Why Father’s Day feels different this year
This isn’t my first Father’s Day. (My boys are 12 and almost 9.) It’s not my first Father’s Day without my own Dad. (He died May 8, 2020.) It’s not my first Father’s day in my 30s, 40s or 50s. (I’m 45.)
On its face, this Father’s Day isn’t terribly notable. It’s one of what I hope will be a lot of days and years in the future where I can celebrate being called my favorite name in the entire world: “Dad.”
But, for whatever reason — the mind is a mystery to all of us — this Father’s Day has hit with more meaning for me than most.
It might be because we’ve spent the past 16 months in the grip of a pandemic. Or because I’ve finally had the time to process my own father’s death — and what it and he meant to me (and to my sons). Or because several people at CNN — Andrew Kaczynski and Rene Marsh — have lost small children this year. Or maybe it’s because my boys are getting older — one entering puberty, the other moving out of little-boy status — and I am starting to see the real-world effects I have on them.
Doesn’t really matter why. What matters is this: The past year being a dad has reminded me of three things:
- It’s really hard — and doesn’t get ANY easier as your kids grow up
- My own flaws and foibles as a person make it hard(er) to be the dad I want to be
- Being a dad is the most important thing I will ever do and the only true legacy I will leave on this world.
Let’s start with #1.
I used to always roll my eyes when dads with kids older than mine would say “little kids, little problems…big kids, big problems.”
As a hypochondriac with compulsive worrying behaviors, my boys’ problems were always big to me. Every cold, every fever, every sneeze felt to me like the start of something bigger — and badder. I spent their entire young childhoods on the lookout for the other shoe to drop. My — and our — life was too good. Something catastrophic was always on the horizon.
As the boys have gotten older, I still worry about all of that stuff. (And, yes, I am still working on it.)
But, especially with my older boy, I also worry about so much more: Is he happy? Does he have friends? Is he going to do ok academically? Does he know he can talk to me about, uh, stuff?
So, I wouldn’t say “big kids, big problems” but rather “big kids, complex — and not easily solved — problems.” (Admittedly, it doesn’t roll off the tongue as well.)
On #2, one thing I’ve learned as a dad is that you can’t just check your issues at the door. Who you are as a person — your life experiences, your challenges and, for me, my anxiety and compulsions — come with you as you parent.
What that’s meant for me is too-often checking with the kids about their health, hovering as they begin to strike out on their own and, generally speaking, trying to clear a path for them.
I’ve fought to be a better person so I can be a better dad. I’ve failed more than I’ve succeeded. And I’ve seen my behaviors lead to my kids acting in ways I don’t want them to model.
This is a direct result of my behaviors. I know because my dad was a worrier. I “learned” from him that life is fragile, that disaster or catastrophe is always lurking around the next corner. He was a worrier. I am a worrier. But I am working hard — with, as I said, very mixed success — not to add my boys to the next generation of worriers.
To do so, I have to learn how to get out of my own way. To get out of my head. To understand that life is not about a path without hurdles. It’s about getting tripped up by a hurdle, dusting yourself off, getting up and going on.
And, finally #3: There’s nothing more important I do every day than be a dad to my boys — trying to teach them about life, set an example of how to behave in all sorts of situations and, most importantly, make sure they know I love them unconditionally.
This, again, is harder than it sounds. Because it’s easy to be disappointed when they strike out. Or frustrated when they choose to watch You Tube videos of people playing video games (who ever thought that would catch on???) over that book you bought them that won all those awards.
This is especially true for me. I am impatient. I am ambitious. I want my kids to not just be good, but the best. I struggle to keep perspective. Context often eludes me. (My wife, luckily, is good at all these things. And somehow loves me!)
One thing I’ve noticed over the past 5 years or so — as my boys have gone from toddlers and small kids to, well, more interactive humans— is that they have gotten me back into baseball.
As a kid I watched every Yankee game. (Phil Rizzuto was the color guy for WPIX out of Albany back then and Bill White did play-by-play.) In my 20s and 30s I lost touch with baseball; I lived in DC, and DC didn’t have a team.
Since I turned 40 though, I am now all in on the Washington Nationals. My boys and I watch some-to-all of every game. They know the stats by heart. We rise and fall with the successes (or not) of the team.
The thing that baseball has over other sports is that it is a very long season. No one game (or even one week) makes or breaks a season. The 162 games take so long that you are forced to take it day by day. Do the best you can today. Worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
That’s the lesson about parenting (and life) that baseball has taught me these last few years — and that has really been driven home this past year. You can only do your best today. Worrying about what today means for a month from now— or 10 years from now — is pointless.
So, what did my wife get me for Father’s Day? Tickets for the 4 of us to see the Nationals play the Mets. They won 5–2. My boys ate, laughed and smiled.
That’s enough for me. It’s actually everything for me.
