6/14/14

Five No-BS, Non-Feel Good Tips For Being A Father

Some guys are fathers by default. Some guys earn the title through blood, sweat, tears, sleepless nights, hurt feelings, and surviving the teenage years. If you're fortunate, you'll come out the other side with gray hair and dark circles around the eyes but with a smidgen of sanity still intact. If you have what it takes, it's a small price to pay. Upon Father's Day, here are five bits of wisdom for new and expecting fathers I wish someone had shared with me. (Disclaimer: Take this advice for what it's worth and know it comes from a guy who has screwed up more times than he'd care to admit but will anyway. If you're not screwing up, you're not trying.)

1.   Be prepared to sacrifice. Your days as No. 1 are over the minute your kid is born, friend. Same goes if marrying someone with kids and becoming a step-dad overnight. I don’t care if your 18 or 50 when this day arrives. I don’t care how immature or mature you’ve been up to now. I don’t care what your educational or financial situation is. When that kid enters the world, your priorities immediately change, and that’s the way it should be. You come second from that point on. If you’re not doing everything possible to embrace this, you’re an ass. If you’re not changing diapers, you’re an ass. If you’re not feeding your kid, you’re an ass. If you’re not giving your kid a bath at night, you’re an ass. If you’re not reading your kid books at night, you’re an ass. Just because your momma did all the “woman’s” work back in the day doesn’t mean shit now. Different age, different time, fella. If you’re the guy who spends money on his “toys” before spending it on toys for his kids, knock it off. Right now. Your needs and wants don’t matter until your kid’s needs and wants are met. Period. End of story. That goes for your money, time, and happiness. You’re serving a new customer now, and it’s your kid. If you need “alone” time, get up early or stay up late to get it. Had a long night? Too bad. Feeling worn out? Suck it up. Had a bad day at the office? Don’t bring it home. The world is being unfair? That sucks, but it’s not your kid’s fault. You have a duty above all others now, and that’s bringing joy, knowledge, and experiences to your kid’s world. If that overwhelms you, so what. Plenty of men have done the job under a lot worse circumstances than yours. Step up and do it.
 
2.   Be kind to your kid’s mom. Hug and kiss your wife. Praise her. Stick up for her. Build her up. Encourage her. Apologize to her. Serve her. Wipe her tears away. Do all this in front of your kids. Make a point of it. Demonstrate what love is daily in front of them. If this embarrasses you, get over it. Visually and verbally show them how love plays out in the real world and not on TV or in movies or in songs that manipulate it. Give your kids a concrete, definite, unmitigated example of what care and trust and companionship and mutual respect is. Show them what faith in a partner entails. Show your kid the value their mother possesses. Don’t demean her. Don’t slight her. Don’t patronize her. Don’t cut her down. Don’t ignore her. Don’t take advantage of her. Don’t abuse her. Act decently and with pride and honor and there’s a good chance your son will as well. Further, do and mean this in front of your daughter and chances are better she’ll demand as much from her spouse.

3.   Play with your kid. Put your damn phone, remote control, joystick, computer mouse, or whatever else it is you like to stick in your hand away and pay attention to your kid. Devote time to your kid with no distractions. Play with your kid. If you’re spending all day Saturday, every Saturday, playing 18 holes, stop. Take your kid fishing instead. If you’re stopping at the bar after work every day to have a few pops with the boys, skip it. Play catch with your kids instead. If you’re missing your kid’s games, school plays, and anything else they want you there for because you’re not interested, get interested. Playing with your kid isn’t a chore. It isn’t a burden. It isn’t something you should have to find time to do. It’s a privilege, and the opportunity is all too fleeting. And don’t fake it, either. Don’t go through the motions. Don’t say, “OK, but just for a few minutes.” Don’t whine the entire time about how tired you are. When you get to the park, don’t plop your ass on a bench and say, “OK, now go have fun.” Engage. Be in the damn moment. Get in a swing. Go down the slide. Get your hands dirty in the sand and build some roads your kid can drive his Hot Wheels on. Play dolls and school and zoo and hospital with daughter. Let your imagination go and don’t curb hers. Let her take charge. Let her decide where the story goes. Stop bringing reality into the picture. Don’t be a killjoy. Just shut the hell up and learn a thing or two watching your kid’s mind at work.

4.   Be a teacher; don’t be a dick. There are a million teachable moments during any given day to share with your kid. Don’t let them slip by. Take advantage. But don’t be pushy and demanding; be informative. A simple, “Hey, did you know that. . . .” followed up with whatever information you can lend will suffice. A touch of “Hey, let me show you how and then you can try” will go miles and miles toward making your kid a better person who can take care of himself one day. Show him how to hammer a nail. How to crack an egg. How to says "please" and "thank you. More than anything, teach him how to have a good time. Teach her how to dance. Teach her how to set up a tent and camp with her in the backyard. Teach her how to make a snow fort that will still be there the next morning. Teach him how to ride a bike and then go for rides over and over. Teach him how to use a video camera and make a movie that he wants to make. And when you’re teaching, don’t be a dick. When your kid breaks something, which she will, show her how to clean it up; tell her “it happens”; and move the hell along. Don’t scream. Don’t yell. Don’t dwell on it endlessly. Your kid is your responsibility, not something that was put here to make your life more difficult. Take this seriously, teach her well, and then turn her loose trusting she’ll use what you’ve presented.

5.   Learn to say “I’m sorry.” You’re not always right. Far from it. You might act as if you are. You might even want to believe it. But you’re not, and deep down, you know it. Stop being an ass and perpetuating the myth. If there’s any intellect floating around in your head, you know this already. If not, there’s little hope for you ever being a truly complete father until you grasp this fact. And not just grasp it but practice it. When you tell your kid, “You know, you’re right, I’m wrong,” you’ll be twice the man you were before. When you tell your kid, “I apologize, I was out of line,” you’ll expose yourself for what you truly are, a flawed but real man who has the balls to man up and take responsibility. Saying sorry, especially to your kid, is a beautiful thing. Truly. With no bit of exaggeration, it’s about the most powerful gift you can give your kid. And when you do it, don’t attach a bunch of bullshit to it. Don’t blabber “I’m sorry but. . . .” or “I wouldn’t have done that if. . . .” or “I’m sorry for everything except . . . .” That crap is hallow, meaningless, and paper-thin. Just man up and do the deed the right way. Just use this simple template and you’ll be fine: “I’m sorry for ­­­_____. I hope you can forgive me.” Done and done.  

Above everything, if you really care about your kids’ well-being, you’ll let go of the grudges, disappointments, resentments, and anger you’re going to feel along the way when your kid messes up and you'll do what a good dad does: accept his kid always.  



3/17/14

Five Drawings Inspired By Bathroom Flooring

Yeah, you read that right: bathroom flooring-inspired drawings. So what of it? An artist (I'll dub myself one because no one else is going to) finds inspiration in all sorts of places. Just so happens my muse show up in vinyl bathroom flooring now and again. Some people see but a flat, meaningless surface; I see faces and patterns and possibilities and my sanity slipping away. Better crazy than dull, I say.

Now, back to my day job.   




 


3/12/14

Five Observations All Made Before 8 a.m.


1. You can tell a lot about a person by watching him eat. And that's all I want to say about that.

2. The world is a great big, beautiful place with lots of room to roam. There's no reason your front bumper needs to be touching my back bumper.

3. Waking up next to someone you love always trumps waking up next to an empty space and a pillow.

4. 30 seconds of a silence watching a sunrise is better for the soul than a cup of coffee in the dark, but it's a close call.

5. There are some really interesting, introspective, genuine, giving people you'll cross paths with throughout any given day. Too bad it's the blowhards that seem to effect you most. 

1/23/14

An Ode To Working Parents & Their Retirement

During all the years I lived in my parents’ home, we ate supper together every night without fail. That was the way. At the table. Seated as four. As a unit. As a family. Together. Same chairs. Same arrangement. Same faces. Same routine. They saw to this. They saw that their son and daughter had a meal prepared, cooked, and presented each night, steady and true. They instilled this structure and certainty. They created this predictable pattern. They cooked up a big helping of belief in reliability every night. I was never left feeling empty or in need of more. When I pushed my chair away from the dining room table and set about washing the dirty dishes one by one by hand, I did so with a belly that was full. That was due to their hard work.

During all the years I lived in my parents’ home, they woke each morning, and off they went to face a full day of responsibilities at jobs I’m certain they wouldn’t have chosen if living in a perfect world. Day in, day out. Year in, year out. Decade after decade. Labor and toil for eight hours at the least but usually longer. When they returned home, they did what good parents do: tend to their children with a purpose. See to their needs. Ease their pain. Relive their days. Prepare them. Toughen them. Fuel them. Inspire them. Correct them. Humble them if necessary. Build them up if  broken down. They did all without a reward waiting on the other side. All without expectations of repayment. All without complaints or dissatisfaction hanging in the air.

During all the years I lived in my parents’ home, I watched them grow up practically at the same time I was. At just 17 and 18, they were mere children in charge of children, responsible for shaping and defining lives. They forged paths they’d never been down. They directed traffic they never saw coming. They were quick to deal out punishment, but quicker to forgive and forget the transgressions that brought it on. They disciplined with resolve but also with a purpose. They demanded but did it responsibly. They thickened my skin. They opened my eyes. They insisted I do for myself. They hung the importance of owning a worth ethic high above the mantel. With few resources, little guidance, and all the fright and uncertainty that youth is apt to pour down the throat and make your swallow, they did what good parents do: provide.

During all the years I lived in my parents’ home, they continually taught skills that would keep me standing later. To finish a job started. To compete. To battle. To seek answers. To respect a dollar earned. They taught me to cook. They insisted that I clean. They taught me to sew. They insisted I wash my own clothes. They taught me how to seek employment. They insisted I get a job. They taught me to value my possessions. They insisted I clean up my own messes. They taught me about self-worth. They insisted I show respect. They taught me appreciation. They insisted I pitch in without being asked. They did what good parents do: teach their children to be self-sufficient.  

Upon my parents’ retirement, upon their well-deserved rest, upon their days ahead filled with freedom and choices, they should know their efforts in the past didn’t go unnoticed. Their work wasn't unappreciated. They should know the hours and days and years of sacrifice weren't made without tremendous gratitude. They should know I learned well in my surroundings, and I would not change a thing.