When our daughters were 14, we went back east to show them where
Nancy and I grew up; a trip they teasingly call "The Northeast
Nostalgia Tour." In New Jersey, my mother showed us where I was born
and went to grammar school. She told how my late father was not present
for my or my sisters' births (very common in the '50s) and how she
didn't go to my christening because, two weeks after birth, she was
considered to be in "too delicate a condition."
Our culture of birthing has certainly changed since then—returning to a
semblance of the family event it has been through much of history. We
fathers are back to being involved in pregnancy, labor, and birth. I
still recall, with wonder and lucidity, going to the girls in the
nursery, holding and talking to them while Nancy was still in the
delivery room. That is surely an immediacy of involvement my father
never experienced.
But how does that involvement sustain itself after infancy? Lamaze
classes train dads how to contribute to the birth experience. Where is
the training for us to contribute as much to the ongoing life of our
child? Where is the "cultural script" for getting and keeping fathers
involved?
The most effective tool for getting and staying involved in my
daughters‚ lives was (and still is) time. But we dads often think that
we don‚t have time to change diapers, be the carpooler, watch the play,
talk on the phone when she calls home from college. After all, we
think, our job is to be the provider!
Well, we sell our daughters and ourselves short when we reduce our
definition of provider to a paycheck. Because our daughters need our
presence, experience, masculinity, nurturing, challenge, affection and
support—things paychecks can't buy. We need that time, too, in order to
fully experience the exasperation, wonder, frustration, pride, worry
and euphoria of fathering—all the ways that having a daughter changes
and enriches a father's life.
The biggest change that fathering brought me was an ability to stay
connected through rocky times—and over time—in a relationship. That's a
new experience for me. As I grew up, I kept my relationships long on
intensity, but usually short on longevity. I think our "cultural
script"gives us men more permission to bail out on intimate
relationships—even with our children. Nia, Mavis and Nancy taught me a
lot about hanging in there—and all the fullness of life that follows
from that commitment.
Maybe our biggest challenge as fathers is to do a "rewrite" on that
cultural script. Maybe we can start by openly supporting and
encouraging other dads who are (or who want to be) more deeply involved
in the minutiae of their kids‚ lives. We can advocate at work for
fathers to put more weight on the family end of the work-family
balancing act. We can challenge men and women who minimize (or even
ridicule) fatherly contribution with demeaning sobriquets like "Mr.
Mom"—as if a man who cares for his kids is unmanly, inept, or both.
Most of all, we rewrite that silly, stifling old script by talking with
each other about being a dad. So, take the plunge. Tomorrow at the
water cooler, bowling alley or soccer field, ask another dad a
fathering question, and see what develops. Such a conversation may seem
scary, but it may also open up new connections and provide a bit of
insight you need today. And, it might even send ripples out far beyond
our own family and workplace, encouraging other dads to step fully into
the journey of fathering. That's a trip I'd gladly get nostalgic about.
Joe Kelly
, a father, is publisher of Daughters, executive director of
Dads and Daughters (www.dadsanddaughters.org),
and author of Dads and Daughters:How
to Inspire, Understand and Support Your Daughter When She's Growing
Up So Fast (Broadway Books, 2002). Email him at
.
