Family Dynamics: New Roles for Dads

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time talking to my therapist about my family.

Now, I'm not going to start publicly pulling skeletons out of the family closet. After all, let's face it. Most families are weird. Most families have their own issues. And most families are capable of leaving all of us with our own unique set of baggage.

Personally, I think I’m pretty lucky. I escaped the unique weirdness of my family with very little psychic damage.

As I think back upon my childhood, I realize that although my father was the strict disciplinarian who never hesitated to take off his belt and give us a proper whupping, it was my warm-hearted mother who forced me into all those embarrassing situations that caused the lion’s share of traumatic childhood memories.

Why was that?

When I speak to my friends, it’s clear that almost all of us were essentially raised by our mothers. Times were different back then. Even if both parents worked full-time, it was mom who always made the decisions. Dad was the working stiff.

In my case, my mother was a newly-arrived immigrant. Therefore, I'm not quite sure whether her cruelty stemmed from ignorance of prevailing social norms in America or a penchant for embarrassing the hell out of her children.

How else to explain the fact that she bought me a girl's bicycle for my 6th birthday?  While all my friends were sticking baseball cards in the rims of their Huffy or BMX-style bikes, I was cruising the streets in a sunflower yellow banana-seat bicycle with a white wicker basket and a cute little bell out in front.

And did my mother really not know how to make a bologna sandwich or did she think it was going to be really funny to send me to school with densely-packed bowls of stinky Korean food?

Did she truly think that orange corduroy pants with bell bottoms and plaid vests were normal attire for 8-year-olds?

And don't even get me started on the haircuts! While our family wasn't always flush with cash, she certainly could have afforded the $5.00 to have my hair cut by a professional.

Instead, she always insisted on cutting my hair herself. Unfortunately, her home haircut kit consisted of a pair of meat scissors and a wooden bowl. She'd always finish and say "well, how does that look?" I'd say, "Looks great, Mom. Because in case my school does a stage production of Sling Blade, this haircut makes me look like Karl's stupider friend who couldn't get laid if his life depended on it."

"Now, where are my orange corduroys? I have to ride that girl's bike you bought me to my piano lesson."

I wish I could say that things changed as I got older but then I think about that time in college when my parents took me and my girlfriend out to dinner and my mother regaled her with stories about how difficult I was to toilet train.

Aaarrggh! Mothers!

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mother very much and these are certainly not the issues that I've been speaking to my therapist about.

It's just that the whole process makes one realize that the mother-child relationship has always been a complex one, fraught with more ambivalence and misfires than American politics. Mothers can work a 30-years-gone umbilical cord like Roy Rogers working a lasso.

In some ways, the relationship between a mother and a child never changes, and that's because your mother still remembers when you were three and shoved all those Cheerios up your nose.

Do you know why cult leaders always force members to cut off all contact with their families? Because they know that their spell will be broken and all the mind control will disappear the instant you hear your mother saying, "And I suppose that just because your new thetan friends are hooking their testicles up to a cattle prod so they can go on the spaceship, you have to do it too, right?"

I’ve been thinking about all this lately because recently I’ve been interviewed by several journalists and authors about how this generation of fathers is so much more involved in raising their kids than previous generations of dads. While studies show that children benefit greatly from having their fathers involved in their lives, I find myself always pondering the impact of our increased involvement.

See, even though my wife and I work full-time, my hours are much more flexible. So frequently, I'm the one getting my daughter dressed for school. I'm the one cooking all of her meals. And I'm the one picking her up in the afternoon and taking her on playdates.

Holy crap, I'm like a mom!

If that's the case, I can only wonder how I’m psychologically scarring MY daughter.

Will she be ostracized at school because I always pack Japanese eel and rice in her lunch box?

Will she look at old photos and be mortified that I let her go to school in red tap shoes, green corduroys, and a Mets jersey?

Do you think she'll hold it against me that I like to kill two birds with one stone so I sometimes give her and the dog a bath at the same time?

Will my daughter grow up with a weird sense of gender dynamics because I sometimes yell, "Alright, kiddo. You're in big trouble now. Just wait until your mother comes home!"

I don't know. At the end of the day, I guess none of us ever know how our parents impacted us or how we're going to impact our own kids. Whether it's the mom who runs the house or it's the dad who stays at home, do we ever know exactly how much we're influenced by each parent? Like I said, all families have their own weirdness. And so I guess part of the fun is in seeing how it all turns out.

As Dennis Miller once brilliantly said, "Families keep everything in perspective. You can grow up, get out in the world, become a big success. You can control fortunes, corner the market, forecast financial trends, steer your company into the 21st century and beyond, but you go home to your family and you know who you are?"

"You're the kid who got tricked by his brothers into drinking a glass of pee."

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Your turn now:

What's the most embarrassing childhood memory caused by your parents or family?  Or what's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done to your own kid?

Special prize to the winner who makes me laugh so hard, I snort Diet Coke out of my nose!

 

Comments

[sarah]

Them to me: The time my father said to me, upon the occasion of my first "training bra" shopping trip,

"what are you going to train them into, [the shape]of little stars?"

This was said in front of my MAJOR middle school crush...

Me to him - thus far:Not much really, unless you count the turtle costume I made him wear for Halloween.He couldn't see around corners and kept on bumping into door jams - He is only 18 months old, I've got time.

[twiz]

Most embarrassing memory (caused by my parent): My bearded, hippie dad showing up at my grammar school talent show dressed in a daishiki and Birkenstocks (showcasing his ugly-ass toe bunions, nonetheless).

The most embarrassing thing I've done to my daughter: Well, nothing I can think of.

However, my daughter embarrassed the hell out of me by farting audibly in a crowded elevator, then stating, "I farted." Awkward, muffled laughs ensued.

Love that you bathe your dog and daughter together. That'll save the planet for sure!

[Tracy]

Embarrasing my kid: When she was about 3, we went to the grocery store and I dropped a jar of baby food -- it exploded everywhere. Along came the clerk to clean up. Oh well, it happens.

Then we were standing in line at the checkout and I dropped a whole jar of pickles -- it also exploded everywhere. Along comes the SAME clerk to clean up. I was mortified, so I said, loudly to my daughter, "I told you that you had to be careful!"

[Hetha]

I loved this post, it was so well written and fun to read. No stories, just wanted to say you're such a gread dad and the peanut is so lucky!

My vote is with the asian leprechaun too.

[Ali]

With all of the stories about bangs, I have to share mine. My mom insisted I have bangs growing up (preschool to 4th grade) and they were the stick straight line kind of bangs too. For picture day she always tried to curl them (just the bangs) and in order to keep the curl she'd spray them till they were crispy. I hated it. So almost every picture during those early years has me rocking post 1980s lacquered bangs.
Another embarrassing story concerns me and my horrible sense of fashion growing up. If only, if ONLY my mother had been more blunt instead of cherishing me for the creative and 'fashion forward' child I was, she could've saved me the horror of remembering that I wore JNCO jeans.
http://www.fortunecity.com/westwood/prada/150/mammoth.bmp
Mine sort of looked liked that except that they had white and blue swirls leading to the bottom of the shoe covering hem.
Oh moms. Since my mom's death almost 2 years ago, I look at that embarrassment and social torment as someone who just loved me for me.

I am scarred by my most embarrassing moment caused by my dad's insisting that we have a farting contest while sitting in his state police cruiser, waiting for my mom to finish her shopping in IKEA. With each turn of flatulence, the car got more green with smoke as my final "in your face, pops!" turned out to be an "in your pants, kid!" Yup, pooped my pants in the back of dad's police car and had to walk into IKEA, find my mom, and flush my skivvies down the toilet. Thanks for the memories, and now the therapy!

[Woman with Kids]

Oh, hands down when my father explained that they named me 'Joy' for all the fun they had making me, to a boy I had a *huge* crush in... I was 13 and mortified.

[Hellga]

My first day of school, I wore a hand-crocheted orange, yellow, and brown argyle vest, a pair of forest green polyester bellbottoms, and the brand new elkhide moccasins my mom made for the occasion, complete with fringe, and my long hair braided into two Heidi-on-crack braids. I walked into the room, and by recess all the logger's children wanted to know why I had blonde hair if I was an Indian (this was before the term Native American came into widespread use). I'm sure you can imagine the fun that ensued playing cowboys and Indian for the rest of my school life. Too bad pacifism was a hippie thing, learning to kick ass would have come in handy. Geez, and now Mendocino county is home to the wealthy and hip - things have certainly changed :P

I currently have burned to disk and on each of my computers my favorite picture of my daughter a couple years ago: Wearing some fabric and pillowcases, with a new pull-on diaper on her head and grinning her butt off. I'm showing it to every boy she ever wants to date. Must put a disk in the safe deposit box, come to think of it.... (evil chortle)

[henitsirk]

I never ever embarrass my kids. I'm just lying in wait until I can get them good when they're 12.

My mom made me wear a corduroy jumper with an embroidered clown patch right on the front to picture day one year. I hate corduroy to this day. Don't get me started on clowns. She also convinced me that the octagonal gold rim glasses were "cool" when I was 8 years old. Glasses shaped like stop signs: Stop here and stare at me as you laugh your ass off!

[landismom]

5th grade landismom--sparkly silver shoes and a denim skirt with stars on the pockets.

I actually ran away from school, the teasing was so bad.

[G]

Oh wow, with all the stories of bowl haircuts, why were none of you in MY school? I had a bowl haircut that made me look like a boy. Making that worse was the fact that I was dressed in my older brother's hand me downs. I knew I was a girl, and never realized how much I looked like a boy until I was in a public restroom (in the ladies' room) and I came out of a stall and the woman coming into the restroom gasped and exclaimed, "oh my gosh, I'm in the men's room". I just kind of stared at her and said, "no, it's the ladies' room" and she said "but you're a boy" and I just started to cry and said "I'm a girl! I'm a girl!" When I told my mom the story, she thought it was hysterical and told the rest of my family.

If only THAT was what I talked to my therapist about. . .

Someone once told me "when you get older, you'll understand your parents better". Well, I'm older now and I think I understand them less. This comment I think, applies to people who didn't understand why they couldn't spend the night with their friends w/o their parents home, or not being able to stay out past 10pm, but some stories are better left as "those people were not qualified to be parents".
metrodad, you are not that parent.

BTW - I was in the doctor's office and saw you being quoted in parent magazine. Okay, apparently I was naive and ignorant about your wide spread fame. :)

[Leigh]

Them to me: All the weird cars that we had. Our driveway was your typical junk yard. My dad was always working on several clunkers and we lived in one of those nice new subdvisions! We even had a pinto from one of our neighbors that they wanted to get rid of, my dad insisted to pay them $100. We also had a purple cadillac with fins, an old cop car, and many, many others that were always breaking down.

Also my dad liked to go through the neighbor's garbage (again in this nice new subdivison) and I remembered he found a bike from a neighbor I was friends with. He fixed it up and still rides it to this day (25 years ago!).

Actually all of this sounds kinda cool now but not so much when you are preteen/teen.

Me to them: I think I am starting to embarass my son (he just turned 5). I called one of his friend's "hon" and my son kinda rolled his eyes.

[J-Dog]

Another awesome post, MD! I'd share my own stories but I'm still working through them.

[mo-wo]

Oh MD -- didn't I just try to quantify my influence in last nights post? And wasn't that all Metrodad referential already. Now this??

Get OUT OF MY HEAD. What are you my therapist?

And let's compare tags:
Me: because I think about stuff too much
You: Don't think too much, Einstein

Small world but varied.

[mo-wo]

By the way how come we never see you award these much ado prizes? When am I going to see you in a photo surrounded by vacu-sealed treats and a Fed Ex guy about to ship them off to some lucky winner? When??

[Julia]

I love how much time you clearly spend thinking about being a father. As an older mom of a different generation, it's so refreshing and enlightening. Keep it up, new dads! The times they are a changing.

[Dena]

I don't know that this is snort-worthy, but I totally feel you on the child-of-an-immigrant thing. AND the different gender roles. My dad is Colombian -- moved to the States with my mom right before I was born. She worked during the day, he worked at night, so he was the stay-at-home parent for me during the day. He put barrettes in my hair and made my lunches. And I can distinctly remember pining for cream cheese on bagels like OTHER kids...to my Colombian dad, there was no difference between cream cheese and sour cream. My whole childhood whenever I had a bagel from home, it was always a bagel with sour cream.

I can't tell you how thrilling it was when I was old enough to buy and make them myself, with honest to goodness cream cheese.

[Catherine]

My parents divorced when I was 2 or 3 so my dad wasn't always "in the loop" as to what was going on in my life. When I was a young tween I flew to visit him, as we're hugging in the airport he rubs his hand across my back and (I swear) shouts "WHAT IS THIS?" It was a bra strap. I. Was. MORTIFIED.

Me to my kids: I dress them alike a lot. The 4 yo is a boy and the 2 yo is a girl. But still, being an only, I figure half the fun of having a sibling is dressing alike. There's also the time I let the son try on some clothes for his not-yet-born baby sister. I hit a big sale, so had purchased in a variety of sizes. His favorite? An orange & pink dress with matching bloomers and hat. I can't explain how much I LOVE those pictures.

[Childsplayx2]

Let's see... My parents thought waving bye-bye was passe so they taught me to "shake a leg" instead.

Also, here in California on roads with cliffs hanging over them, there are signs that says "Watch for Falling Rock." My mother convinced me that "Falling Rock" was an Indian who was killed as a young man and I was supposed to look for Falling Rock whenever possible. I believed it with all my heart until I told my best friend's mom. She laughed so hard she had to pull the car over.

[Crystal In Southeast Texas]

Sarah's training bra: "training them to be stars" is hysterical too! HAHAHAHAHAHA *sigh*

[Lois Lane]

Okay, I've never shared this story with anyone, but now's a good a time as any to come clean, so to speak.

We were on a family trip to Big Bear so we were all piled into the van for five hours each way. On the way home, I was parched but there wasn't a rest stop for miles so I just sat in the back and slept. When my parents changed drivers, I moved up to the passenger seat. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a Welch's grape soda staring seductively from the center cupholder. I reached for it anxiously and took a big sip... then spat it all over the windshield. No one told me that my baby brother had to pee a few miles back while I was sleeping. I'll leave it at that.

By the way, MD, I'm your new facebook friend Superha (my blog is now super secret on wordpress - email me your username and I'll add you to my safe list if you're interested). Lois Lane is my public blogging persona. :)

[Little Bird]

Mine involves my dad. He was the principal of my grade school. AND he taught 7th and 8th grade. Yeah, he was my teach. For this alone I was reviled.
My mother? Never truely embarrassed me. She tried not to. Dad was the one who dressed like a lumberjack at school. Yep, it's true. And yes, I know the Monty Python song. By heart.

asian leprechaun! LOL!!!

[LL]

My mum, during my primary school years, picked out ALL my clothes for the morning. One day she sent me out of the house with a t shirt tucked into brown velour-y shorts that came a few inches above my knee... and wait for it... orangy brown knee-high socks. The school fashionistas were all snickering behind my back.

[LL]

Oh. And I'd like to add, this was in the late 90's!

The shorts were hand-me-downs.