When I became a father for the first time, nearly 25 years ago, I wasn’t ready. I mean, my brain said I was ready and I know I was old enough, because I was nearly 30 years old. But despite having a great example of fatherhood in my own dad, I look back now and realize that I was completely, woefully, unprepared for what it meant to be a dad to a newborn baby girl.
It wasn’t the tasks or the chores. Robyn and I got that figured out pretty quickly, and one of the main rules still stands to this day: she handles blood and I handle barf. We split the rest as evenly as possible (there are a few things I could not do for Audrey, obviously). So it wasn’t really the “taking care of the newborn, fragile human” that was tough.
What was tough was the management of the emotions, the guarding the heart, the directing attention and focus. When we added three more to the fold, it became three times more challenging, because all four of them had their own ranges of emotions, their own ways of responding to tough times. None of them were the same, and there was no manual handed over that explained, “So, this is exactly what your newest addition needs when it comes to the non-physical care stuff.”
But at least when they are young, they listen. Because they kind of have to. It’s understood, when you’re little, that you have to listen to your parents when they speak to you. You may not like what they say, but you’ve gotta stand there and listen, darn it! And as a dad, I have to admit, the validation that comes from a child listening, responding, and thanking you for the sage wisdom you’ve just dispensed is awesome. I may not be the wisest man alive, but my kids think I am.
At least they used to. Now that three of the four are adults, I’m not so sure. Being a dad to older kids is weird. It’s not like it used to be, where they have to listen, you know they kind of have to respect you, and while they may not like everything you say to them, they really give you positive affirmations that the things you’re trying hard to do to help them be good humans is working.
My kids have turned out to be good humans. All four of them are genuinely nice, kind people. The are leaving a positive impact on the world, and I am proud of them.
But now, when I share my thoughts on why things are the way they are, how they can grow and be better, or even some spiritual advice on why God is working in a certain way in their lives–I don’t think they listen anymore. Oh, they “listen,” but I don’t think they entirely want to hear. And then I realize that when I was in my twenties I did the same thing to my awesome dad and then I just want to tell my own dad how sorry I am for the kind of jerky way I acted when I was in my twenties.
It’s weird because I can stand in front of an audience of strangers who want to hear my thoughts and ideas and they don’t dismiss me because of my age, or think to themselves, “Oh, he’s saying that again!” But in an audience of four kids, I can sense that sometimes they wish I would stop trying to share my wisdom and advice and just kind of let them figure it out.
Which is weird for me, because until recently, my entire job was to be there to help them figure it out. Figure out the Lego set or the recipe, figure out the tough part of the videogame or to find the right cord that they misplaced six months ago and suddenly can’t live without. You go from being very necessary, like a hand or a foot, to being more like a sock or glove–nice to have when you need it, but not super important on an every day basis.
So, to any dads out there struggling with feeling like parenting your kids has gotten weird, I get you. I feel like it’s getting better every day because they are getting older and starting to need my thoughts and advice again (on entirely new things like relationships and what to put on a resume or filing taxes). Sometimes they still look at me as if they’ve stopped listening hours ago, but they are at least paying a little more attention.
And maybe in another twenty years or so, when I’m nearing my dad’s age today, they will look back at all the stuff I said and did, from cleaning up the barf to showing how to mow a lawn or put air in the tires, and realize that I was pretty smart for an old man.
But, I’ll still be a dad to older kids–so who knows, maybe it will still just be weird.
Duane S. Montague 