Cutting the (TV) Cord.

About 6 weeks ago we decided to finally stare down Ma Bell and “cut the cord”.  I know we are not the first to go down this road and I’m grateful for some friends that have shared their experience.  From them we learned there was life after cable, though we were a little sceptical.  We didn’t come to the decision lightly, while we don’t watch a lot of TV in the summer, the winter evenings can be long, and the thought of not having a 100+ channels to surf was a little daunting.   

Suddenly,  I was having flashbacks to my childhood, growing up in Haliburton.  In those days cable was not available and satellite TV was not yet invented.  We had a black and white TV, and on the side of the house a 25 foot pipe held a massive antenna on top.  On a good day we got CBC, CTV and years  later Global.  Channel reception was contingent on weather and whether somebody could be coerced to go outside and turn the antenna while somebody else hollered out the window when the TV static and snow stopped and some semblance of a picture came through.   The programming fair of the time included The Beachcombers, The Tommy Hunter Show,  Hockey Night in Canada, Mr. Dress-up, The Friendly giant, and of course the Wayne and Shuster specials. Maybe that's why I was so thin in those days, with nothing to watch on TV, entertainment was found elsewhere.

Major milestones in my youth were the arrival of our first colour TV, a 20 inch “Zenith”, and the motorised rotor that turned the antenna with the turn of knob on a box beside the tv and an electric motor turning the aerial. This was high tech, circa 1975!

 My 6 year old was not interested in my nostalgia and was clearly horrified by the prospect of his TV “changing”. It was high drama when he thought he may not be able to watch Garfield and Scooby Doo before bed, and what about Wild Kratts after school? 

Needless to say Bell was not amused, and the "Loyalty department" worked very hard to change our minds. Never the less on Saturday morning a few weeks ago we awoke to a new era….no more cable TV and no more calls from the Duct cleaner Telemarketers on the land line, the cord was severed! 

Now 3 weeks into this new era we are doing okay.  During the weeks leading up to the end of our Bell services I did some research and chose an HD Antenna from a local computer shop.  This was not the monster antenna of my youth with the long aluminum arms, but instead it’s a plastic rectangular box with two plastic arms sticking straight out of each side.

When I arrived home with my $40 purchase my son and wife looked more than a little sceptical about my choice of satellite replacement.  I too was curious if this contraption would do anything or if I had just flushed $40 down the toilet.  But surely everything you read on the Internet is true…right?   I pulled it out of the box, attached a few feet of cable to it, set it on the living room window sill, attached it to the TV….and prayed that a picture would present itself.   And voila, after a channel scan, about 20 channels came through.  The biggest surprise is that we never knew how poor the satellite picture quality had been until we saw the High Definition that came from the free "over the air" signals.  Suddenly Peter Mansbridge looks much older, and the NFL games are spectacular. Now with this modest success I was emboldened to physically remove the dish off the roof and replaced it with our new best friend, the TV antenna.  Now with better aiming and 15 feet elevation,  the reception is even better and we now consistently get all the major US network channels from Buffalo and Rochester and the Canadian Networks, plus a few bonus channels I’ve never heard of before. Combine this with our $8 dollar a month Netflix service and I can honestly say my only regret is waiting so long to make this change.   I realize we are fortunate to live close to Lake Ontario with no high rise buildings near us to block signals, but I remain amazed how well this has worked out.  Now we just need to funnel all those $ savings into a vacation fund…Cuba here we come?

It's Closing Time.

Another Thanksgiving weekend is now behind us. A 5 hour drive back into the city complete, the dog is snoring loudly and the boy is showered and having sweet dreams of another day at school tomorrow.  Nothing has really changed from Friday, but it feels different…like an ending.  Perhaps this is still in me from the way I grew up.

Living in “cottage country” as a kid, and having parents in the tourist business, meant that this last long weekend of the season was always a busy time.  It was the one last chance to rake in some more business before the long wait until Boxing day, when the winter season officially started. I remember riding around “the Lake” (usually Kennisis)  in my dad’s pickup truck.

 It was time to collect from cottagers for jobs done after Labour day, and to make arrangements for winter work, like shovelling roofs in the winter. It was a mixture of social and business, as we were welcomed into the cottages. Many of those clients saw me grow up, many became friends of my parents. Some are still in touch to this day.

Meanwhile at the Base Camp, my mother would be multi-tasking, keeping the store open and the campers supplied while basting a Turkey or two for the Thanksgiving feast.  My mother’s boundless energy in those days meant that dinner could be for 6 or 26… it depended on who happened to be up that weekend, and who she could reach. Remarkably we always had more food than we could eat. Inevitably there would be some minor calamity. The weather could be cruel, snow and sleet were not unusual.  Power failures or brown outs were common back in the day. The electricity grid was fragile at the best of times, with every other cottage running an oven at 230 volts to cook a turkey and some  electric heaters to stay warm, the grid would become overloaded. The lights would dim or fail.  Being resourceful was the norm, and soon generators, propane lights, ovens and Coleman stoves were pressed into service.

Once I entered the working world the weekends were also intense.  Being the jack of all trades at the Backwoods Marina meant anything was possible.  It could start with a morning pulling docks out of frigid waters, followed by an afternoon of winterizing and washing algae stain boats that were going into storage.  Selling a few snowmobiles for the upcoming season was always in the mix.  And yet, somehow we always managed to gather for some turkey and share some gratitude for how fortunate we were.  I don't take credit for that, but am grateful the people that were around me at the time said, let's stop and give thanks.

Today my life is quite different.  Living in the city we take many things forgranted.  The power is reliable, the weather is warmer…longer.  Business is Monday to Friday, 9-5.  The urgency around this weekend is gone.  When we head to the country now to visit family at the cottage I have a different perspective.

Now, when I’m in the north, I’m the tourist, so the urgency and rush is not present.  Shutting down the water and winterizing the pump is perhaps nostalgic, and doesn’t feel like work.  Today there was time to walk in the woods, marvel at the show of colour Mother Nature has provided, admire the work of the beavers at the pond in the back forty, and take the time to answer the 1000 questions from my 6 year old boy.  There is something to be said for slowing down and taking the time to appreciate what's directly in front of us.

Thanksgiving is still a time to gather with friends and family, eat too much incredible food, and be thankful for the bounty that surrounds us.  But somehow it still feels like closing time, summer is over. Now where did I put my snow shovel?   

More Patience Please!

I can’t remember when I heard the line “I prayed to God for patience, and he answered me by giving me a son.”  But I have now come to fully appreciate the tragic humour in that statement. My son is about to turn the grand old age of 6. And its remarkable how much he already thinks he knows, and how often he thinks I’m wrong.  This would not be a problem if he kept those thoughts to himself, instead of arguing or attempting to negotiate his way through every request made of him. At the moment I can’t bear to think of what the teenage years will bring…

Parenting is clearly one of the most obvious opportunities to truly get to know your character flaws on many levels.  I now fully understand the parent curse of “just wait…one day you will have a kid who’s JUST LIKE YOU!” And I can also understand the glint in my father’s eye when he witnesses one of THOSE ‘battles of the wills’ between my son and me. 

Leading up to the birth of my son, I read a few of the top rated parenting books, attended a few lectures put on by experts, and thought…how tough can this be? All this knowledge and wonderful parenting goals of calmly reasoning with a child in a soothing tone, seemed pretty useful and logical, I’m teachable…I can do this…right? Funny but I don’t remember any of those books telling me that I had to put these wonderful parenting techniques into effect after the 3^rd night in a row of minimal sleep, with a kid that won’t or can’t sleep, or after a 6 hour car ride with multiple tantrums with toys and shoes thrown at your head, or the absolute refusal to swallow food after an hour at the dinner table.

I now readily admit that before I became a parent when I witnessed a child’s defiance in a grocery store followed by a parental meltdown, I used to pass judgement thinking that the parent needed to get a grip. Now when I see that happen I try to make compassionate eye contact with the embattled parent sending a telepathic message of “this is just a phase…hang in there…I get it!” I’m now sceptical of parents that suggest every day is paradise.

I remember sitting in on an excellent Barbara Coloroso seminar.  She is one of the gurus I actually like since she doesn’t sugar coat the parenting experience. Nor does she expect parenting perfection. Her news was encouraging…she said that a child that argues, pushes back, doesn’t always accept everything a parent requests, is a sign of a child that will have the strength to resist negative peer pressure as a teen. She suggests that this defiance as a child is actually a character asset in disguise! So there is hope after all.  

So what have I learned in the 6 short years of parenting? I can’t begin to sum it all up here, but I do know that this munchkin has an uncanny ability to evoke all kinds of emotions in me…some good, some fantastic and others that are…well…less than attractive.  Patience has never been my strong suit. As a kid I had no time for a model airplane with a billion pieces, and today I can get frustrated when it’s daylight savings time and I have to change the time on the clock in my car…you know the one…that has more steps than the launch sequence for the space shuttle?

So while I can sell the car or just put black tape over the clock, I can’t stop being a parent. So while my son, at 6, has a lot of growing to do, clearly at 47 I do as well.  I’m quite certain I will never be known to my friends as ‘Ghandi like’ with an abundance of patience…I am realistic. But there is definitely room for improvement, and there is usually a better way to do almost anything if I can slow it all down and let reason return. Of course maintaining a sense of humour never hurts.  

The other saving grace is that the dark days or moments are followed by days and moments of sheer joy. There is nothing like jumping off the diving board, hand in hand, for the first swim of the season. The morning snuggle in the easy chair while we both wake up, witnessing the first bike ride without training wheels, sitting in the school gymnasium for the end of school concert, and on it goes.   

And of course one day I too will get to pass on the parental curse. :-)   

Dreaming of Summer

I’m sitting now watching the sun set after the first real summer thunderstorm of the year. My 5 year old son wondering what all the fuss is about and why the TV had been turned off.  It’s easy to jump on the media band wagon and say “we never had storms like this back in the day…” but from my memory we had many storms, just like this, when I was growing up.  It’s a sure sign of summer!

I’ve always been a fan of summer though the experiences today are very different than when I was a kid.

Summer living in the country meant saying good bye to school friends for a few months.  In the 70’s when school ended my parents would pack us up, and we would move 20 miles north to the Haliburton Forest & Wildlife Reserve, where my Dad worked and my Mom ran the camp store.

We pretty much camped for the summer!  Here we had 100 square miles of park land with 50 lakes as a back yard. My Mom’s store meant a great selection of popsicles and ice cream bars as needed.  I took it for granted that I could spend summer days with my Dad, zipping down remote bush roads in a ’62 Willy’s jeep, no roof, no doors, no seat belts, windshield laid flat on the hood. 4 wheel drive as needed!  No electricity, no cell phones, no civilization for miles and miles. Lunch stops often meant pulling out the fishing rods, and reeling in some small mouth bass.  Deer, rabbit, partridge, fox & bear sightings were the norm. 

The manager of the Reserve was a seasoned pilot and had an ancient 2 seater float plane.  I was always at the ready when “Pat” would stop by the camp store to see if I was interested in flying into Bivouac,  Powderhorn or any one of 40 other lakes to check on a reported fire or to bring an emergency message to some campers.  How that old plane managed to take off from some of those tiny lakes is still a cause for wonder. But those flights have stayed with me for my entire life. There is nothing like the moments as the engine quiets just before the pontoons hit the water as we would land on Little Redstone Lake and coast back into the dock. Mission accomplished.

There are many great memories of this time.  Television was a rarity, the 6 o’clock news was a possibility if the temperamental TV cooperated and the antenna mounted on the roof hadn’t changed direction in the wind. As the picture faded again and Dad slapped the side of the TV and cursed it for the 3^rd time…it would be shut off…and instead we talked, as a family, about the day.  

The 7 o’clock ritual was to shut the store as quickly as possible, pile into and onto the pickup truck and do the 1 mile trek to Macdonald Lake for the nightly swim. Mom and Dad would ride in the cab. The kids (anyone who wanted to come)  and dogs riding in the back, often sitting on the tail gate. Today that would likely land a parent in jail!   Yet somehow we all survived!

I can’t begin to count the number of campfires we sat around for those years of my youth. Nor could I begin to count the hotdogs, corn and marshmallows roasted.  My parents were, and are, very social people and were part of the camper’s community. We spent many evenings throughout the reserve at various campsites and fires sharing stories. I wonder sometimes if we are losing this story telling culture with the push of Tv’s and internet into cottage country.  

Of course as a kid it didn’t seem all that great all the time, sometimes the sense of isolation became overwhelming. I was fortunate to have other kids who lived on site as well. And we became phenomenal friends. We remain friends today.  But I did miss my school friends that I rarely saw during those months, and friendships with the campers and cottagers kids were fleeting, lasting only as long as their parents vacation time.  And yes I missed watching television…even if at home we only had the 3 Canadian Channels, CBC CTV and on a good day Global.  This was my life from the end of June to Labour Day, throughout my youth.

Fast forward to 2014 and city living, city job, more cellphones in the house than people, satellite television, Nintendo in the basement, Ipad at the ready…what does summer mean now?

First signs of summer are marked by the first bike ride and the opening of the pool. It won’t be long until we make the first visit to the splashpad near Lake Ontario, and a day at Burlington beach is in the near future.  My son will have his own memories of summer, but I hope to give him a small taste of some of those great experiences I had as a kid. The 62 Willy’s Jeep is gone, as is Pat and his float plane. But we will have some campfires this summer with family and friends.  The stories of times gone by will be shared, and hotdogs and marshmallows will be roasted.  We will catch some fish and there will be great swims in spectacular northern Ontario lakes.  TV’s and phones will be forgotten at least briefly.  Welcome back summer…and stay a while, we’ve missed ya! 

City or Country?

City or Country?

The opportunities to head to the “near north” where I was raised and lived for the best part of 25 years, have been rare and short lately. Even though Haliburton is only about 240 km away, escaping the city life and busy schedules is difficult.  I’m not sure if it’s the long winter, the yearning to be closer to family, or that periodic belief that the grass is always greener (the snow is always cleaner?) on the other side, but I can’t help but reflect on the merits of country living versus the city life style.

I have been lucky enough to have experienced living in both the country and in a good safe city.  But It’s still not a comparison I can make easily based on experience. Life has different elements when you’re a kid versus the adult experience. My country life was as a youngster, my city life as an adult.  My memory also has been known to filter out a bit of the truth! So realistically a comparison requires a bit of guess work.

My parents abandoned the city and headed north, to Haliburton, when I was a 3 year old toddler. I grew up with plenty of green (and white) space and all the experiences that come with that lifestyle. Summers entailed biking on country gravel roads and bush trails, horseback riding on hundreds of acres of unspoiled wilderness, canoe trips, rides in a rickety float plane to remote lakes, riding in Jeeps with the roof off and windshield down, fishing rods at the ready.

I have fond memories of a favourite spring activity, sucker fishing. This wasn’t really fishing in the conventional sense, it was finding a fast running creek during the spring melt and sucker spawning season. For a kid seeing 3 and 4 lb fish in that shallow ice cold water was a great thrill. A friend and I hiked back to a favourite creek and with shoes removed and pants rolled up we “fished” with our bare hands for these suckers that were in huge abundance in the creek. The odd one we managed to grab we threw on shore.   It did not occur to us that other creatures might also be interested in the easy fishing, or that the dead fish on shore might lure a Black bear to pay us a visit. In Haliburton black Bears are common and in April they are still quite hungry after coming out of a long winter hibernation.  It was a moment I won’t forget…seeing a massive black bear bursting through the underbrush a few meters from where we stood, knee deep in the creek.  I strongly suspect that sprinter Usain Bolt would have had a tough time catching us as we hightailed it out of the bush, abandoning shoes, backpacks, jackets etc. In all likelihood the bears never noticed our presence, or didn’t care, but we didn’t stick around to find out.

Perhaps the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten was a ham & cheese on rye bread, toasted over an open fire. The open fire was on a lake only accessible by plane or snowmobile, we shared our lunch with the “Whisky Jacks” aka Grey Jays that greeted us fearlessly. I’m not sure if we were brave or stupid to venture that far back in the woods on our ancient snowmobiles,  my  ‘69 “Scorpion”  370 cc’s  held together with wire, bungee cords and a few prayers. 

These were simple times and are forever part of who I am today. I must say I was not immune to the “grass is greener…’’ thoughts.  The other side was, the City.   Haliburton, being a tourist town, meant friendships with cottagers and campers, thus came the stories of what city life was like. The bigger schools, more girls, shopping malls, paved roads, big name concert venues, and The EX to name but a few draws to a kid and teenager.  Many of my fellow students in our small school swore we would escape the small town ways at the first possible opportunity….and many of us did.

The other not so great part of living in a tourist town,  is the fact that when everybody else is on vacation, I was working. So during the best seasons to enjoy the great outdoors, I was on the job serving the tourists. I can still picture the guy that remarked, as I was fueling his $20,000 boat that had multiple young ladies in bikinis on board with water skis etc., that I was so fortunate to live in Haliburton. Yes that’s right the guy working for minimum wage was the lucky one… while the city slicker with all the toys played all weekend.  Sigh….

At the ripe old age of 19, I moved to Toronto to attend University.  Moving from a High School of 500 students, to a University campus of 42,000 was a dramatic change.  I remember sitting in a lecture hall that could easily seat the entire student population of the Haliburton High School and being more than a little awestruck.  Yes it was intimidating and dramatically different, but it was also a great experience, it vastly broadened my horizons on many levels.    There is a reason why so many people are drawn to cities and choose to live in them. There is an energy, and a vibe that is attractive, especially when matched with the gift of youth. 

The city has since become home, and I have many fond memories of life here in the big smoke.  Toronto is the place where as a student and after a long night out at the downtown bars, the TTC bus driver took pity on me and drove me off the route to the door of my residence building at 2am. The city is where I met my wife, and where my son was born.

   The city is the place with great hospitals that provided lifesaving surgery for both my parents. It’s where we’ve bought 2 houses and have had awesome neighbours. My best friends live here, the job opportunities are undoubtedly better, and having a career of choice is easier. And there is so much to do!  In the GTA we are blessed to have a great waterfront. I absolutely love my summers in the city, cycling along Lake Ontario, stopping along the way for a swim. Yes we actually swim in Lake Ontario!   I can take transit to the airport, to a concert or to a football game. And the annual Tour de Mississauga bike rally is a blast!

Of course there are also the negatives, and they are not insignificant. The traffic is crazy and commute times are increasing, prices for real estate grow exponentially, there are just too many people, and then we have the salt soaked long winters. And the media can’t stop talking about Rob Ford…

So where would I rather be? Is it City or Country?  The jury is still out…

It’s funny how things change…Now, when I get those opportunities to go to the North Country I have the time to enjoy what nature and small town Ontario has to offer, whether it is in Haliburton or Sudbury.  But rest assured… I will NEVER say to a teenager, working diligently in cottage country on a beautiful summer’s day, that he is the lucky one!  Wherever I live, the goal is to make the most of the opportunities right on the door step.

For The Love of Cycling!

Last weekend marked my first ever venture to the Toronto International Bicycle Show. It was a blustery, snowy morning and cycling was certainly not on the agenda. But it’s been a long cold winter…it’s good to dream of spring and the open road.

At the last minute my 5 year old son decided it was a better option to go with Dad to the bicycle show than with Mom to the shopping Mall.  So off we went, father and son, to the CNE grounds to see what all the fuss was about.  In typical Toronto fashion the cost to leave the car outside on a patch of asphalt was more expensive than entry into the show for the 2 of us…sigh. But if you wanna play you gotta pay!  

Now for some background… I still remember getting my first bicycle. It was a gift from my Grandmother that was visiting from Germany. It was “put away” until I was big enough to graduate from the tricycle. I remember my dad retrieving it from the rafters of the garage and putting on the training wheels. It was a gold Supercycle.  I loved that bike and it served me well for a few years until I outgrew it. This was the era of the Banana seat and high handle bars in the 70’s. It’s not something you see often now but it’s one of the 70’s inventions that were practical. It was the time where we cut straws into short pieces and slipped them onto the spokes for the sound effects and look. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many bicycles I had between the age of 5 and 45…it’s been many! Most were hand me downs or compilations of various bikes, and many saw extensive repairs! There are advantages in having a mechanic for a Dad!  Growing up in the country where everything is far and most roads were gravel, meant many kilometers of dirt road cycling. Asphalt was a rare heavenly find. Dirt roads and trails are not easy on the bikes or the riders, hitting the dreaded washboard half way down a hill and launching off jumps was tough on those fragile wheels. It might explain my occasional sore back and knees too… My ever patient dad asked many a time how it was possible to have so many loose spokes, bent rims and handle bars.  But even after all the crashes and flattened, bent wheels… I can’t think of a bad cycling memory…just lots of joy and adventure.

In high school I finally convinced my dad that getting a 10 speed road bike was a good idea. He was sceptical of the durability of a bike with all those gears and skinny tires on the country roads…but I was in heaven! I still remember the amazing feeling of the first time I did the 20 km ride to school. I think maybe it’s that feeling that keeps me coming back to cycling today.

I’m not sure when or why I stopped riding, likely in my late teens when driving became the cool thing to do.  It was quite a number of years later when I finally began getting back on 2 wheels, shortly after moving back to Toronto. Than 5 and a half years ago when my son was born…my free time shrank and cycling was put on the back burner, but as soon as he was old enough to safely ride in a bike seat, we were off. I had to go back to a hard tail bike to accommodate the Infant carrier, but it was worth it. Sure enough my son was fascinated with being on the bike. He would even fall asleep while I pedalled around Clarkson. I have vivid memories of him riding behind me as we rode through downtown Clarkson. He spotted my underwear strap and decided to broadcast in full volume the he saw “Daddy’s diaper” …that was a memorable ride.

 

Last spring on Easter weekend I thought maybe we could try introducing my son to riding on his own without training wheels. What I thought was going to be a torturous exhausting process…turned into a 3 minute lesson and he was off…he was and is a “natural”. By the end of the summer I already had to get him a bigger bike, now he has his first “Norco”. The other great find on line was a “trail-a-bike” which could turn my bike into a tandem, allowing my son to ride along with me and contribute to the trip at his own pace! There were a few that were hesitant of this new bike but my son took to it like a pro and we ended the summer doing a 15k bike rally, the Tour de Mississauga, as a family with the help of the tandem.

That brings us back to last weekend and the Bicycle show. I’ve never seen so many different kinds of bikes in one place. Not sure what to make of the “fat bikes” also not sure who pays $6000 for a bicycle either. But the happy energy in the building was great and renewed my hope that this winter will eventually end. The fact that my son had a blast there too made it all worthwhile. How can you NOT smile while watching guys playing polo on bikes and seeing 18 year olds on BMX bikes doing backflips…ah to be young again.  And now I hope there is enough time for my son to forget about those BMX tricks before we resume our riding this spring. But either way….bring it on!

What Exactly is an Involved Dad?

There is no shortage of talk about what makes a good Dad these days.  What I’ve noticed lately is the use of the word “involved” in the discussions that play out at the proverbial water cooler, and on social media.  So as a Dad it occurs to me ask “what exactly is an involved dad?”

I guess a good place to start would be with my youth and my Dad. 40 plus years ago I was the product of a German immigrant couple. If ever there was a case for having a hands off Dad this would be it right? Well this is not my memory.  From a very young age my memories of my Dad are ones of close contact. From when I could walk my Dad was the bedtime parent, the ritual was to run the length of the hallway through the living room into his arms, then to be carried to bed. My Dad routinely sat on the carpet where we would assemble Lego homes, assemble Hot Wheels race tracks and Meccano sets and more. My Dad was the one that taught me to swim, ride a bike, use tools and ride a horse. My childhood weekend memories were of riding the country roads by his side in the family pickup truck, or tearing through back woods trails on snowmobiles and ATV’s.  

Were my parents equal in the act of parenting? Probably not, my mother was a stay at home mom for a number of years. Nor where they equal in the career fields, my father was the major bread winner. But they both played integral parts in my raising.  And I would say that my dad was definitely “involved”.  Apparently this was not the norm at that time, and from what I’m hearing lately… is often not the norm now in many families today.

My wife commented the other day about a new co-worker that spoke often of her responsibilities with her kids, never mentioning a spouse, which left the impression she was a single mother. Upon investigation it was discovered there was indeed a spouse, but in her words; “he’s not really involved with the kids”.  So in 2014 how does this happen? Have men really not evolved from the caveman hunters? Or are we returning to a “Mad Men” mentality where real men work late, drink and play golf on weekends, while the little misses looks after the house and kids…while also holding down a job! If that’s true…and I hope it’s just the few that are an exception, those dads are missing a lot, and arguable are shirking their responsibilities.

I will be the first to admit that there are many Saturdays where the idea of a lone day on the bike or at the beach, is highly attractive….but I’m the dad of a 5 year old. What does that mean? It means that bike rides now often are a little slower and shorter with a tandem bike, so my 5 year old can join in. Trips to beach now involve sand castle building.

In our case becoming parents was not a surprise, and I was older and hopefully more mature.  We made a conscience decision to have kids, so of course that means we are both “involved”.  From the moment the doctor put 8lbs of a wiggling joy into my arms it has never been an option to be detached.  I don’t think my wife and I have ever counted who changed more diapers or who got up more times at 2am when the munchkin could not sleep. We just did it, because we’re both parents.

When my son was about 18 months old, and my brother in law was ill in California, my wife flew down for a week to visit him.  These few days as a single parent taught me a great deal about myself and what it means to be a parent. I can still remember dropping my son at daycare that first Monday morning. As I got on the highway after the drop off, the realization hit that if I didn’t return at 5:30 to pick him up…who would? My wife was thousands of miles away. I was the star of the show…so to speak.  That was a very humbling realization. During that week of being a solitary parent I learned many lessons. The 2 most important were likely the appreciation of how much my partner shared in the workload of parenting, and how immensely difficult it must be to be a permanent single parent. If you are a single parent I take my hat off to you.  While I missed my partner during that week, my son and I had a good experience. I felt empowered as a Dad, that while I’m far from perfect, “I can do this.”

Being a Dad has been a steep learning curve from even before my son was born. I remember learning during prenatal classes about how babies reacted to skin to skin contact with dads as well as moms.   That knowledge was empowering and intimidating! So babies responded to nurturing from fathers as well as mothers right from birth! Being a solitary dad for that week further entrenched a truth.  As a Dad it is possible to be THE parent of a small child.  Though fortunately in my case, I don’t have to do this alone. I just need to be A parent.

All this talk of parenting may be obvious information to many, but it certainly wasn’t to me. I got into the game relatively late in life.  There was a time that I thought being a Dad was not in the cards for me. Perhaps as a result I’m more grateful for having the chance, but that is pure speculation.  I suspect I’m doing largely what my Dad did, and trying to take that up a notch.  

Is there a clear answer to what defines an “involved” Dad? Probably not, but kids simply can’t receive too much love.  While it may take a village to raise a child, an “involved” Dad can lessen the load of the village.  And in the end the entire family wins.