Fatherhood

Stress-Proof Fatherhood

Eleven simple affirmations to help you survive the joys of being Dad

By: Hugh O'Neill
Published: October 2008   [ Updated: Dec 4, 2008 - 10:32:05 AM ]

We love being Dad, right? All the love, the laughs, wouldn't trade them for anything, would we? Ha! We're lucky men. So lucky we don't mind admitting that we sometimes wonder what in God's name made us trade the full-blooded prerogatives of being a man—the freedom, the travel, the willing women, the freedom—for the indentured servitude of juice boxes and car pools. We love being Dad! But even the most ardent father sometimes ponders why he chose to explore the backyard rather than the dark side of the moon. Here's an anthology of self-soothing phrases to justify your decision to answer the call of the mild. 

My DNA is in there. I once found myself sitting daintily sidesaddle on a seesaw, trying to balance precisely 44 pounds of me so that my son could see and saw. I looked like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. I should have felt thrilled by my boy's joy, but I felt a tiny bit different—as if I were going to suffocate. Somewhere there was a game in triple overtime that I wasn't watching and deals being sealed from which I stood to gain...nothing. As I struggled to breathe and watched my son, I found consolation in this thought: My DNA is in there somewhere. Being playground-bound helped ensure that the sequence of proteins that is yours truly would carry forward. I had sacrificed so that the future could have the singular blessing of...me.

They'll be handy at the funeral. When you die, some-body has to deliver a eulogy. Your wife of 48 years will be sobbing. Your brother can't be trusted not to make some lame attempt at humor. But your kids, in the full flower of their middle years, are ideal for giving you the send-off you deserve.

I'm no James Bond. If you think the kids are the only things standing between you and climbing Annapurna, or Anna Kournikova, think again. Have you forgotten your laziness and complete absence of sexual magnetism? Sure, by becoming Dad you gave up the freedom to watch endless college basketball while wearing nothing but your underwear—no small sacrifice—but had you not become a father, it's much more likely you would have been battling loneliness, rather than playing cat and mouse with leggy counterspies on the slopes at St. Moritz.

Kids, go next door to the Jamiesons'. This phrase isn't actually for saying to yourself, but rather for saying to your children when your need for Mom becomes so acute that your internal organs may explode if you don't express your respect for her within three minutes. If Stan and Melinda are as clever as they seem, they'll understand why your kids have appeared at their door uninvited and distract them with cookies and milk long enough for you and the missus to have at each other like river weasels. Don't be surprised if the Jamieson kids show up at your door the following afternoon.

Cool, I'm being punked. Sometimes, it helps to imagine a hidden camera is recording your humiliation for the amusement of others. Case in point: I was the host of a miniature-golf birthday party for 22 six-year-olds when I stretched out on my stomach and reached down the throat of a giant fiberglass alligator to retrieve the golf ball of somebody named Brendan. While shoulder-deep in the reptile's craw, I was hit in the temple by a golf ball moving at Mach 1. When I rolled over in pain, my arm rotated in such a way that it got stuck. And before I could free myself, two other party guests stepped on me as they raced to the ninth tee. Only the hope that the viewing audience would enjoy a chuckle could redeem the situation.

This too shall pass. A sage offered this sedative when challenged to make a statement that was always true. Whatever horrible phase your child is in right now—won't put on clothes, will eat only grapes—it will pass. Like other things that seemed permanent at the time—the Holy Roman Empire, the Bush-Clinton rotating presidency—the torment will fade. This phrase can steer you toward the patience you'll need to stay connected with your kids, until the madness ebbs and love reasserts itself.