I hope you get the chance to be a father; I’m only three years in but so far, I’m for it. Two thumbs up, would recommend. That said, fatherhood is not for everybody. So, if you’re thinking about it someday and wondering if it’s for you, here’s what it’s like, based on my limited experience. My limited experience; I’m sure other Dads see it differently.
First, big duh, but fathering a baby is not the same as being a father. If it was, I wouldn’t qualify. See, we didn’t take the traditional road to starting a family because we couldn’t. We tried, but my testicles are like my earlobes, they don’t make sperm. So, we used IVF and a sperm donor. (None of this will be news to you, but you’re not the only one who reads these.) So for me, fatherhood is less about making babies and more about changing diapers.
Second, my experience of fatherhood may be different from yours, and that’s okay. We are fortunate enough that I could stay at home with you while your Mom worked full-time. Some Dads work full-time, some split duties, and some have another family in the next town over. The first two in that list are okay. And whatever you decide about your family, I hope you can learn from my experience.
The first thing I noticed was a feeling of responsibility I didn’t expect, long before I expected it. Your Mom was a few months pregnant, and I was paddling the Cheoah river with some friends. The water level was high, the rapids were munchy, and I swam early in the day. (That’s when you flip over in your kayak, can’t roll up, so you pop your skirt and swim out of your boat. Not recommended, but better than the alternative.)
As the day went on, the river funneled down and the rapids got bigger, we came to a spot where we could get out. For the first time in a long time, I decided that I should do just that. See, I was used to being in those situations where bad things could happen, but I had mostly worried about my own safety. (As much as I’d miss her, I have zero doubt in your Mom’s ability to take care of herself.) But now, there was someone else to think about. And the thought of not meeting you, not being there for you, and not seeing you grow up was heavier than anything I’d ever felt. Being a father changes your priorities, sometimes in ways you don’t expect. Be prepared for that.
Not all the feelings that come with fatherhood are heavy. Watching you experience the world, figure out how things work, and bang things together makes me so happy that sometimes I think my chest might burst. The familiar is suddenly new again, and introducing you to things I love is more fun than I ever had doing them alone. Whether it’s riding bikes, eating ice cream, or splashing in the ocean, seeing you discover the world makes me so happy I could just shit. It also makes me look forward to all the things we will do together someday, both with your Mom as a family, and just the two of us. That anticipation is better than than Christmas Eve as a five-year-old.
Being a Dad also means being a role model for you, of course, right? It’s not all “here’s how you tie a tie” and “a real man can change his own oil.” It’s also digging into my own shortcomings and bullshit, because I do fall short and I’m not above some occasional bullshit. Some of these entries here have been significantly harder to write than I thought they would be, mostly because I end up asking myself why I’m teaching you the things I’m teaching and sometimes, I don’t like the answer. That means re-thinking stuff that I take for granted. It means unpacking why I think something is the right thing to do, and considering whether it’s still right. And sometimes, it means changing my own beliefs about things, which isn’t as easy as just flipping a switch.
That’s the cerebral part of being a good role model, the internal. The other part is the actual modeling of behavior, the external stuff. And I’ve been surprised how much I’ve felt the need to change; both by subtraction and addition. It’s realizing that when you’re in the car, I shouldn’t give other drivers the finger and shout things out the window, even if they do drive like fucking douchebags. It’s also realizing that maybe I shouldn’t have been doing that all along. It’s digging down to find patience that I’ve never had, and then digging deeper to be more patient with you than I’ve ever been. And sometimes it means going outside to yell at the trees when I’ve got no patience left.
Because I’ve realized that nothing gets by you; that Umberto Eco was dead on when he said, “What we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”
I want those scraps of wisdom to help you be the best man you can be, and that inspires me to try to be a better man than I am. Because the most surprising part of fatherhood has been realizing that I’m not the most important person in my life anymore. As much as I still have hopes and dreams for myself and my life, my hopes and dreams for you and your life take precedence. That isn’t to say I expect you to succeed where I failed, or that I have any intention of pushing you to re-live my childhood.
What I want is for you to find your own passions, and to have the chance to explore them. I want you to learn all my skills and strengths and none of my shortcomings. I want you to have the resilience and grit to face life’s challenges head on, knowing your Mom and I will be right there beside you. I want to be the best father I can, so you grow up to be the best man you can. If someday you decide to have kids of your own, I hope to be the role model to you that my Dad was for me, and that most importantly, you know just how much I love you.
I do buddy. I really love you,
Dad
I originally planned to finish this series in twelve months, intending to write one entry a week for 52 weeks. But, other things came up and I didn’t have as much time as I thought I would. We moved, you started a new school, I had other projects, etc. But finally, I’m starting my last entry in September, nine months after I’d planned. Which is the perfect intro to this one.
Time is funny like that. It marches on like a metronome, indifferent to how much you wish it would slow down or speed up. It offers no do-overs, no matter how frivolously you spend it. And it gives zero fucks what you planned to accomplish in the time you had. Once that time is over, you’ll get no more. But, it also stretches out ahead of you into an unknown future, offering untold possibility and infinite choices.
Which is why I hope you both learn to make choices about how you spend your time and understand what those choices mean. Because while there’s never enough time for everything, there’s still enough time to do almost anything.