Daddy Digest: The Dad’s Perspective

When I was asked to write a post from a dad’s perspective, I was both excited and a little worried.  It’s always exciting to know that people are going to read what you have to say.  It was certainly the highlight of my time as a college journalist and columnist.  The troublesome part arrives when you start to wonder what the ‘dad’s perspective’ really is, and how do you make it relevant to a predominately mom’s blog.  Let’s be honest, I can’t imagine any of you reading this anxious to know my theories on when my son should first watch the Star Wars movies, and in which order.*

The parent experience, in many ways, is universal.  Now before sprinting to the comments section, I would like to acknowledge the exception of the entire pregnancy experience and I realize breastfeeding is a wonderful, terrible, and stressful thing.  I’m talking more about the typical day to day stuff.  I’ve changed diapers and wiped butts.  I’ve had to quell temper tantrums and read bed time stories.  I’ve taken my kid to the doctor and the zoo all by myself.  The mothers of children have plenty of exclusive things to talk about; I wanted to be able to write about something that is unique to fathers.

I shook my brains, and two stories rattled out.

The first is short and sweet.  About a year ago I needed to stop off at the local Target to pick up some odds and ends.  I needed a couple new dry erase markers for work, or something equally as innocuous.  Of course, ended up taking the long way to the office supplies aisle, and inevitably a CD, a DVD and an action figure wound up in the cart.  (See, another one of those universal parental experiences!)  When we arrived, I did all the things a normal parent would do.  I parked the car.  I helped Milo out; made sure he had his rag-puppy, and took his hand on our way through the parking lot.  I made sure he didn’t die.  When we crossed over towards the front doors, a car pulled up.  A man poked out his head and proceeded to yell at me.

“Way to go dad! Spending time with your kid!”

I smiled and waved.  I was a little flattered to be appreciated in such a public way.  I wish everything I did was so well received.  If my neighbors gave me a shout-out every time I cut the grass, I wouldn’t wait until I felt like a lazy, guilty slob before I do it.  I also thought it was a little bit odd.  Taking my kid to the store didn’t seem to me like a particularly novel or spectacular moment in either of our lives.  Aside from some random dude yelling at me, the trip was distinctly unremarkable.

The second story probably took place four or five months later.  Milo and I were out and about again, this time to the grocery store.  As we weaved our way through the aisles, we came across a family.  Two kids ran up and down the aisle grabbing the next item on the grocery list, dad quietly pushed the cart, and mom stood to the side giving out orders.  We made eye contact.  She smiled.

“He must really love his puppy,” she said to me about my son.  He was with me in the aisle, one hand holding onto the cart, the other gripping his well loved rag-puppy.
“Yeah, he never lets it go,” I started to respond, “We’ve needed to get a few…”
“The best thing about them,” she says abruptly with a look I can only describe as smug superiority, “is that you can wash them.”  With a flick of her hair, she went on her way.

I cannot ever recall a moment in my life where I had felt more judged by a complete and total stranger.  As we finished getting groceries, I tried to assemble the perfect retort, but nothing came to mind.  I think the best I had at the time was, “maybe you should wash it!”  When we got home, I shamefully tossed the filthy puppy into the wash, and endured a two-year-old’s temper tantrum because I took his precious puppy away.

Now, I know that these two incidents are not unique to me.  I am sure that nearly every dad these days can share a similar tale, in which they were publicly complimented or chided for their role as a parent.  There are all sorts of blog posts and stories online from dads who have been complimented for fulfilling their role as a parent.  They like to comment about how unfairly low the bar is set for fatherhood, and how a new paradigm of fatherly responsibility needs to be established.  This isn’t one of those posts.  I don’t think that the problem is that the bar is set too low, or perhaps I should say that I am not terribly concerned with where the bar is.  I think the problem is that people seem to think that commenting on a dad’s parenting is an acceptable thing to do in public.  My wife never comes home with stories about how people offered her unsolicited advice or gave her a shout-out because she didn’t allow her child to get run over in the parking lot.  I’ve never seen a woman tell another off because she gave her kid a candy bar to avert a meltdown.  (Though she totally thought it.) When it comes to mothers, everybody keeps their comments to themselves, and rightly so.

Let’s end the double standard.  I don’t ask for a whole lot in life, but one thing I am going to request is that people extend the same courtesy to dads that they do moms.  Should you see something objectionable, feel free to roll your eyes, judge us inside of your head, and gossip about how terrible we are with your friends and family from the comfort of your own home.  Just find the restraint to hold those words inside your mouth.  If I am going to be overtly judged for my abilities as a parent, it better come from my wife, because if she is doing it, it’s because she loves me, not because it’s fun to be a jerk.

I guess that means the compliments and shout-outs for my acknowledging my child exists should stop too.  People don’t praise each other for doing what they’re supposed to do, they just don’t.  We don’t compliment each others shoe tying abilities, or give the courtesy nod to a fellow driver for properly signaling our lane changes.  That being said, I will be mowing my lawn on Sunday, and for that you are more than welcome to come cheer me on.

In the meantime, while we wait for the world to give into my demand, feel free to share your own stories of random strangers sticking their noses into your business in the comments section.  Together we will commiserate and judge people behind their backs, like we’re supposed to.

*He will probably get to see it around the age of five. We will watch the original trilogy, and if he goes absolutely mental over it, then perhaps we’ll check out the prequels.