The Last Word On Nothing

Sunday is Father’s Day, a national holiday built around the giving and receiving of ugly ties, power tools and camping gear. I’ve always felt that Father’s Day is a sort of second class holiday – an awkward “me too” to Mother’s Day that is just a tick above Administrative Professionals’ Day (4/22/15) and Fairy Day (6/24/15).

Probably that’s because we don’t have a concept of what Father’s Day is. I mean, Mother’s Day is when we make breakfast in bed and treat Mom like a queen. And who helps us with that task (or rather attempts to salvage the meal and literally put out fires)? Usually Dad. But there is no such tradition, no ceremonial flavor, to Father’s Day. Breakfast in bed? Forget it, the guy gets up at like 6AM. Treat him like a king? Sure, in that you can be an indentured servant and work in the backyard (Father’s Day is a great opportunity to catch up on gardening).

Sunday will be my first Father’s Day as an actual father, though my child has not yet opened his/her eyes in the womb. And just like I’m confused about what Father’s Day should be, I’m confused about what it means to be an expecting father. My wife (and Cassie for that matter) has daily reminders of strange and amazing changes in her body. She walks down the street and people see immediately what she is and, at least here in Mexico, they give her a special kind of respect.

But no one looks at me and says, “awww, when are you due?” I can’t rub my belly and have an immediate connection with my baby. I’m not even showing yet.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m not pretending that I will have anything close to the experience of pregnancy and then childbirth. But that’s just it, right? I’m struggling to understand my role in this whole upcoming adventure. I’m like the guy in the backseat trying to be a part of the conversation in the front of the car.

So to do this I did what men have always done, long before TED talks made it cool. I reach out to other fathers. My community. In this case, science writers and journalists. What I found was a group of men who’ve had to stumble, study, and laugh through a new phase in their lives. Here’s what they said (edited for space and context).

Fred Guterl (Executive editor at Scientific American, mid-career dad)

If you knew how much there is to screw up over the next 10-15  years you’d probably plotz. But don’t lose your head, and remember:  1) the awful moments—sleeplessness, tantrums, poopy diapers, etc are just a teaser—they seem like they’ll never end, but they always do, and then you’ll miss them, so make sure you 2)  savor each moment as it comes, even the awful ones, and 3) always try to enjoy your child’s company. Actually, that last one is all you really need. Good luck, you’re going to need it! Oh, also ALWAYS take good family vacations, and teach your kid baseball as soon as possible (approx 18 months).

Tom Wainwright (Britain editor at the Economist, rookie dad)

The peak moment for going out with your baby in the evening is about three months old. By this stage you are a bit less inept that you were at the beginning but the baby is still ok to sleep, even in a noisy bar or at lucha libre or wherever you want to take it.

Also, if your baby will only go to sleep while lying on you (ie not in its cot), get your stinkiest T-shirt and put it down in the cot as a sheet. To your baby that smells GREAT, and it will (possibly) go to sleep

David Dobbs (Author and freelance writer, veteran dad)

The father of my best friend, Richard, once told him there were two kinds of mistakes: mistakes of commission, where you do something and it doesn’t work out; and mistakes of omission, where you fail to do something you should have done. “You regret the latter a lot more.” This is a variation on “Fortune favors the brave,” and I rather like it. Better try than shy. 

Brendan Maher (Editor for Nature, rookie dad)

Scotch on the gums for teething pains doesn’t work. You need to drink a full glass—probably several.

Carl Zimmer (Author/blogger/freelancer, mid-career dad)

Don’t drop the baby. Don’t expect the baby to read or play the flute at six months of age. Sleep while you can before the baby’s born, and catch up in a decade or two. (Me, in response: Um, that first one – is that, like, hard and fast? Or is there some wiggle room?) Carl: Experimentation is not advised.

Crayton Harrison (Bloomberg health/science editor, rookie dad)

Take care of mom. She has the toughest duty, biologically, and her system is wired to respond to the baby in ways that yours is not. She’s going to go through a lot of ups and downs, and you need to anticipate her needs as best you can. You will screw this up, undoubtedly. But effort goes a long way. 

White noise. Seriously, it’s by far the best way to calm a baby. I had no idea.

Richard Panek (Author/teacher/LWONian, veteran dad)

A big surprise for me was how great having a kid was for professional productivity.  You might fear the opposite—that childcare will consume most of your waking (and non-waking) hours.  And you’d be right.  But:  There’s nothing like the unceasing possibility of interruption by a crying, hungry, soiled baby to focus one’s attention on the nearest deadline right now.  

Thomas Hayden (Writer/teacher/LWON alum, rookie dad)

Whatever you do, don’t be a “dad.” Be a parent, and be a man. North American culture has some crazy baggage about fathers and their role in raising children. It shows up in lots of easy jokes and lame sitcoms—dad is bumbling, mom keeps things running smoothly. Step up early, often, and always. 95% of the time the worst thing that can happen is you get shit and piss and tears and vomit all over you, and have to go days at a time without sleep. You’ve been to college I know, so you should be used to that already.

Let yourself be sidelined now, and you’ll end up like the awkward and alienated dads I see everywhere I go, who seem barely to know what to do when they’re around kids, theirs or others.

Of course there are a lot of great nuggets in here. But more than that, I realized that I am surrounded by a community of passionate fathers who care deeply about their role in the family and think hard about what that should be. These are people in whom I trust and people I know I can turn to when the real panic sets in. We – all of us – have these people. Modern society has pulled us farther apart from each other but our communities of fathers and mothers and aunts and granddads and whatever else you need are still there.

With that in mind, I reached out to one more dad – one with 40 years and three kids under his belt. One who has loved and cared for his kids like no other. One who gets up early on Sunday to work in the backyard.

Sandy Vance (Land planner, veteran dad)

When I was a young man in high school—living my own life—I was convinced that I would not be alive past my 25^th birthday mainly because, for the life of me, I could not envision myself in the role of a father no matter how hard I tried. So here I am 40 years later and I can’t think of myself as anything but someone who is a father. That’s become the most satisfying part of me and my life.  

What’s best about this father role is that it’s like planting a tree—you simply give it a good place at the house, plant the roots deep and firm in the soil, stake it up if needed for the wind, don’t overwater or over-fertilize, and whatever you do, don’t get in the way. And then sit back and watch the miracle of growth happen before your eyes.

Whatever you think fatherhood will be like … it will be something different.  Even better.

Photo Credit: Liz Vance.

Special thanks to all the fathers who participated. Happy Father’s Day!