Daddy Guilt

It's hard being The Dad sometimes.

This is what I see:

But this is what I think:

I recognize that there are a few great perks to being The Dad.  There is nothing more intense than the kids' joy when they see me pulling up to the house, and the way they run laps around the living room when I walk through the door.  I love that they want me to linger for a few more minutes when I put them to bed.  One more story.  One more song.  Monday, Genevieve had apparently waited all day to ask me questions about the living and eating habits of bears, because I'm clearly the resident expert on the Ursidae family.  Right or wrong, I benefit from the fact that the scarcity of my time tends to drive up the value of that commodity.

This post is not about a regret for "choosing career over family," if there is such a choice.  I get annoyed every time I hear the cliche, "No man on his death bed ever regretted spending too much time with his family."  The choice is never as clear as that, and it is an unfair dichotomy.  I'm sure there are plenty of people on death beds who regret that they could not provide a better life for their children (i.e. more time at work).  And others who regret spoiling their children and failing to teach them proper work habits.  And there are still likely more people who simply regret being on their death bed, because dying is crappy.  I don't work because I don't want to spend time with my family, or because I find it more fulfilling than being a Dad.  I work because I'm a Dad.

I don't mean to suggest that the provider role (and the highs and lows of that role) falls exclusively to men.  I am very grateful that our current life situation allows Alisha to spend so much time with our children, and I try not to take that for granted.  I'm sure that she could navigate the role of breadwinner or co-breadwinner as well as (or better than) me.  But this is the way life has worked out for us, and these are the roles we presently play.  Rather than get wrapped up in an academic debate about the value of a patriarchal family unit, I've decided to embrace the role of The Dad and make the best of it, just as my Dad did.

Before I had children, I had a vague appreciation for the hard work and sacrifice of my own father in providing for our family.  While he was undoubtedly faced with difficult life decisions -- whether to move, whether to change careers, whether to keep the mustache -- his efforts always appeared seamless and consistent to our family, even in face of major life changes.  We knew one thing for sure about Dad -- he worked.  I have tried to emulate those qualities in my own career, and to teach my own children the value of hard work and consistency, even though those lessons are often taught simply by my absence.

What has caught me a bit by surprise is the sadness and isolation of being The Dad.  I struggle daily with the knowledge that every minute, every hour, every day only moves in one direction.  I can't get back the special moments I miss.  I can't provide for the family and be with the family at the same time.  Instead, I spend many hours working on a career that is far too abstract to explain to a 4-year-old.  (She would tell you that my job involves talking on the phone, reading lots of books with no pictures, and eating cupcakes.)  But I try to make every minute matter when I see the kids.
 

Monday was a perfect example of the challenge of being The Dad.  I had picked up a nasty head cold, and I wanted to sleep through the day.  After all, it was Presidents' Day, and very few people would be in the office.  However, I knew that a new client expected something from me, so I went to the office around 9am to wrap up a 15 minute project.  Several phone calls later, I found myself trying to untangle a fresh set of problems not of my creation.  So I spent the day hopped up on Day-Quil and enough Diet Coke to render a horse sterile, and went home at 7pm -- 10 hours into my "15 minute" day.  I arrived just in time to tell the kids good night.  Kids were disappointed, client was not yet satisfied, and my cold had only intensified.  Welcome to being The Dad!

Lest this sound like a pity party, I understand that Alisha goes through different, though no less intense, moments of "mommy guilt" and other struggles with the kids.  (She also has begun losing her hearing because of Emory's operatic bursts.)  She doesn't get "promotions" or "raises" or "atta-boy" emails from co-workers.  Her quiet sacrifices dwarf my own, and she doesn't complain nearly as much!  Having Alisha as The Mom makes my life 100% better. 

I'm grateful to have a dad who understood and embodied his role as a provider.  His example is still a steady touchstone for the ups and downs of my own life.  Just last night I had a long talk with him to try to reclaim my sanity.  I can only hope that my children will appreciate (and emulate) the quiet family role played by a parent at work -- though I hope it does not take them thirty years!