ESSAY
The
Dad Redefined
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Why Ward Cleaver would no longer cut it.
Lisa Teasley, Novelist Lisa
Teasley is the author of the forthcoming "Heat Signature."
When I became a mother nine years ago, I found myself
watching men with their babies. Fascinated, dumbfounded by their ease, I was
an equal opportunity voyeur, whether it was my daughter's father happily
bathing our infant in the sink, a diner sharing food with his lap companion
in a restaurant, or a dude on the sidewalk having a conversation with his
friend while bouncing a toddler on his hip. I'm still watching these fathers
with awe and appreciation.
Many of these men—born in the '60s, '70s and '80s—carry their babies with a
natural grace. None of them appear to be "Sunday fathers," as the
term used to so aptly apply. Nor are these new fathers anything like my
wonderful dad, a man of the '50s middle-class mold, still married to my
mother, and who was never truly comfortable with his infants, toddlers or
teenagers. My childhood memories of him are with a newspaper, a book, a
briefcase, and not with a binky, Björn or ball.
To be fair to my dad and old-school fathers like him, one
must fully appreciate the deep societal differences between then and now. He
was the sole provider. He brought home the bacon, and my mother fried it up
in the pan. Never once did they deviate, nor do they to this day. His friends
and colleagues didn't witness the births of their children, and neither did
their wives encourage them to. He was not taught to analyze or share his
emotions. There were no touchy-feely talk shows, no open forums where people
aired their guilt and fears. Recovery groups were not talked about. There
were few openly gay men or male icons embracing their feminine side. Shows
such as "My Three Sons," "The Courtship of Eddie's
Father" and "The Andy Griffith Show" all hinged upon the
assumption that what we were viewing was unusual: the tragic, touching
circumstance of a man forced to be sensitive while rearing children without a
mother.
Men of the generation that followed have not experienced
loyalty from any company they've worked for, so why would work take priority
over family? Most of these men started a family when they were ready to,
rather than when they were expected to. The issues of divorce, however
directly or indirectly these new fathers might have experienced them, have
opened their eyes to the difference that parenting styles make. I can see it
in the way they carry a diaper bag. I can see it in the man who was my
husband for 16 years as he continues, two years after our divorce, to be an
equal, generous and nurturing partner in raising our daughter.
Men like my father didn't have the option to nurture. Society didn't allow
them. Men's public bathrooms didn't have diaper changing stations in my
father's day, so why would he have thought to change one? My mother wouldn't
have dreamed of asking him. I can't remember her ever leaving my sisters and
me with him to baby-sit when we were little. He often was in his library, and
when I needed help with homework, my mother usually said, "Don't disturb
your father."
At home, he was always reading. I don't think I became a writer to get his
attention; it's just that by his example I found books absorbing places to
be. Once I began to read conscientiously, I came to understand his world. He
was not unsocial, my dad; he threw many a company pool party. And he was not
unhappy, though he quipped, "Happiness is a trivial pursuit." He
always took us on beachy vacations. He also had the habit of merrily driving
us through the L.A. streets and proclaiming "I
love California!" (He was born and raised in Cleveland.) But his children definitely
seemed like creatures to him, not fully formed people. He wasn't one for
Band-Aiding a boo-boo or asking us how our day was at school. He simply
demanded excellence—straight As—and only questioned us about classroom
particulars if something went wrong.
The new fathers attend PTA meetings, book and bake sales, Open House and
teacher conferences. They take the kids to weekend birthday parties and
pediatrician appointments, and they always have been there for the child and
mother. They buy parenting books and help discipline today's child, who
rarely hears "Wait until your father gets home!"
My cousin is a fabulous stay-at-home dad, a term that did not exist when my
father had his three girls still in the nest. And just as any parent, mother
or father, may find more ease with a particular age set—infant, toddler, teen
or grownup—I feel my dad's relief and comfort with me as an adult. He put the
three of us through college and now he can relax and applaud our successes.
What's more, my father has truly opened up emotionally. He calls with good
news, he e-mails invitations for lunch with his girls and he has a favorite
Trader Joe's he frequents for the quality and color of its roses.
I've been watching my dad bloom as a person, whether it is in his loving
attention to his plants, his charity toward someone in need on the street or
his passion for a piece of music. He is not yet retired; he still runs the
company he's worked for for 40-plus years, and serves on various boards. But
his eyes are much more focused on his family and quality of life. Whether
we're having a political, spiritual, career or relationship discussion, he's
there for me. And though my daughter will grow up knowing that her father has
been there for her since Lamaze class, I too know that my father—perhaps
subtly inspired by this new generation—is making up for lost time.
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