Full-Time Dads;
The E-Magazine for Caregiver Fathers
Issue 2, originally appeared in print - June 1991
In the spring of 1979, my wife couldn't take our marriage anymore and walked out the door. I was emotionally devastated, of course. But that wasn't all. I was panicked: who was going to take care of my two daughters, aged two and three years, and me. It took little time for the answer to become evident. I was going to have to do it myself.
Like most babyboom males, I had been raised in a traditional family where sons did not receive any training in cooking, laundry, household maintenance, or, heaven forbid, childcare. I carried my ignorance into married life. And although I had always enjoyed babies, I quickly leamed that too much attention to them seemed unmanly, and I soon stopped any outward signs of caring about even my own children.
Challenged by my situation as a suddenly single parent, I threw myself into this new job, obsessed with taking care of my family, out to prove to the world that I could handle everything that needed to be done. Cooking proved to be no problem: I was pleased to discover the wealth of instant and frozen foods at the local supermarket. Just follow the simple directions, heat and serve. Before I became brave enough to face raw food and the burners on top of the stove, my unfortunate kids were forced to survive for two years on basic TV dinners. On the other hand, I promptly mastered the laundry. But because the results were so immediate and satisfying, I spent too much time at the washing machine. While I lavished my attention on small loads of laundry (like two sundresses and a pair of socks) the rest of the house fell down around me. Or rather built up around me as mountains of unread magazines, newspapers, and junk mail grew on the floor, coffee and dining tables. (Who needed a dining table? We took to eatlng in front of the TV: after all, they were TV dinners.)
In those days ow lifestyle was hectic, but held one serious omission. When my wife was living with us, I would come home from work ‹ and play. I would chase the girls around the house, pretending to be the Monster. I would be captured, only to be let loose to chase them once again. We would roll around the floor, accompanied by much giggling and laughter. After dinner, there was time for a walk or reading a story. I always seemed to have plenty of time for the kids.
When I became a full-time dad, the simple pleasure of having playtime became a luxury to be put on hold until all my household chores were done. After long hours at work, I would pick up my daughters from the day care center and rush home to the tedious tasks awaiting me. While my unorganized performance of housework didn't consume all my time, it did take from when we came home until bath and bedtime. After the kids were asleep, I collapsed into a stupor, wondering about tomorrow.
It took a long time to discover my mistake; I had missed my daughters' most wondrous ages of two, three, and four. Eventually I learned to slow down and to keep my priorities straight. To hell with the house! Stick with the jobs for the kids: feed 'em, clean 'em, but most of all, play with "em. But the girls were growing fast ‹ it was too late for the Monster to retum.
Now, almost twelve years later, I go to my daughters' dance recitals, school plays and soccer games. We go walking and camping, take trips, and I still enjoy reading to my youngest. And the monster? Although he has never been seen again, his playful spirit is still part of our family life.
Copyright 1991 Steve Lane
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