Best Things Fathers Do

Ideas and Advice from Real World Dads

by Will Glennon (more about this book and author)

Chapter 4: Be There!
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Fathering is different from mothering. We come to our task from the outside and, captured in that configuration is the miracle we have to offer. For true fathering is not the physical act of planting a seed; it is the conscious decision to tend and nourish the seedling. Real fathering is not biological—it is the conscious choice to build an unconditional and unbreakable emotional connection to another human being.

 

Consciously choose to be a father

Once we make that choice, it cannot be unmade. We can’t abandon our children no matter what the circumstances. We can’t simply turn them over to someone else for safekeeping, not even if an ex-wife is doing everything in her power to make a continued connection impossible. We can’t wander off for a couple of
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years to get our lives together or in search of adventure. We can’t turn our backs on them if they get into trouble.

The miracle of fathering, the extraordinary power it possesses to comfort, to heal, and to transform, is the manifest proof that, as a people, we are not as self-centered, not as alone, not as alienated as we sometimes fear. It proves that we can be responsible for one another, that we can eagerly embrace the often difficult task of fathering this tiny unknown mystery, and finally, that we can and will dedicate ourselves to caring for one another. In that choice, we return full circle to a life of deep connection.

In one very important sense, our own process of growing up has been a process of disconnection—the gradual disentangling from our parents, the slow but inevitable untying of the threads that forcibly hold us to them. We are “grown up” when we successfully disconnect—when we assume full control of and responsibility for our own lives. In a very powerful sense, when we first step out of the shelter of our parents’ lives, we enter a kind of timeless waiting room, where the past is simply a backdrop and the future seems a promise of endless possibilities.

Perhaps what is most frightening at this juncture in our lives—when we are just beginning to exercise the skills necessary to control our own destiny—is that our options seem virtually limitless. We can dive into a traditional career path or retreat into a life of solitude and contemplation. We can experiment wildly with interests and lifestyles or delve deeply into one very specific and narrow area. We can even choose to reject the past completely and abandon any responsibility to the future. In a sense, it is the time of the full blossoming of our inherent free will.
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Yet no matter how it feels, this time is but a moment in our lives. Eventually, we begin making choices that alter the landscape of life either slowly or swiftly. Deciding to become a father is one of those choices, and it defines and expands our personal universe every bit as dramatically as the primordial Big Bang defined and expanded the larger universe surrounding us.

As fathers, we become links in a chain that stretches across time, instantly and irrevocably connecting us to our ancestors and our descendants. As fathers, we also become an integral part of our community, because that is where our children will live and grow, and because it is our responsibility to do whatever we can to ensure that their community is a safe place alive with possibilities.

And as fathers, we are forced to confront the deepest spiritual meanings of life. Through the act of conception, we add our seed to the next generation and, in so doing, actively participate in renewing and perpetuating the family of man. This is not something that can be done without wondering why, without searching for meaning and a purpose, without being willing to hold ourselves open to ever-deeper and more profound insight. For the most part, however, this dramatic change takes place without our awareness, at least initially, because the process of fathering is every bit as much about our own growth and development as it is about our children’s. Just as we owe a sacred bond of responsibility to our children, so must we be responsible to our own challenges—as individuals, as members of an extended family and of our local and global community, and as active participants in the wondrous mystery of life.
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Understand your own family story

At times, it seems that, at the very core, human nature is an exquisite paradox—we search throughout our lifetime to discover and become who we already are. As our children begin their long search to bring to full fruition their emerging identities, they will be helped enormously by parents who have honestly and diligently mapped out the common territory. In this capacity, as mapmakers for our young explorers, the most important territory to record and pass on is that of our own family.

More than any other influence on our lives, our family will both distort and contribute to who we are. Through our genes, through the intense process of socialization, and through the deepest imprinting of psychological issues, it is our family—parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and extended, albeit ill-defined, others—who have the most profound effect on shaping our understanding and perceptions of all that is around and within us.

Our family is our hometown, one we pass on to our children. If we do not prepare them with as much information as we can about the side streets and back alleys, the hidden cupboards and secret stairwells, the hopes, dreams, and tragedies of this intimate place, we send them out into the world without a map or a compass.

To do this, we need first to do our part. We must face what we have been given—flaws and all—and commit ourselves to passing on the best of what our family has to offer, while trying our damnedest not to perpetuate some of the more damaging themes. That means understanding our own history, untangling the truth from the lies, and dispelling the myths and mists that obscure our vision.
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Facing and accepting our roots also means honoring and appreciating the gifts we have been given—regardless of the source—and uncovering the often buried histories, hopes, and dreams of our parents and other family members. We must do this in order to give our children a place to begin, a context within which they can understand from whence they came, to see clearly the forces that have so powerfully influenced their lives.

 

Revisit your childhood

One of the most surprising gifts that comes from being deeply involved in the nurturing of children is the chance it offers us to revisit our own childhood emotional issues—only this time, with the consciousness and compassion of adults. As much as we may appear to children as “all grown up,” we know how bruised and fragmented we really are. Our children offer us this special bonus, this rare opportunity to grow up again, only this time better than before.

As we experience and participate in the unfolding of a young child’s life, our own childhood memories and experiences resurface, some pleasantly and others perhaps painfully. We have all seen this inevitable childhood return played out poorly and destructively by parents who try to live vicariously through their children, but it is just as powerfully an opportunity to heal old wounds if it is pursued with awareness.

By nurturing our children well, by doing properly the things that were never done right for us, we can heal and smooth over many of the bumps and bruises of our own childhood. Through the love we show for our children, we can repair some of that damage to our own self-worth that may still
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linger from childhood. With self-reflection, conscious choices, and, if necessary, some good therapy, we can grow with our children and, at the same time, show them by our example that one is never too old to grow.

 

Be responsible for the world they will inherit

Being a father means we are responsible for our community—from the neighborhood we live in to the frightening global threat of ecological devastation. This wounded world, this troubled community of man, is the legacy we pass on to our children. Unfortunately, these already badly damaged goods are in serious danger of spiraling out of control into a hellish oblivion. If we are to honor our responsibility as fathers, if we are to hold our heads high, knowing that we have done our duty without fear, we have no choice but to do whatever we can to instill kindness and compassion into our public institutions and to fight for programs and policies that promote the healing of our community and our world.

What we have been given is the sum of our forefathers’ efforts—their achievements and their failures. What we pass on to our children will bear our mark. No one man can change the direction of history, but each of us, fully embracing our responsibility as fathers, can add our voice, our shoulder, our time, and our effort. When all is said and done, if we have taught our lessons well, our children will rightfully judge us, not only by the strength and depth of our connection to them, but by the earnestness of our commitment to the world we pass on to them and our willingness to seek answers to even the most difficult questions.
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Seize the deeper moments

For some mysterious reason, one of the most difficult things for men to admit is what we don’t know. The larger the ignorance, the more difficult it is for us to face up to it. This may explain why we are so good at and spend so much time at the very focused and practical things and are so uncomfortable in the arena of abstract emotions and unanswerable questions. We can teach our children to throw a baseball, tune up a car, analyze a problem, get from here to there, and balance a checkbook. But ask us why we are here, what life is all about, how we know what is right, what love is, and what happens when we die—and we sputter to a halt.

These are questions about which we can only speculate, areas in which there are no answers, only beliefs. Tackling these questions can be like passing an uncomfortable frontier, but we owe it to our children to stake out our territory no matter how tenuous, no matter how difficult it is for us to explain or justify. Our children deserve to know us—to know who we are and what we believe. We may be wrong, they may disagree, but we owe them the answers in which we choose to believe. For these are the answers that give meaning and purpose to our lives.

In thinking about these larger issues, one thing emerges with striking clarity. It is moments—not days, weeks, or months, but individual, crystal-clear moments—that we remember and cherish, that become for us the symbols, the milestones, the precious content of our lives. We are connected across time, but it is only in the moment that we live. As fathers, we need to find ways to share this simple but profound truth with our children. One way to capture these precious moments is consciously to slow the frantic whirl of activity that makes up so much of our
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lives. Stop moving, stop talking, stop thinking. Breathe slowly and deeply, inhaling the fragrance and texture of an individual moment. Feel the sun on your face, the wind brushing through the hair on your arm, the touch of your child’s hand, the smell of your newborn’s cheek. It is here, in these particular moments, that we are most profoundly alive and can connect most deeply with our children.

Sometimes, like the grace we say before a meal, such rituals remind us that the small things we take for granted are actually daily miracles for which to be thankful. At other times, like the private rituals and code words we use, they remind us of the deep connection that lies just beneath the surface.

Sometimes, such personal rituals, like celebrating birthdays, bar mitzvahs, and special events, honor momentous rites of passage. At their core, their purpose is always to mark and hold on to a single moment: by bringing us together, by reweaving the powerful threads of connection, by reminding us that, as much as we are all very much alone, so too we are all bound up in this life together. The ways we choose to observe and honor our connections with our children will evolve as we grow, but we will never stop being their fathers.

Fathering is forever. The form and content evolve and transform over time, but the heart of being a father, the deep emotional bond between a father and his child, the moments when we take the time to live fully continue to exert their power well beyond our lifetime.
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Lean on friends

Dads can get lost, and, like the oft-told joke, we for some reason refuse to stop and ask for directions! One of the most difficult things for fathers to do is turn to others for support. We know the reasons: our difficulty articulating and expressing emotions, our competitiveness, our pride, our raw inexperience in this arena. It is probably our greatest weakness, because it forces each one of us to reinvent fathering all over again—particularly if we are struggling with the distance created by too much travel, divorce, or just too many hours at work.

I have a friend I’ve known for twenty years. When we were younger, we hung around together, we both got married and had kids, and then we both got divorced. We still see each other fairly regularly. When we get together, we talk about sports and current events and sometimes work-related issues. A few months ago, we were at a baseball game, and he was brooding about something. Well, one thing led to another, and it turned out his fifteen-year-old daughter, who lives with her mother, had gotten pregnant, and he was really upset because he felt as if he had not done a good enough job keeping himself firmly in her life.

We spent the entire afternoon talking about our kids and the problems and issues we were having trying to be good fathers. It was really a wonderful experience, and later that night, I realized that I had never—and I mean never—talked about these things with anyone before. There was a part of my mind that just couldn’t believe it. Here I was with two kids of my own and two stepchildren—all already well into their teens—and I hadn’t talked about being a father to anyone. It’s enough to make me believe men must have portions of their brains that just lock up sometimes.
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I also realized, after talking to my friend, that he had let his daughter down, but it wasn’t because he didn’t love her and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be bothered. It was because he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a clue how to make himself an important part of her life from 200 miles away.

 

Find a way to connect

What works for one child won’t necessarily work for another, so we need to become masters of alternative forms of connection. It’s up to us to adjust to our children’s needs, not vice versa. The better we can tailor our approach to the individual communication styles of our children, the more we will become a vibrant force in their lives. What we need to do is anything and everything that works to pry open their hearts. And that means searching for the avenues that lead most directly into each of our children’s lives.

Sometimes, we need to stretch the boundaries of imagination in order to be a constant force in our children’s lives. They come in so many different configurations, and by virtue of having become fathers, it is now our responsibility—not theirs—to figure out just what is necessary to get through to them.

It is important to remember that distance between children and fathers can be measured in miles, but also in heartbeats. Both kinds of distance have consequences, but ultimately, the distance for which we cannot compensate, the kind that leaves lasting wounds, is emotional distance. It is the thunderous silence of a broken connection, the unmistakable absence of something we know should be there, the unbearable strain of waiting for a feeling that never comes. And that can happen no matter where you live.
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Emotional distance can begin in the next room or the next city. And although there are extreme cases where that distance appears as a purposefully erected barrier, it is almost always an unintended and unwanted impediment. Perhaps it stems from our biological position of beginning from the “outside,” but, at times, it appears as if there is a gravitational force pulling us away from a deep emotional bond with our children. If we live our lives without thinking about it, without paying close attention to what kind of fathers we want to be, the distance can seep into the cracks and expand until, one day, we find ourselves on the other side of a wide and gaping chasm.

 

Your real job is being Dad

For most fathers, even if we live with our children, the gravest danger pulling us away from our children is work. There are so many forces pushing us toward spending more and more time at work that we end up spending long hours away from home, bringing work back from the office, and working weekends and evenings. Many of us have jobs that take us away for days, weeks, or even, particularly for military fathers, months at a time.

The struggle to balance work and our kids is a difficult one, because, for the most part, there is nothing subtle about work pressures. Bills need to be paid; our bosses or our businesses demand more and more time and concentration. On the other hand, there is the soft and gentle feel of our connection to our children. It is frighteningly easy to lose track of that subtle feeling, to let it slip away in the stress of keeping up on the job front. It is just as easy in the concentrated focus of work to lose track altogether of the markedly different patterns and rhythms of our children’s lives.
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Upon reflection, it’s a wonder that so many of us—wonderfully skilled at figuring out the most intricate logical problems—can be so incredibly dense about something so crucially important to us as our children. So one Post-it note that should stay forever on your desk is that your children should be reminded constantly of how important your connection to them is. And the different ways available to us to do this are unlimited.

In strengthening our connection to our children while at work, one of the things we can do is to stop drawing such hard-and-fast lines between “work” and “home.” We need to make room in our working lives for our children. Bring them to work occasionally, communicate with them from work on a regular basis, or simply take some time each working day to wonder where they are and what they are doing. Just opening those new channels binds us closer together and creates surprising possibilities.

Our emotional connection to our children is like an invisible umbilical cord. We need to maintain a constant flow of nourishment between us. And whether we live in the same house or thousands of miles away, the key ingredient is time—not physical presence, but real, focused, emotionally present time.

 

Make quality time

True presence, real time, is when we are fully emotionally engaged. It is when we can see our children from a state of wonder and enjoyment. It can take place in their physical presence, while talking to them on the telephone, or when writing them a letter. No matter how we accomplish it, it bathes and energizes them with a shower of our undivided love and attention.
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True presence, real quality time, does not relate to what we are doing or where we are when we do it, but how we are doing it. When we are emotionally available to our children—wide open to whatever they need, welcoming and supportive of wherever they are—the easy and natural way of being forges the most pure and unbreakable bonds. It is so simple and yet so hard to remember.

With all our adult distractions, with all the pressures and obligations tugging for attention, it is easy for us to drift away, to compartmentalize our minds like a multitasking computer—one part thinking about a problem at work, one part worrying over how we are going to get the bills under control, another part trying to imagine some free time when we can relax, and still another part answering our children’s questions. To our children, however, that particle of attention feels exactly like what it is—mental crumbs—and it feeds the distance between us.

We need to try very hard to be present with our children whenever we can and, if that is not possible, at least explain to them why. When you live a life that is packed to overflowing, you need to become proficient at twisting time to your needs. One way to stamp time with a special intensity is to be powerfully present.

Another way is to make use of stolen time. We all remember with exquisite joy the feeling of playing hooky—stealing time away from what we are supposed to be doing. Stolen time comes out of nowhere—it surprises and delights. Stolen time stretches out so that a few hours can seem wonderfully long. Stolen time is pure luxury; it exists solely for us to savor. When we share our stolen time with our children, we invite them into an exceedingly intimate and magical world, where our relationship to them is all that exists.
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Whether we live in separate cities, are off on submarines for months at a time, or simply work too much, there is a very simple truth we need to incorporate into our fathering: distance is measured in neither miles, nor minutes, nor words, nor touch. The distance that matters is measured in our children’s hearts. Our job is to be there—fully, powerfully, and always present in their hearts.

 

Know your children deeply

Who is this miracle? How much of the individual personality of an infant is in the genes, how much is learned behavior, and, for lack of a more descriptive word, how much comes from the soul of this tiny child? These are fascinating questions over which there seems to be endless debate among biologists, psychologists, social scientists, and theologians. From the viewpoint of parenthood, this is one of the great mysteries of life. For it is one thing to understand where babies come from, and quite another to understand where this baby came from.

We can all accept the notion that each of us is a unique individual, but sometimes it is difficult in practice to extend that acceptance comfortably all the way back to birth. This probably stems from our overemphasis of language: We are waiting for an explanation, whereas our preverbal children aren’t waiting for anything. As adults, we feel seriously handicapped and emotionally deprived if we are unable to speak the language of infants and toddlers with any degree of skill. Some of us are lucky enough to get a crash course.

We also have a tendency to overestimate the effect of genetics. This is a kind of ego-driven blindness that can be particularly
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pernicious in parenting. From the obvious physical bequests of genetics—“he has my eyes” or “she has her mother’s nose”—it is a short, wobbly, and usually very inaccurate step to “he’s just like me” or “she’s just like her mother.” Suddenly, your poor child is saddled with all your habits, strengths, weaknesses, preferences, and peculiarities. That’s a very heavy load for a child who can’t even speak up in self-defense.

There we are, proudly projecting a very powerful image of how we see our children, and the message they receive is that this is what they are supposed to be, this is what will make Dad happy and proud. Because making us happy is so important to our children, they end up wasting an enormous amount of time and effort trying to cram themselves into the mold we created instead of exploring and developing who they truly are.

It is very easy to fall into this pit unwittingly, and the long-term results can be disastrous. This is one reason why it is so important for us as fathers to do our own emotional work. We must be very clear about who we are and what our needs are, and we must be certain that we do not unconsciously burden our children with our expectations. They are far too young and impressionable to sort out our expectations from their own, the things in life that interest and excite them.

Putting pressure on our children to be like us or, even worse, to be what we wanted to be but never quite succeeded at becoming, can be doubly handicapping. It does not matter what the expectation is: to love to read, to be outgoing and charming, to enjoy fishing, to succeed in business. Anything that we impose as a vision for their lives will more than likely set them up to fail, set us up for disappointment, and confuse and derail their own development.
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Wanting our children—particularly our sons—to follow in our footsteps is an unconscious tendency that we fathers fall into with much greater regularity than mothers. Perhaps it is the tangible proof we seek that something of who we are has been passed on. Mothers, on the other hand, need only remember the powerfully intimate day of their child’s birth. It may also be our concern that they “do something meaningful” with their lives, which we all too easily translate into doing what we did. Whatever the reason, it is a potentially dangerous trap that should be avoided consciously.

 

Learn from your children

One of the best “secrets” of parenting I know I learned from my daughter. She was seven at the time, and, out of the blue, she came up to me and said, “Ask me a question.” So I asked, “Who’s your boyfriend?” and she said, “Dad, I’m only seven.” “Okay,” I said, “Who’s your best friend?” “Debbie,” she replied. Right then and there, I realized that I didn’t know that fundamental thing about her. Here was my beautiful, sweet daughter for whom I would die, and I didn’t even know her best friend’s name! For the next two hours, I acted like a kid, asking a million questions for every answer she gave me. She was giggling away, and I learned more about my daughter in those two hours than I had in seven years.

Most of us are pretty good at asking probing questions of strangers at cocktail parties or business functions. We learn early on that, when someone is interested enough in who you are to ask even somewhat revealing questions, most people, flattered by the interest, are more than willing to cooperate. Yet we rarely
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think to use this very simple and effective technique with our children. Maybe we get so burned out by their constant barrage of questions that we are afraid that asking even one tiny, little question will trigger a new avalanche. But that’s just the kind of avalanche we need to be truly connected.

Here’s is what I learned: The next time your children start asking you questions, start asking them questions right back. Think of it as loving revenge. We may have a lot more of the boring, practical answers they are after (How come hot water comes out when you turn the red handle and not the blue handle?), but they have a lot more of the answers we are really interested in. What do they want to be when they grow up? What makes them happy? What is their most favorite thing? Their most favorite place? If they could go anywhere in the world, where would it be? If they could do anything, what would it be? If they could be anyone, who would they be? If they ran the world, what rules would they have? What changes would they make? What makes them sad? Angry? What’s their favorite color/animal/song/television show? And for every answer you get, ask why.

 

Be their personal storyteller

One of the greatest untapped resources of fathering is our ability to tell stories. Storytelling is in our bones. From man’s earliest days, huddled around campfires, it was through storytelling that we passed on information and taught the next generation. It is still one of the most powerful tools at our disposal, and one that our children love.

In the telling of stories, we create new worlds that capture our children’s interest and invite their participation. Great
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stories have been used throughout history to teach, but they can be just as important as a tool for building and reaffirming connection. The new and exciting world of interactive CD-ROMs and video games can’t hold a candle to the interpersonal, interactive capacity of storytelling. We can create a context, a situation, bring it to a point of decision, and then invite our children to choose a path. With that, we have them invested in the world of our story. Then we get to twist them around in our fantasy world, asking them again to make choices, take risks, and, most important, stretch their imaginations and have fun. And we are doing it together.

Fantasies, historical sagas, moral tales, wild and crazy adventures, scary stories, mysteries, stories without endings, stories without purpose—it is in the telling, the listening, the imagining, the squealing, hugging, screaming, and laughing that we weave deep and beautiful connections with our children. And it is in those magical moments of sharing that we get glimpses into the deepest parts of who they are.

Ride the roller coaster of adolescence

If you think connecting with your infant is a challenge in today’s day and age, just wait until they get to be teenagers. It may help to remember that adolescence truly is a tough time for our children. They are passing through many very confusing doorways. They need to leave the helpless humiliation of childhood behind and lay the groundwork for an adult identity—and it isn’t easy, particularly with Dad and Mom hanging over their shoulder. Our teenagers’ sudden interest in privacy and their lack of
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subtlety should not be taken personally, but it does require some adaptation. Because if we don’t adapt to it, we can quickly find ourselves very much outside their lives, right when we may be more needed than ever.

Although it is important to respect their need for more autonomy, it is critical that they know we are every bit as interested in their lives and committed to knowing, understanding, and supporting them as we have ever been. The process of inquiry simply needs to become more sophisticated, the communication methods more mature. Ask better questions, those that can’t be answered with one word. Be willing to ask now and be answered later. Ask more questions about what they think and believe and feel, and respect their answers, even if you don’t agree.

One of the most effective ways to get our children—particularly teenagers—to reveal themselves to us is to reveal ourselves to them. Tell them stories about your life—about things you worried about, mistakes you made, about being confused, being scared, taking risks. Tell them funny stories and sad stories, incidents that came out all right and those that were a disaster. The message is that they are important enough to know these intimate details of your life, that even their father had to go through these things. Show them that you survived difficulties as a child, and they will too. When we are courageous enough to reveal to our children the unwashed stories about ourselves, it gives them the comfort of knowing that they can reveal themselves to us without fear.

As a friend of mine once said, “Kids are a flat-out gas.” As fathers, we need to hold on to that truth with great consistency. Truly, deeply, enthusiastically enjoying our children is one of the fundamental building blocks of an enriching lifelong connection.
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Often, all we need do to really enjoy our children is remember that this opportunity to be with and interact with them is not work, but rather what we work for. When we approach each interaction with our children as a close encounter of the most fascinating kind, we are rarely disappointed.

 

Follow their lead

Enjoying your children can be like that compelling novel that you can’t put down and can’t wait to pick up again. Their days are filled with wonder and excitement, and all we need to do to become captivated by the unfolding drama of their lives is allow ourselves to be drawn into their world as much as we can. Get involved in their studies, pay attention to what they are learning, to what bores them and what excites them. Allow yourself to be fascinated by the choices they make and to wonder what is around the next bend.

Sometimes, little things crop up that take the fun out of our interactions with our children—their not enjoying an activity we do, arguments over money, fussiness, whatever. When that happens, we need to change the dynamic—and as soon as possible. Usually, there is a simple and obvious solution, if we don’t get caught up in the conflict. Change your schedule, change the activity, do whatever you can to change whatever has become the obstacle to sheer enjoyment: stop playing one-on-one if your daughter is tired of losing (or let her win); stop swimming at the Y every day for exercise when your kids hate the water; take some outings close to home (or stay home!) if car trips always result in stress. Some things can’t be changed, and giving up for the sake of our children all the things we
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enjoy is no solution either. But for every stuck situation we encounter, there are invariably numerous alternatives that can be employed to the enjoyment of everyone.

As fathers, we are doing great if we manage to stay on our feet while we madly maneuver to keep close to our kids. We can’t afford to let obstacles slow us down, so we have to be sure that our time with our children is truly and mutually enjoyable. From that point, everything else will flow. One wonderful way to accomplish this is to let our children teach us all over again how to play.

An odd thing happens when you grow up: you start being more concerned with results and less concerned with the process of arriving at them. There are many explanations for this, not the least of which is that, in a world that elevates money to godlike significance, the result—the product, the sale, the price tag, the payoff—is all-important. In this arena, our children have much to teach us. For them, it is the journey that is most important—how something is done, the actual process, the interactions along the way—and arriving at the destination is just the icing on the cake.

One morning some years ago when I was visiting the ocean, I took a walk along the beach and saw a father and two small children with buckets and shovels, excavating a huge area for a sand castle. They all seemed to be having a great time, laughing and running around. Later that afternoon, I returned and saw the children wandering around picking up seashells while their father was still hard at work, trying to complete the sand castle. By sunset, the kids and their mother had disappeared back into the beach house, and Dad was just putting the crowning touches on the castle.
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In its own way, this story is a poignant commentary on how easy it is to get fixated on results. I am sure, had he thought about it, this father would have said that spending time with his children was more important than finishing a sand castle that was going to be washed away with the night tide anyway. But he didn’t think about it. He started building and, by god, he wasn’t going to stop until it was finished.

When we play with our children, we need to throw our expectations overboard and turn control over to the play experts—our kids. Playing need not be about teaching, about solving problems, or about building something. Watch any toddler: The best part about building a tower is knocking it down. Playing should be about enjoying ourselves, and it is an art form at which children are extraordinarily talented. Let them take the lead, but also be willing to invite them into your play.

 

Don’t ever assume

When it comes to siblings, don’t ever assume that what you learned from the first will apply to the second. Our children may share with each other a lot of DNA and environmental influences, but it is rare indeed to find siblings who are at all alike. It is almost as though the first thing a newborn does is check out any existing brothers or sisters and set about becoming as different from them as possible. Raising one child certainly gives us many of the skills and much of the confidence we need to make fathering a second or third child a little easier; but in the most important areas—the ability to truly know and deeply connect with our children—it can be more of an obstacle than an aid. We get lazy, think we know more than we do, and make assumptions based on past experience.
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Each of our children is extraordinarily unique. And though we may have that “I’ve done this before” swagger, we haven’t done this before with this child—no matter what “this” is. Learning how to understand and communicate with different children is very much like learning different languages. Some kids you can’t shut up, and others you can’t get to talk. Some are wound-up energy machines, while others are calm and reflective. Some are highly sensitive to what is going on around them, whereas others are completely oblivious to everything but what they are doing. Some kids would watch television from morning to night if you let them, while others couldn’t care less. They talk differently, move differently, feel differently, see the world differently.

Our children give us so much, and one of their most surprising and welcome gifts are the doors they open to us that were never open to us before. Through our children’s differences, interests, and passions, we can enter foreign worlds and experience whole new ways of relating that are completely mysterious to us. When our children are like us in one way or another, it provides an avenue of connection that is simple and easy. When our children are not like us at all, however, it can be intimidating. We feel helpless in the fathering role with which we are most comfortable—that of teacher and guide. What do we have to offer? We can’t teach, because we don’t know; we can’t resolve the problems they come across, because the context is unfamiliar.

This can be a painful dilemma, but, in truth, it is an extraordinary opportunity. Often, what our children need, what they ask of us, is to forget teaching and problem-solving, leave the preconceived roles of fathering behind, and simply be with them in the moment, share this place that is their lives. Let
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them know that, even though you are different, their interests, dreams, trials, and heartbreaks are important to you.

The very fact that they are different from us is one of the great gifts of fathering. Together, with and through our children, we can open ourselves to discovery, to learning, to expanding our appreciation of those different from us, and we can do this without great emotional risk. They stretch our boundaries and contribute to our growth.

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