I am going through a long and sentimental (bordering on mawkish) ending of sorts. It involves a 20-year-old Coleman pop-up camper.

My wife and I bought it new just after we were married. This was well before we had the twins, well before I even dreamed that was on the horizon. It’s old and worn now, ravaged by time, memory, miles and many backyard sleepovers. I am trying to figure out what to do with it as it’s barely roadworthy.

We were so delightfully young and naive when we purchased it. For weeks we looked at floor plans, considering size and amenities, before finally deciding on a smaller one that could be towed by my six-cylinder Chevy S-10. A smaller size would also make backing it up easier. Truth be told, I suck at backing a trailer. This one proved small enough it actually be hand-pushed into a space when necessary. It never occurred to us we might be camping with twin toddlers or giant teenagers, so we based our needs on just us. It contained no toilet and an interior set up to accommodate just two newlyweds and a guitar.

The camper’s been in our backyard for some time now. The boys like to hang out in it as the WiFi reaches that far. I’ve got to put it down before … well, I can’t.

You see, when we bought the camper, I purchased a nice leather-bound journal. I put it in a drawer inside the camper and vowed to write a bit about every night spent in it. And I did. The writing is not very good, few metaphors or deep insights, but the years are covered, each trip dutifully noted. Through the pages, the boys grow up, I age, the relationship with my wife deepens and a continuity and connection is established. Over the years, it has held the stories and hopes of a young family growing together. Stories of thunderstorms and frightened toddlers, scraped knees and sleepless nights. Hopes for the future in the minds of 6-year-olds and my hopes for their lives moving forward.

I am very glad I bought that journal. It sits to my left as I am writing this right now.

I spent a couple of recent evenings in the old camper, looking through what was in it when I came across the journal. With a curious urgency — fueled perhaps by the beers — I put it with the pile of things to take into the house.

Here’s the thing. The “ending” of that old camper is a new “beginning” for that journal. It is done with its long present and now can begin to show me my past: a past where I hoped for my boys’ future. It is so strange how, as one writes in diaries and personal journals, how prescient we can be. There’s an entry from 2011, written of an early morning at a state park in central Ohio, where I say: “The boys are getting along surprisingly well. They rarely fight or bicker and are good friends, it seems. Who knows how long that’ll last, but I really hope it does.”

How could I know then that, nine years later, they’d still be best friends?

Or, that at the time I was watching the beginnings of what I think will be a lifelong friendship?

How, perhaps, would I know that camping and bonding in the close quarters of that little camper would help that along? Maybe I had helped it through sheer happenstance and in a leather-bound journal I’d noted it. Now I can look it up.

Recently, a fellow father and writer on this website purchased a used camper. He solicited advice from a social media group we are in. I typed a long answer — advice on gear and the such — but I deleted it. The real advice was too ethereal and came from a place I’m at now, a place he’ll get to, a place he already is. Camping, like so many other family adventures and hobbies, is about memory-making. Their worth can only be revealed later. However, at the time you’re making them, you still somehow know that even if you don’t realize it then.

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. Bill also coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

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This blog post, first published in 2020, 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.

Stop calling my wife, dammit.

Not you, weird dude from work. I’m talking to YOU, doctor’s office. The one who has been told multiple times that if you want to speak to a parent, try dad first.

My son has been through several rounds of examination and treatment with this doctor. My wife has never even spoken to him. For work reasons, she couldn’t make the parental consult meeting. She doesn’t go to these meetings because it is MY JOB.

The next appointment is in two days. And then I get the fateful text from the wife:

“Stupid doctor left me a VM again.” (I paraphrased for cleanliness.)

Listen, this isn’t even about making our lives easier. If you, a medical professional, want to help our children, you need to reach the primary caregiver. Not the working-her-ass-off, leaning-in, awesome-but-busy mom.

At least you aren’t alone. The school nurse still calls my wife, even after five years and two children. This is even though my name appears first on the contact card. I’ve even put an arrow to my number, reading “call dad first.” Still, every once in a while, I’ll get my wife’s “Did they call you instead yet” text. That means if the nurse doesn’t call me soon, I better call her.

The school office has finally learned. Of course, I think it took until I was elected PTA co-president for them to fully get it. The teachers, much to their credit, have understood from day one that this dad gets there a lot faster when there is a sick or paint-covered child. So there’s that.

I can’t imagine how they handle same-sex couples. If there are two dads, does no one get a call? If it’s lesbians, does it force the office assistant into some kind of Linda-Blair-esque, spinning perpetual-motion head spin, trying to decide which mom to call? Perhaps that’s our world’s solution for renewable energy.

Listen: In the grand scheme of things, this is clearly a First-World issue. And it’s not even the biggest one at that. But here’s what this assumption does: It reinforces the incorrect paradigm that men are unable to handle their children’s care and the unfortunate sociological expectation that women can – and will – drop everything in their lives for their kids. This hurts all men and all women.

If we want to live in a world where everyone contributes to their family and society as they see fit, we need to start respecting that, for the most part, almost any task can be done by anyone regardless of the contents of their pants.

Oh, and if you’re the medical professional that provoked the writing of this column and you figure it out, you can win a prize. Just call my children’s NEW primary caregiver.

About the author

Josh Kross is an at-home dad to his three kids. He is the former engineer and producer of The Modern Dads Podcast. He also produced the critically acclaimed Hip-Hop podcast, The Cipher (theciphershow.com).

This blog post, first published in 2014 for the NYC Dads Group blog and since updated, 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 Moose Photos from Pexels.

Editor’s Note: September is ​Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) Awareness Month, designed to honor families who have used these medical facilities and the health professionals who care for them.

My son starts preschool today.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago when I was sitting in the NICU snuggling his entire tiny body on my chest.

My son was a preemie, born at 34 weeks. Those were some long and tough days for us. My wife felt guilty but it certainly wasn’t her fault. She had a normal, healthy pregnancy. We don’t know why he came early and we’ll probably never know. But it happened and we dealt with it.

He was being held in NICU because his lungs were not fully developed just yet. He was hooked up to all kinds of machines … feeding tube through his nose for a bit, a heart monitor and more. I will never forget the alarming sound the monitor would make when his heart rate dropped, and the doctors and nurses came rushing in. They called it a “bradycardia,” or abnormally slow heart action, and it was one of the scariest moments for us.

During our daily rounds with the doctors, they told us that for him to come home he had to have three straight days without any “bradys or spells,” as they referred to them. We would call each morning, crossing our fingers, to see how he did overnight. Then we would pack our lunch, grab coffee and fight traffic each day while heading to the hospital to spend a few hours with him. It was a strange feeling to come home each night and not have our newborn son with us. My wife was in tears at times because we didn’t know how long he would be in the NICU and she was worried about spending her entire maternity leave in the hospital.

Fortunately, her boss was very supportive and gave her extra time off. There were other dads there and I would see them each day and we’d give each other the nod. We became a club; each waiting for our turn to go home with our child. I know we were fortunate. Our situation could have been much worse. There were some parents there with twins, one of whom got to go home and the other one didn’t. Some babies were there for 3 months or longer. In total, we spent five weeks in the NICU.

Today, my son has caught up and except for a slight speech delay, he has met all of his milestones. He is now a tall, active and healthy 3-year-old who loves fire trucks, Paw Patrol and pancakes.

So, it’s an exciting day and I’m a happy dad. My once tiny NICU baby is going to meet his new teachers and make new friends. He’s going to laugh and learn and play and he’ll have a big smile on his face … and so will I.

My son starts preschool today!

About the author

Lou Marino, shown with his wife and two children, is a member of our Boston/Providence Dads Group.

Photos: Contributed by the Marino family

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This post, which first appeared in 2018, 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.

Science and religion are on a collision course in my household.

Religion. Science. Are they independent or intertwined? How exactly do you explain the confluence of the two subjects to three children under age 6, especially when they’re the ones who bring it up?

Naturally, I explained the evolution/creation issue as well as I could, thoroughly confusing my kids in the process. The screenplay goes thusly:

Scene: A father and his three kids are driving to a park in a late-model SUV

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Hey Dad, I have a question. Who were the first people?

DAD: Well, that’s a good question, babe. So, if you read the Bible, it says that the first two people were a man named Adam and a woman named Eve. God made them first.

But, if you talk to a scientist, he or she might tell you that the first people came from monkeys. That’s known as evolution.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Wait. Monkeys are people?!

DAD: No, but long, long, long ago, monkeys started to kind of change into people.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: So when I was born I was a monkey?! Cool!

SIX-YEAR-OLD: Ugh. You were never a monkey.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Dad just said …

DAD: Well, bud, that’s not exactly what I said. See, with evolution there’s this thing called genetic mutation and it takes years and years and years to happen …

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: [Confidently] The sun is old.

DAD: Yes, the sun is old. So, kind of like as many years old as the sun. It takes thousands and thousands and millions of years. Imagine if a monkey had a baby and that baby had a baby and that baby had a baby…after that happens for years and years, monkeys could become people.

Now, some people say that just the Bible is right and others say that just science is right about evolution.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: I think it’s probably the Bible. Right, Dad?

DAD: Well, what if they’re both right? The Bible says God took six days to make the Earth. But who knows how long a day in God’s mind is? I don’t. And I can’t act like I have a clue about that. Maybe a day for God is like a day for us. Or maybe a day for God is like a million years for us. I have no idea. But I think it’s possible that God set in motion the science that made monkeys become people over a very long period of time.

SIX-YEAR-OLD: [Semi-satisfied grunt of approval.]

FOUR-YEAR-OLD: Hmm … [10 seconds pass by] … Yeah, but why doesn’t Curious George have a tail?

DAD: I think we’ve had enough hard truths for one day. I’ll explain how PBS and the publishing industry lie to you another time.

About the author

Matt Norman, an at-home dad of three, is a former organizer of our Austin Dads Group chapter. A version of “Debating Evolution, Creation” first appeared on his blog, And So It Has Come To This, and then here in 2018.

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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 Lewis Roberts on Unsplash

The drive home from preschool is a highlight in the day-to-day work schedule of this daddy, and it usually goes like this:

• Take 20 minutes to walk up or down half a flight of stairs, depending on which exit we take.
• Wander semi-aimlessly down the sidewalk adjacent to an extremely busy downtown street.
• Stop to look at “treasures” along the way — stuff like acorns and rocks and the occasional bug or cigarette butt.
• Coax children into the truck and buckle them into their seats.
• Slip into the driver’s seat and drive off [after checking email, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram].
• Halfway through our 15-minute drive home, The Boy falls asleep. The Girl complains I’m not playing enough “girl songs” on the radio before nearly falling asleep.

And that’s it. We rarely dig into deep conversations. The kids each refuse to discuss what they learned at school. The drive simply is what it is — a ride from Point A to Point B.

But not today.

The Girl [calling out over Robert Earl Keen’s “New Life in Old Mexico.”]: Daddy.

Me: Yeah, babe?

Her: DADDY.

Me [turning radio down and glancing in the rearview mirror]: Yes?

Her: I have a question.

Me: OK.

Her: Hey, Daddy, why don’t you go to work?

Me: Umm … Hmmm … Well, uh … [Quick! Think of something, dumbass!]

Not many adults ask why I am an at-home daddy, but when they do I usually give them some line about how it wouldn’t have made financial sense to send the kids to daycare if most or all of my work salary would go to pay for it. Truth is, the money I was making editing and doing a minimal amount of freelance writing work wouldn’t have paid for daycare anyway. Plus, The Wife’s income is head and shoulders and probably another whole person’s body above what I would ever make writing and editing.

Add in that I’ve never had a career in the true sense of the word, and the decision for me to stay home was a no-brainer for us. That last point may complicate things once the kids are all in grade school, but that’s a blog post for another day. A day far, far in the future.

Me: Well, I stay home with y’all instead of going to work because Mom and I decided it was important for one of us to be home to take care of you and your brother. We agreed that Mom would go to work.

Her: But I think Mommy should stay home. I wish she would stay home and you would go to work, Daddy.

Me: I know. Having Mom at home would be nice, but that’s not the deal we made.

[Silence]

The answer was as simple as I could make it without replying, “Just because.” I don’t know if The Girl was satisfied with my answer, but that was the end of it. She didn’t ask any follow-up questions. She didn’t whine about the way things are. It was almost as if she had a question, got an answer, and was satisfied — which is definitely a first for my 3-year-old Li’l Miss Asks A Lot.

The drive home today was a reminder that tough questions are coming soon … about everything. The questions probably will never stop coming, and I’d better have answers as often as possible. I want my kids to know they can ask me about anything at any time.

I put The Boy, who had slept through the whole conversation, in his crib and walked to the living room. The Girl was sitting quietly on the couch.

Me [nearly whispering so as to not wake The Boy]: Hey, that was a really good question you asked in the truck. You know you can ask me questions anytime you want, right?

Her [loud kid-style whispering]: Yeah. Can I have a snack and watch TV?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Matt Norman, co-founder of the Austin Dads Group, explains to his children his role as a stay-at-home dad. A version of this first appeared on his blog And So It Has Come to This. It was first published here in 2017 and has since been updated.

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.

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.

It has been said that when children are born, instructions are not included with them. I, however, have evidence to the contrary.

In the months since the birth of our daughter, we have accumulated enough manuals and instruction booklets to keep a small team from Ikea busy assembling and running safety checks until she starts kindergarten.

We have three strollers, each with a set of instructions save one. That stroller came with four separate manuals.

Our car seat, which came essentially fully assembled, still included a 66-page instruction book. This car seat is so durable that you can strap a watermelon inside, drop it from a skyscraper and your fruit would still hit the ground fully intact.

We have several contraptions to hold our baby at different angles and heights. Instructions are not NOT included with any of them. Thank God because these devices have multiple settings and options so they sing, swing, soothe, rock, turn, swivel and tilt in various combinations and speeds. Our early favorite, a rocker, included all of the aforementioned. We call it “The Flying Saucer.” You place it under a sunny window and your baby rocks to a soothing beat until they drift off for hours of uninterrupted nap time. The instructions for this item mimic a kid’s “choose your own adventure” coloring book because of the many options for the rocker’s final use. Other seats simply sit and hold your child in one place just above ground level. Those multipage-instruction books all boil down to one simple demand: “Place seatbelt on the child.”

We have four baby carriers/slings: two for outside travels and two for in-house use. One outside option I use to take our daughter to the park daily. This baby carrier also comes with a sleeping bag attachment to keep her warm in the severe weather; those instructions are drawn in pictures on the tag. The other outdoor baby carrier is so structured and has so much storage space that I could take my child and a week’s worth of survival gear up through the Himalayas. The manuals for that, oddly, are fairly basic and straightforward.

We have attained three high chair/table seating devices. One is an ordinary A-frame type that we use next to our dinner table. Another is a travel unit that connects to any table. The third one is a “sturdier” (according to my wife) travel unit that she assures me we will need at some point. When we reach that point is anyone’s guess. These items are a bit more in-depth with instructions on how to secure your children and attach them to fixed furniture. Well, you do eat more often than you hike through Nepal.

We also have two night-sleeping units. The master crib, adorned with all of her stuffed animals hanging from each corner, was put together in the early days of pregnancy. The instructions were many, yet straightforward enough to understand the different stages of converting it from a crib to a bed as she grows. We have a co-sleeper unit that, I’m guessing by its name, aids your child in sleeping dependent on the parents. Our daughter slept in it one evening, next to our bed, until my wife decided it was easier just to lay her in our bed. So that may be the end of that. I’m thankful. Should we ever need to explore the different height settings of this co-sleeper unit, the manual and its photos indicate I might need to go back to school for a different degree.

As the seasons have changed and the blooms kick in we have had to utilize the nose suction device that pulls the runny snot from inside your nostrils. Fun for the whole family! This is not a favorite of our little girl but it’s effective. And the pictures in the instruction book are worth a thousand words!

There are, of course, many other useful items — toys, first aid, soothers, and clothing, to name a few — that we regularly use. All are accompanied by pages and pages of words that I keep in a specific drawer. And while I prided myself on never reading instructions on home goods before her birth, I am now certain to follow all manuals to the letter when assuring the safety of our little one.

They keep us all sleeping soundly! Well, most of us …

About the author

Robert Brawley is a West Coast kid who moved out to NYC. He and his wife are the proud parents of a beautiful girl.

“Instructions Not Included” was first published in 2013. Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels.

For many new parents, all of their time is spent simply taking care of the baby. It can be tough figuring out how to find time to work out or exercise. If running is your thing (or was — before having kids), here’s a “how to” guide for getting back into your sport by using a jogging stroller:

Picking a Jogging Stroller

There are many great brands (Jeep, Graco, BabyTrends, Joovy) and types (single, double, fixed wheel) jogging strollers. I suggest that you try out a few before deciding. I use BOB Gear jogging strollers because I found they work best in terms of size, flexibility, and durability for the streets, elevators and small apartments of New York City. Our BOB Gear stroller comes in handy for more than just running with my child. It’s great to take when I bring my daughter grocery shopping or to a museum.

Start Slowly

I started running with my daughter, Lucinda, when she was around 5 months old. The instructions for my BOB Gear jogging stroller advised me not to run with a baby younger than 8 months. You need to use your best judgment. I felt confident trying it as soon as she could sit up without slumping over in the stroller. The first time out we went for about 2.5 miles. The first mile and a half she was fine, but then she got fussy. So we abandoned ship. The second time out was a little better. By the third time, she had gotten used to the stroller and things started to go more smoothly.

Jogging Strollers Help with Naps

After about five short runs in the jogging stroller, she had gotten into the routine of napping really well during my runs. Before I knew it, I couldn’t stop or she would wake up! And as you know or will certainly learn … you should do whatever humanly possible NOT to wake a sleeping baby. The breakthrough came in early June, when she fell deep into a nap and didn’t wake up after the usual 30 minutes. She slept and slept, and before I knew it, I had run almost 2 hours in the middle of the day! Running with ourBOB Gear jogging stroller was a great antidote to short napping. Eventually, we got into a routine of taking most afternoon naps during a jog in the park.

Stopping could end a nap prematurely during the middle months, but I find as she’s getting older, stopping isn’t as detrimental to the nap. My daughter has always been a light sleeper, but if you have a good sleeper it should be fine.

Prepare for Weather

Spring and fall are the best months for the jogging stroller. Always keep in mind that your baby is not getting warmed up from exercise like you are.

If you plan to run in the summer, find a model with a sun shield. This will protect your child from the rays and keep her cooler. Most good brands (BOB Gear, Jeep, Graco, BabyTrends) have jogging strollers with these that are either detachable or foldable. It’s also best to go early or late and avoid the heat in the middle of the day.

In the winter, we’ve been using a weather shield, essentially a plastic enclosure, which keeps the stroller quite toasty and dry. In fact, you should not use the shield unless it’s lower than 60 degrees due to the possibility of overheating. It also protects your child from wind and the elements. I’m not sure how cold will be our cut-off for going out, but below 30 degrees will probably be our limit.

Speed

Don’t expect to be running 7-minute miles with the stroller; it can really slow you down. My running pace is around 11 to 12 minutes with the stroller, and when I’m without the stroller it’s usually more in the 9- to 10-minute range, sometimes faster if I’m racing in a shorter distance. So don’t expect to run fast with the stroller, but do expect to work hard. I think the extra effort you put into running with the stroller, even if you are going at a slower pace, can make your runs without the baby a little faster. Think of it as a type of speed work!

How Much Should I Run with the Stroller?

I train for ultra marathons so running for 90 minutes every day with my baby isn’t such a problem for me. But if you are not an ultra marathoner, at least getting out there for an hour will be great for you and the baby.

Best Jogging Stroller Routes

Living in NYC, we usually head to Central Park or Riverside Park. Hills are tough but add to the fun. Quiet routes are ideal, so try to stay away from construction, heavy traffic, and people wanting to ask how it is to run with the baby. That is my warning, but it’s hard to schedule around those problems.

Bringing the jogging stroller into your and your baby’s life can be fun (a little intimidating initially) and I think it can help you and your baby explore the town, provide fitness, and give your baby a great opportunity for napping. Since my daughter, Lucinda, is turning 1 next week, we will see how this plan works and evolves as she gets older.

About the author

Mat Gerowitz is a stay-at-home dad, ultra runner, and part-time running coach. Mat can be found on what used to be Twitter at @matruns and at ultrarunningstayathomedad.blogspot.com.

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

BOB Gear, Jeep, Graco, BabyTrends single, double, fixed wheel jogging strollers

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about male depression and suicide comes from 2013.

Men shouldn’t need help.

This is part of an unwritten code and a shameful hypocrisy of our culture.

We lie to ourselves and say we are “fine” when we are not because we have been told since childhood that men must be strong and stoic. Crying, let alone asking, for help is not masculine. So we tell ourselves and each other: “Man up!”

However, when men suffer in private and take their own lives, they – like anyone else – leave loved ones behind to mourn. They harm more than themselves; they hurt those who love them the most.

My male clients usually end up in my office only after they realize they have hit rock bottom. These are the truly fortunate ones whose inner voices yelled loud and long enough to enable them to go against the code; breaking the rule. This realization shows real strength.

Male depression, like any depression, is a state of mind where we feel we are failing. We blame ourselves for our failure, and we believe what we think. As a result, we find ourselves constantly following negative thoughts, repeating our negative mantras like an internal iTunes playlist. We ignore our friends’ and/or family’s warnings or pleas; blind to the exaggeration inherent in our negative thoughts. We now become angry.

Anger can be deafening. It oppresses and creates an isolation that leads us to crave an escape route. Some seek this getaway from our internal negative chatter through various regimens of immersion: in the Internet, the news, the latest reality show/situation comedy, alcohol, drugs, etc.

The relief, though, is often false and fleeting.

Know the signs of male depression

Each time these negative thoughts return, they intensify. Yet we continue to tell anyone who asks that we are ‘fine’ when we feel ‘like shit’ because that has been drilled into our concept of “manliness” since we were young. If we continue to walk down this negative and self-critical path, our destination will be intensively negative and self-critical. We arrive at blackness, at nowhere. This is when we will believe that we have nothing to live for.

When someone takes his life, it is because he has a plan, the means, and the energy. Most attempts that fail are cries for help. You will know that you are approaching or have reached this breaking point; the point where you need to ask for help, when you experience any combination of the following:

• helplessness
• hopelessness
• sleep problems
• poor appetite
• poor self-care habitats
• inability to communicate with the people you love
• any pattern of substance abuse

This is not an exhaustive list, but a list of indicators that you have reached the limit of your private suffering. Remember that suffering is always temporary but only alleviated by transforming it into a path of self-acceptance.

There is no shame in surviving male depression, and only through connection can we survive. If you are becoming concerned – about yourself or someone else – take stock, reach out, speak out, and make that life-saving connection.

Editor’s Note: If you are having a mental health crisis, feel suicidal, or believe a loved one is, call or text 988 to get in touch with the National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

About the author

Alex Stadler is a licensed clinical social worker, a mindfulness-based cognitive behavioral therapist in private practice, and a mental health consultant to numerous NYC human services agencies.

Male depression photo: © Monkey Business / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: City Dads Group blog contributor Gidon Ben-Zvi, a resident of Jerusalem, asked us to reprint this piece he originally wrote for The Algemeiner. “I think your readership would benefit from gaining a glimpse into the lives of average Israeli parents coping with difficult questions as war descends upon them,” he wrote in his note. We agree.

Teaching Your Children About War: An Israeli Father Struggles to Get It Right

It’s 3:36 a.m., on Tuesday, Oct. 10, 2023. I’m tossing and turning right now. Our little country is in a fight for its life. Yes, we’ll prevail. But the cost will be terribly high, almost unbearable.

We keep hearing fighter planes as they jet south. The Lebanon-based Iranian proxy, Hezbollah, is saber rattling. They have launched a couple of dozen rockets into northern Israel. In a skirmish just inside the Israeli border with Lebanon, three Israeli Defense Forces soldiers were killed in a battle with Palestinian Islamic Jihad terrorists.

The Israeli Air Force has started to hit terrorist targets in Lebanon and Syria, and is increasing its bombing runs over Gaza.

My wife and I continue to work, or at least go through the motions, at home. Our children are home as well since all schools have been closed since the Hamas invasion began.

To maintain some semblance of sanity, my wife and I continue to get in our morning jogs. In our neighborhood, folks continue to walk along the Louis Promenade, buses continue to run on Hanassi Boulevard, and street cleaners make their daily rounds. But people’s faces have gone pale, and no one seems to stay out for long.

For the sake of our children, we’re fighting not to be overcome with grief. To keep our children feeling safe, we’re trying our level best to explain what this war’s about. We tell them it’s OK to be nervous and scared. Yes, Hamas is out there. We remind them, however, that the fighter planes — and all those soldiers down south — will protect our little family and all of Israel’s families.

It’s a fine line, acknowledging to your kids the sheer evil that has been perpetrated while encouraging them to try and live through this longest, darkest of days with a sense of hope.

A good father’s job is to be a role model, to establish a set of values for his children to live their lives by. What values am I imparting to my kids right now? What lessons am I trying to teach them to make some kind of sense out of the greatest national tragedy to befall the Jewish people since the Holocaust? How on earth can the murder of babies, entire families, young people, and the rape of women be turned into a teachable moment?

To the best of my ability, I’ve been trying to teach my kids that the big life comes at a big price.

I left a different kind of life in the United States. Had I stayed, I eventually would have started to earn well, saved up some money, padded my 401(k), and become a homeowner — no doubt moving to a well-manicured, secure suburb.

Maybe I should have stayed in Los Angeles.

On second thought, there’s no place else I’d rather be. In life, there are observers and participants. I chose to throw my lot in with the latter, come what may.

Why? Well, this is part of what I try to convey to my young children: you only get one shot at this thing called life. So why not live it gloriously? A life with a sense of mission, a sense of purpose, and — most importantly — joy.

We Jews have managed to create a free society that promotes human dignity and thriving out of malaria-infested swamps. In a part of the world widely mired in ignorance, intolerance, and persecution, Israel shines bright as a beacon of hope, an outpost of enlightenment, a country where all its citizens are limited only by their innate talent and ambition.

When my wife told our neighbor living in the new apartment next to ours that we have no built-in safe room since our building was constructed pre-1990s, she opened her home to our family.

“Come to our place whenever you need to. We’re all in the same boat.”

Our neighbor is an educated, successful, warm-hearted, Muslim woman.

The lesson I’m trying to teach our four little children is that what you believe in is worth fighting for. Israel is worth fighting for. All we can do in response to the savagery is fight the good fight, emboldened by the knowledge that — ultimately — right makes might.

Originally published Oct. 13, 2023, on The Algemeiner. Photo: © altanaka / Adobe Stock.

About the author

Gidon Ben-Zvi 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.