discourtesy of this world we live in. Just turn on your phone or your television. It seems nearly every show or movie depends on some unsavory elements to move forward — some are just devoted to being mean or showing cruelty and disrespect. And the news so often just shows us the bad.

But, and I truly believe this, it is just as easy, if not easier, to see kindness and decency and niceties and so much more.

Integrity flies by in the cab of the firetruck as it screams by our house from the station around the corner. Courage is made real in the intent and decency of medical professionals. Honor is there in the hearts of our teachers. Cashiers and servers, cops and clergy, roofers and landscapers, “chicken guys,” will all respond in kind when offered kindness. I’ve seen it over and over in my life. You will, too, you’ve just got to look for it.

If you don’t mind, I’d like to revise my advice today. “Be nice” is too vague to be helpful. I’d say just “be” might be enough.

Be nice, be kind, be helpful and courageous and wild and playful and hopeful, just and right. Be love, be integrity, be honor and decency and respect.

Let them occupy you. Let them be in you, and I believe they are. I believe they are in all of us. Be the things you want in others, be toward them as you’d have them be to you.

Just be.

Be yourselves.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. He coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

Photo: © Jette Rasmussen / Adobe Stock.

Valentine’s Day dad jokes? Surely, we can’t be serious?

Of course, we’re not serious. They’re jokes!

And don’t call us Shirley.

In our ongoing attempt to corner the market on the best, funniest, silliest holiday dad jokes (next up — St. Patrick’s Day) and seasonal dad jokes (check out our winter ones), our crack team of stupid cupids have scoured the internet for the best and worst Valentine’s Day dad jokes, riddles and puns — all clean holiday jokes for the kids and families to enjoy. We then put them all in one funny place to help you illicit groans and some hearty har-hars from those you love. Or is it loathe?

Best/worst Valentine’s Day dad jokes, riddles and puns

Q. Why do skunks love Valentine’s Day?
A. Because they’re scent-ual animals!

Q. Why shouldn’t you fall in love with a pastry chef?
A. He’ll dessert you.

Q. Why did the sheriff lock up his girlfriend?
A. She stole his heart.

Q. What did the dirt say to the rock on Valentine’s Day?
A. “I’d settle for you.”

Q. What Valentine’s Day gift never arrives on time?
A. Choco-late.

+  +  +

Two antennae met on a roof, fell in love and got married. Their wedding ceremony wasn’t fancy but, man, the reception was excellent.

+  +  +

Q. What did one oar say to the other oar?
A. “Can I interest you in a little row-mance?”

Q. What did the French chef give his wife for Valentine’s Day?
A. A hug and a quiche!

Q. Why did the pig give his girlfriend a box of candy?
A.  It was Valenswine’s Day!

Q. Why is romaine lettuce the most loving of vegetables?
A.  Because it’s all heart.

Q. Why did the cannibal break up with his girlfriend?
A.  She didn’t suit his taste!

+  +  +

Did you hear about the bed bugs who fell in love? They’re getting married in the spring!

+  +  +

Q. Why do melons have to get married in churches?
A.  Because they cantaloupe.

Q. Why do Valentines have hearts on them?
A.  Because spleens would look pretty gross.

Q. What do you call young love in an aquarium?
A.  Guppy love.

Q. What type of flowers do squirrels give each other on Valentine’s Day?
A.  Forget-me-nuts.

Q. What did the rabbit say to his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?
A.  Somebunny loves you!

Q. What’s an octopus’s favorite love song?
A.  “I Wanna Hold Your Hand, Hand, Hand, Hand, Hand, Hand, Hand, Hand”

Q. Do you have a date for Valentine’s Day?
A. Yes, February 14th.

Valentine’s Day dad jokes photo: © DrawingMyDiary / Adobe Stock

Few words accurately describe the feeling of love you, as a father, get from your little ones at certain moments.

The ear-to-ear smile you see as you walk through the door. Their full-speed sprint that leads to a somersault resulting in a perfect 10 landing in your arms. The numerous “Jedi mind tricks” they use in hope of staying up a few extra minutes past bedtime. 

That said, fatherhood also comes with its various challenges. One of the biggest I have found is discipline.

My wife and I strive to foster an environment where our two children have every opportunity to thrive and grow. We foster open communication; we verbally instruct them while also doing our best to model best practices. We practice some “free-range parenting,” letting the kids do as they please and figure it all out by experience — within reason. Other times, I find myself coaxing and directing them down various pre-determined paths. Regards of the approach, when boundaries are crossed and rules are broken, it’s incumbent upon us as parents to make sure our kids are fully aware of the concept of “consequences for your actions.”

Physical redirection and its consequences

While our household doesn’t believe in spanking as punishment, we are open to a quick “tap” or “pinch” on the arm at the moment as a form of redirection. That redirection has historically served as a tangible consequence. After that redirection happens, we typically follow with an explanation of why it was necessary. As with most parental conversations that are somewhat serious in nature start, the first words out of my mouth are usually the timeless phrase, “Because I love you.”

But what came out of my little girl’s mouth once I said this left me speechless.

One afternoon, my little princess decided to impart her royal authority on her younger brother in a way that was very “mean girl” inspired. I pinched her arm and sent her to time out. As the evening activities progressed and the kids got ready for bed, we sat down for our usual “after prayer” bedtime chat. During our chat, my little girl mentioned that getting her arm pinched earlier hurt.

I started to respond with the “because I love you” line. She immediately replied, “I guess love hurts sometimes.” 

I was floored by the association that this 8-year-old made. I was also equally floored by the internal conviction that kept me from responding with, “Yes, love does hurt sometimes.” 

Instead, I stayed silent.

The hurt love shouldn’t bring

I left the room and went into our bedroom and told my wife about the problem I had responding to our little girl’s comment. My immediate thoughts went toward not wanting my son or my daughter to ever associate love with pain being inflicted upon them by someone else. I don’t want my kids ever to feel physical pain is a necessary component of love. But I also want to effectively communicate the seriousness of the potential consequences of their actions as they traverse through life. This parenting thing is definitely not for the faint of heart.

One of the major takeaways I had from this experience is the importance of really listening to my kids. I “hear” what they say, but I’m guilty of not always listening. What would have happened had I allowed this incident to simply blow over? Maybe nothing. Or, maybe my little girl would have filed this specific incident in the back of her memory and formulated some further associations that love is supposed to hurt which could have led to challenging relationship scenarios in the future. I just don’t know. Either way, that moment helped me to solidify my commitment to really “listening” to the questions and concerns of my children.

Secondly, my immediate reaction was to commit to NEVER physically correcting or disciplining my kids from that point forward. Though, in retrospect, that was a knee-jerk reaction. I deeply evaluated the perceived “need” for physical discipline. As I mentioned before, I didn’t mind a light tap on the bottom or pinch on the arm “in the moment” as a re-directive measure. But even that came under reconsideration after this incident. After great thought and discussion with my wife, we came to the conclusion that the path of discipline we had previously adopted does work well for our kids. But at the end of the day, dads and moms must be mindful of what works and always be open to feedback on improving as we go along on this journey of fatherhood.

How would you have personally handled this situation? 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mike Dorsey, known as “Mike D” by many, is an author, business entrepreneur, community organizer, speaker and podcaster. The Augusta, Ga., native and former medical sales professional hosts the Black Fathers, NOW! podcast. He also founded the apparel company Black Family Apparel. He has authored two books: Dynamic Black Fatherhood Manifesto and ABE: Always Be Engaged — The 7 Keys to Living a Fit Urban Life. He can be reached via Instagram, Facebook or email.

Photo: © Maren Winter / Adobe Stock.

September 11th was the day I finally realized the person I was dating at the time was going to be the woman that I marry.

It’s as vivid now as it was 18 years ago. My girlfriend, Jessica, had a doctor appointment on the morning of 9/11 near my apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Rather than stay at her place downtown and commute directly from her job on the 99th floor of the South Tower at the World Trade Center, she spent the night at my apartment so she could arrive at her doctor’s appointment on time.

On the morning of September 11th, I felt like a boxer getting a round of jabs to the head.

Punch. A dizzying feeling in my midtown office as the first phone call came in from Jessica’s best friend. She was hysterical, crying because she saw the flames from her morning commute on the Staten Island Ferry and knew Jess worked in one of the towers.

Punch. No one was able to reach my girlfriend on her cell phone. Did she race down to the office after her doctor appointment?

Punch. More calls streamed in from my friends, family and Jess’s family as the entire world watched on their computer monitors and television screens the horror that unfolded. Still, no communication with my wife. Most cellular service halted in New York City and everyone feeling fearful, confused and horrified. Our office closed for the day and sent everyone home.

In my gut, I knew she was OK because I saw her early that morning on her way to the nearby appointment. But I longed just to hear her voice to get confirmation that she was safe.

We finally connected later that afternoon. She never went into her office that day. She lost her boss and mentor, several friends, and numerous colleagues in the 9/11 tragedy. The silver lining is that day brought us closer together as we cried, grieved and supported each other in the aftermath. We will never forget.

Several years ago, we had a cat. He was sleek, moved effortlessly, and annoyed us to no end. In fact, when we moved from a townhouse to our current suburban home, we attempted to turn him into a part-time outdoor cat. Since he was always trying to escape from our old place, this seemed like a smart move.

It didn’t turn out quite as we’d anticipated.

My wife and I didn’t have much experience with cats, but apparently they like to bring “presents” to their owners. These presents were typically alive, but only barely. Or they were recently deceased, which was somewhat better relatively speaking, but not by much. Having a consistent stream of half-dead squirrels and assorted rodents deposited on your back porch is quite gruesome. Fully dead is also bad, but if you must choose, it’s the better option. Of course, you really want neither.

So every time our cat left his calling card, I crossed my fingers that it was fully dead. Then I could get on with the disposal. Before I had kids, this whole situation would have grossed me out to no end. But since I was a grizzled veteran of two children, who were around ages 1 and 3 at the time, I had experienced things. I had seen, smelled and been drenched by all sorts of bodily fluids and excretions. Thus, I was comfortable enough with grossness that a mangled squirrel wasn’t quite so bad. In fact, my main concern was disposing the squirrel before my 3-year-old saw it. He was very sensitive, and I knew the sight of a dead little animal would be traumatic for him.

When our cat did drop off a gruesome gift, I’d usually find it early in the morning while I was letting our dogs out. I would grab my shovel, scoop up the glob of fur and guts, and quickly bury it in the backyard. It was a task I dreaded. Turning our backyard into a squirrel graveyard wasn’t one of my life goals, but I put my head down and did the dirty work. That’s what parents do. We learn to put our child’s needs before our own.

It starts with those first sleepless nights with a newborn. At first, it feels completely weird. Like you’re groping around in the dark trying to find something, but you’re not sure what exactly you’re searching for. Suddenly your primary concern isn’t whether you sleep or eat regularly, but that this new little person does. As the months and years go by, this new arrangement starts to feel normal; you feel like this is the way life has always been. But, when you take a step back, it can be hard to wrap your head around. What did I do with my time before all this? Did I really sleep eight hours and eat three meals most days? What did I do on weekends before there were red-ball tennis lessons and tiny tot soccer games? Yes, things have certainly changed. Your life isn’t just yours anymore, it also belongs to someone else.

With this recognition of a shared existence comes a fierce protectiveness that is almost indescribable. It’s visceral and anxiety-inducing and all-consuming. It is forged in the fire of those early, muddled days and nights and only grows and expands with time. In the beginning, the overriding drive is to provide physical protection. To hold this new being as close as possible. To shelter it with your own fragility. Later, as that little person grows, it only becomes more complicated. Now you must worry about the psychological and not just the physical. As they pull away, you struggle to pull them back. Paddling against the relentless current of time to protect them from disappointment and trauma. Of course, you’re not only protecting them. If you’re being honest, you’re protecting yourself, too.

Life is hard and heartbreaking. As an adult, you understand this more every day. You want nothing more than to shield your child from these harsh realities as long as possible. To let them revel in blissful innocence while it lasts. When they walk close to the edge, when they start to ask difficult questions, sometimes you give encouraging, simplistic answers that you don’t necessarily believe. “Yes, buddy, we’ll all be together again one day, even after we’re gone.” You feel that if you can convince them, maybe you can convince yourself. By wrapping them in your fragility, maybe you can make yourself feel less fragile.

So it is that I found myself collecting the carcasses of small rodents from my porch and depositing them in the earth. As a scrape and shovel and dig and try not to look too closely at the crime scene, I think about how soon enough my child will learn more about death and despair and how unfair and painful life can be, but it doesn’t have to be this morning. I can put it off. I can save him this much, at least. As long as I shovel quickly enough. Hurry.

Photo by Lukas from Pexels

A pair of hawks, probably Cooper’s hawks, command the sky over my backyard and the surrounding acres. I spotted their nest high in an old oak across the street. I’m sure they are a mating pair, although at first, I thought maybe they were a hen teaching her fledgling to hunt. I actually thought that until two minutes ago when I looked up the breed and found out any hawks would only have eggs right now or, more likely, an empty new nest.

So, not a mother teaching a child to hunt or a father teaching a child to soar like I wanted it to be. What I’ve been seeing is likely courtship, nest building, pair bonding. I wanted to extend a metaphor about teaching children to soar and take care of themselves; about the joy of flying and learning and beauty. I had planned to beat that metaphor to death.

I continue to watch them, the hawks, even though I can’t mold them into the symbol I wanted them to become. They fly down again and land on a low branch on a maple not 20 feet from my window. They stand close together and … well. Their tails are red, one more than the other. Dammit, they aren’t even Cooper’s hawks; they are the much more common red-tailed hawk.

Now I won’t be able to share this quote from a college commencement speech Mr. Rogers gave so many years ago:

“In fact, from the time you were very little, you’ve had people who have smiled you into smiling, people who have talked you into talking, sung you into singing, loved you into loving.”

It’ll be hard to work in how those hawks made me think of this quote as I saw one take off and then the other and watched them soar and swoop in the cold February sky, thinking the whole time them parent and child. The effort and the ease of it, the work and then the reward of it all.

What better way to learn to circle through the sky than experiencing another doing it with you, showing it to you?

How can I say, now that the metaphor has failed, that we are like those beautiful hawks, we parents? I look to the wild and see labor of love. Nature doesn’t tell herself about love and ability, she uses no words, explains nothing, just as we cannot explain what love is, what a song or a story or laughter is.

“Smiled you into smiling,” a past tense verb leading to the present tense. And there, I think, is the essence of it all. Love must be a verb, teaching must be verb, parenting and mentoring, action verbs.

That means that we labor to show our children these things.

The first time I encountered the Rogers quote, I continued the thought in my mind.

When I see my nearly 14-year-old son honor someone, I know that I honored him.

When his twin brother marches up to me after an event at the school and says, “Dad, I broke my glasses,” I know his mother and I honested him into the truth.

A kind word to a classmate, is the kind word offered to them.

We laughed them into laughing, held them into holding, dreamed them into dreaming, cried them into crying, shined them into shining.

One of the hawks sends a shadow across the backyard. Maybe I wasn’t as wrong as I thought I was. Perhaps, now that I know they are just a pair of birds, what I noticed was the action of them, always above, on the hunt, always watching.

I probably won’t see when their nestlings are hatched and fed and ready to leave; the first fall from the nest; won’t see the wings open and watch as the wind fills them as they glide away. But I see it now, don’t I? I see it in the flaps and dives of these two birds, these parents.

Just as I see me, my wife, teachers, leaders, friends … you, mirrored in the hearts and souls of my sons, your daughters, our children.

We’ve shown them into showing.

Graced them into grace.

Hoped them into hope.

Flown them into flying.

Watched them into watching.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. He coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

Hawk photo: IthacaBarbie on Foter.com / CC BY-NC