The Collected Wisdom of Fathers. Will Glennon
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a little relief. The focus of blame is shifting to fathers because so often they are not there. Even the politicians are jumping into the debate, decrying “dead-beat dads” as the root of virtually all social ills, and calling for a “return” to family values.
Unfortunately, our first instinct when confronted with a problem—particularly one of the magnitude and with the implications as this—is to rush to assign blame. But if we look with our hearts instead of our fear, if we seek a path out of the suffering instead of simply a scapegoat, what we must face is that the absent father—both the one who is not physically there as well as the one who is not present emotionally—is a tragic consequence of the times we live in.
Like it or not, we are in the midst of a major economic, social, and cultural transition. The roles of men and women and therefore the roles of mothers and fathers are changing—and changing rapidly. These changes stem in part from new and often courageous choices being made by the emerging generations of women and men, and also in part from the very impersonal and inexorable economic shifts taking place. What we want, need, and expect from our most intimate relationships is being reexamined and redefined as we go. At the same time, women are moving into the workplace at an astonishing rate, out of both choice and necessity. The result is a boiling cauldron of change in the most vulnerable places in our lives; and one of the most visible casualties is the tragedy of the absent father, whether in another city, another home, another room, or simply always at work.
Change is difficult and painful. Painful because the ways of the past now appear sadly inadequate. Painful because what should replace the ways of the past is not at all clear. And painful because, regardless of the wounds, the constraints, injustices, or inadequacies of the “old way,” there were also benefits, particularly the comfort of familiarity. Painful or not, these changes are upon us. Whether we applaud, fear, or resent them no longer matters; they are here and we must deal with them.
Nowhere are the sweeping changes that have, in a few short generations, transformed the map of family structures more evident than in divorce rates. Today, half of all marriages end in divorce, and, for the most part, the children of divorce stay with their mothers. The fathers end up separated from their children, without any model or support system teaching them how to stay connected and, even more tragic, often without the emotional preparation or resources to fashion a new pathway back.
Although the sharp severance of divorce is frequently the wake-up call that prompts fathers to redouble their efforts to maintain a strong connection to their children, unfortunately, just as often it is the final push that sends an already precariously connected father out into a distant and lonely orbit.
It was so hard. When my wife and I broke up, it was like the earth opened up and destroyed everything. My children were very young and my ex-wife was very bitter. She wanted revenge, she wanted money, and she wanted to hurt me. The only way she knew how to get at me was to keep me from my kids. She wouldn't let me see them; when I stopped by day care to see the kids, she called the police and said I was trying to kidnap them. It got so horrible that I finally decided to leave town in the hope that things would quiet down.
When I called a few months later to try to work out some kind of visitation schedule, she accused me of abandoning them. I know I'm far from perfect and I screwed up enough myself, but she made it so hard I finally gave up.
Divorce statistics do not begin to reveal the challenge we as fathers face. For even if we are not physically separated from our children, what is expected of us as fathers—from our wives, from our children, and even from ourselves—is very different from the model we grew up with. Traditionally in this culture, our role—stoic, brave, silent—has been defined by emotional distance. Not that we didn't each have a deep well of feelings, but far too often those feelings were locked away in an inaccessible place. Too many fathers are skilled in work, in providing, in disciplining, but are untrained, unsupported, unsure, and uneasy in the crucial task of nurturing. The distance our fathers accepted as natural and appropriate is now threatening to unravel the very social fabric of parenting. The simplistic response to this by many men is an angry rejection of the “old ways,” most often expressed in some variation of “I won't make the mistakes my father made.”
My father is not the warmest and most expressive guy in the world, but he has kept his mind open and has accumulated a lot of wisdom in his years. One day, shortly after my son was born, my father and I were talking. I got somewhat carried away with my resolve that I would not be as emotionally withdrawn as he had been. He listened politely and then said, “Son, I've made my mistakes as a father; now it's your turn.”
It is true that if we are smart enough, courageous enough, persistent enough, and vigilant enough, we won't make the same mistakes our fathers made—we will make our own mistakes. But before we toss out our fathers with last year's calendar, it might help to remember that they grew up in another time, and in a very real sense pioneered a new era.
This is more true today than it has ever been. Television, jet airplanes, telephones, copiers and fax machines, personal computers, the list goes on and on—all are essential fixtures in our lifetime that did not exist when most of our fathers were growing up. And, of course, their most important lessons about fathering came from their fathers, many of whom were born in the nineteenth century. We can turn our backs in hurt and anger at the fathering style we were handed, but that would be wrong, it would be wasteful, and it would be disrespectful.
I tried so many times to get through to the old man. I tried logic, humor, veiled threats; I even tried taking away the thing he wanted the most—contact with his grandchildren. He's just scared. The rules have changed, and he thinks that for him to even admit that there may be another way to do things than the way he did is to admit he was wrong. I don't expect him to change who he is; I just want him to accept me for who I am.
Despite what anger or sorrow we may have at how we were fathered, we can't afford to carelessly discard the hard-won lessons of our fathers. We need to take the best of what they gave us as we plot a course toward a new kind of fathering—one built on strong bonds of love, that is expansive and courageous, and that will bring us back into the richness of a deep emotional connection with our children.
If we ask people to select words to positively describe what it means to be a mother, invariably they come up with such terms as nurturing, compassionate, caring, and comforting. For father, the words are protector, provider, responsible, dependable, hardworking, and problem solving. Those characteristics fit well with our culturally projected father images, such as those portrayed in Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best. Ward and Tom are portrayed as kind and understanding men who are primarily problem solvers, that is, men who diffuse and avoid emotional situations by presenting real-world solutions.
If we combine the above terminology of mother and father qualities, it makes up an impressive resume for good parenting. Traditionally, however, that list has been divided up by gender, with women assigned the internal or emotional tasks and men assigned the external tasks of dealing with the outside world. This division has deep roots in our history but, for better and for worse, it is rapidly deteriorating. The radically changing nature of what it means to be a man or a woman is not news, but it is a constant source of challenge and opportunity.
My father was a true believer in a clear and rigid division of labor—there was women's work and then there was men's. He went to work, paid the bills, and took care of the yard, while Mom did all the cooking, cleaning, and housework. What is weird is that my sister being a lawyer and me cooking for a living doesn't seem to bother him at all. It's like his rules stopped with his generation.
Over the past thirty years it's become obvious that women are no longer content to live within the boundaries of traditional gender roles which severely limit the scope and magnitude of their dreams. What is now becoming evident is that men also cannot continue to blindly play out their appointed roles without increasingly disastrous consequences to their own emotional health and to that of their children.
It's hard. I have everything I'm supposed to have, from the good job, nice home, and new car to a loving wife and two beautiful kids, and yet I feel trapped in a vise that just