To: Dad; From: Dad
Hey dads,
I’m gonna share a few thoughts with you here as Father’s Day approaches. But first, a quick story:
Not long ago, I began therapy with a teenage girl who had been struggling with a rough bout of depression. Like many initial sessions, her parents joined her for the initial hour. I always find it helpful to get perspective from different angles and points of view.
As family sessions sometimes do, this one quickly became loud and chaotic. I decided to talk to each of the parents alone and spend the rest of the time with their daughter.
Mom knew a lot about her daughter’s life and had a lot to share. She was concerned that her daughter’s recent break-up had a lot to do with her dramatic shift in mood. She highlighted the body image issues her daughter had been suffering, comparing herself not just with artificial Instagram perfection, but on the daily with her peers. And she offered the insight that her own relationship with her daughter may have become unhealthy and co-dependent.
This was all super useful, clinical shortcuts to her daughter’s healing.
My brief session with dad carried a completely different vibe. It was clear that he was in attendance at that session at mom’s request, an indication of the urgency of the issue at hand, as well as an attempt to include dad in matters of import to the family.
But his understanding of what his daughter was going through was perfunctory, one dimensional, descriptive of behavior bereft of emotion.
Effectively, mom made him come, begrudgingly I would guess.
“I mean, I want her to be happy. I want her to get better. But I don’t know what’s going on with her. That’s more her mother’s department.”
Dad was clearly on the outside, looking in. Sitting alone on the couch, without mom‘s guidance, he seemed a bit lost. To his thinking, helping out and parenting was just showing up for the hour.
A lot of us dads present like that, not just in therapy, but in the lives of our kids.
When I finally spoke to his daughter alone, and asked about her relationship with her dad, she literally waved it off.
“I’m way closer to my mom. My dad is just there, you know? You must hear that all the time.”
Yep, I do.
A lot of the kids I work with would say they don’t know their dads very well, and as a result, their dads don’t know them. Why share, after all, with someone who’s not sharing with you? So, they don’t know whether their dads enjoy their lives. They don’t know if they have close friends. Several kids have told me that they don’t know if their dad listens to music.
I’m always so struck by that last comment, in part because I know how important a role music plays in the lives of these kids.
So, a lot of kids worry that their dads might be leading unfulfilling, unhappy lives. For some of them, that feels ominous. Adulting doesn’t look so good when you watch dad.
When I was a kid, I felt this way about my own dad. He was kind of a frightening, unknown, potentially angry figure in my life. As I was on the cusp of adulthood, he and I began to connect. We laughed together. We vacationed together and created some of that shorthand that drove a deep, beautiful connection between us.
But to be honest, I could’ve used that vibe from him way earlier in my life. I was an anxious and perfectionist kid, and just a few minutes with my dad, filled with what turned out to be his trademark playfulness and ease of connection, could have changed and eased the course of my childhood. I think my siblings would say the same.
So would a lot of the kids I work with.
It took way too long for me to learn that my dad was fun, and solid, and a blast. He was a great listener and friend and problem-solver, this man I had been so afraid of through so much of my childhood.
A go-to I could’ve used.
I’ve worked hard to correct this tardiness over the course of my own fatherhood.
Strike that.
It never felt like work. I paid attention, and tried to be present for all the moments, big and small. You’d have to talk to George, but I think we did OK. I think we’re still doing OK.
Better than OK.
So, here’s a thought for Father’s Day this year. Mom, take the day off. Dip, entirely. Leave dad with the kids, or kid.
And guys, take off the dad hat for the day and toss it. Do something you’ve never done before with your kids. Go to the pool. Take the bike ride. Lace up for the hike. Eat the ice cream. Listen to the music or watch the show. Relax and enjoy yourself with them.
And here and there over the course of the day, share some of your own stories with your kids. Tell them your best memory from your own childhood. Share something ridiculous or embarrassing. Let them get to know you. Show them your backstory. Introduce them to the dimension of your life.
Laugh with them.
Chances are, your kids are unfamiliar with these sides of you.
But once you start to share your story, you’re going to find that your kids start to share theirs with you. Like most mothers or mother figures, you will become a trusted go-to person when life gets rough. You will be on the knowing side of the day-to-day stories and dramas and wins and losses.
You’ll get to know your kids in a way that your father may never have gotten to know you. Or perhaps didn’t know you that way until you were an adult.
Some guys might be asking, “Why do I want to know all this stuff? They’ve got their mother for that.”
I’ve heard that in this therapy room so many times from so many fathers. And the answer is pretty simple. Knowing your kids in this way, being in on their lives, these are amongst the greatest joys in life. Knowing the day-to-day and being a go-to, that’s the good stuff. Sure, it’s great to be around for holidays, birthdays, game days, closing nights and vacations.
I often think about a time around year ago when Taylor Swift’s Eras tour stopped here in Chicago. All day before the show, I saw moms and their kids, mostly daughters, dressed up and singing and dancing and celebrating and connecting in the otherwise staid and stoic streets surrounding my office. I was thrilled to see those connections strengthen and wished the same for dads.
But the bulk of the magic happens in the ordinary everyday moments. It’s where the trust is gained. It’s where the inside joke is crafted between you. It’s where the sing-along in the car, maybe to Taylor, is established. I swear to you that over time, those ordinary moments collectively feel like a precious light that only the two of you can see and share.
Trust me. This is the best stuff about being a father. I’ve watched dads turn this corner with their kids so many times, and nothing has been more gratifying to witness. I like to think my own fatherhood has been built ground up from the ordinary stuff to craft an extraordinary connection.
That resulting connection is one of the greatest privileges of this life, of parenthood and fatherhood.
This, gentlemen, is a gift you can give yourself today, a gift that will honestly keep on giving for the rest of your lives. It’s a big deal.
Happy Father’s Day, man!
Duffy