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My Son’s Boy Cave: No Girls Allowed (Except Mommy)

January 24, 2012 at 8:44 pm , by 

14 months.

We painted our son’s bedroom brown. Yeah, it was a risky move. What if it ended up being dark and creepy?

Some risks are worth taking; this was one of them. We had this idea in mind to create a “boy cave” for our son, as opposed to a “man cave.”

And what better color for a cave than brown? (Actually, I bet dark gray is probably the correct answer.)

We did originally plan for his room to be a “robot cave.” My wife found this really cool 3 foot tall decal on Etsy, designed by Tweet Heart. Unfortunately, the raised texture of our walls prevented it from sticking. It was sad that Ralph the Robot couldn’t hang around. We’ll try again when we live in house with walls with normal texture.

So what makes his bedroom a true boy cave?

Action and adventure!

First, there’s his Rockasan chair; which is a rocking papasan. It was originally intended as a rocking chair to rock him to sleep when he was an infant. But by now, he loves to pull himself up on it and let his own body weight cause him to swing back and forth like he’s in one of those pirate ship rides at an amusement park.

Second, my wife’s inflatable exercise ball serves as that giant rock that chases Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. My son Jack loves for me to roll the giant inflatable ball towards him from across the room. He tries to dart past me without getting hit.

It’s kind of like a very unfair version of dodgeball. I always am amazed at the level of intensity the ball can clobber him and he not only still remains standing but continues to keep running: all while hysterically laughing.

Third, he likes to play “full contact” hide-and-seek. The game consists of me running into the closet or the bathroom attached to his bedroom. Then he’ll sneak up and peak around the corner at me. The second he sees my face…

Rharrhhhrrr!!!

He gets attacked by the Yeti. Or whatever kind of monster I am assumed to be as a 5′ 9″ yelling adult man with a deranged look on my face. (To him, I’m still a giant; it helps that he’s only 29 inches tall.)

In a sort of slow motion move, I jump up in the air like Batman landing on the ground with my arms spread out and I pretend to lay on top of him. He just loves being playfully “attacked.”

And that’s my definition of “boy cave.”

We’ll try again in a few years, Ralph the Robot…

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Can A Heterosexual Dad Legitimately Be A Feminist?

January 23, 2012 at 11:14 pm , by 

14 months.

It was a sort of liberating experience a few weeks ago at the Nashville Zoo, to realize A) that in addition to carrying around my son’s diaper bag, sort of like a purse, I was also actually toting my wife’s purse and B) I was strangely okay with that.

If you know me in the least little bit, you know how it’s simply my nature to ask deep, random questions both in real life and on Facebook, like “What is the male equivalent of a feminist?”

The first answer I received confirmed my own preconceived answer: “Wouldn’t that be a male chauvinist?” (It was a female who said that.)

The second response I got confirmed my own understanding of what feminism simply is:

“Good feminism: a movement to eliminate gender-based discrimination against females; promote fairness and equality previously not experienced by females in society; and expand the gender roles of females beyond traditionally accepted roles which previously limited their contributions, productivity, and value to society.”

By the way, it was a guy, Mike Zeigler, who gave that answer. He went on to further explain my frustrations with the kind of feminism that annoys me:

“Bad feminism: a movement to revolt against the male gender and usurp their position of dominance to the extent that women achieve complete dominance and precedence over men, thereby emasculating and feminizing men in the process.”

Meanwhile in the land of Twitter, fellow daddy blogger Zach Rosenberg of 8-Bit Dad gave an answer that caught me by surprise. I never thought of this, but I think he’s on to something:

“A feminist. Men, especially fathers, make the best feminists.”

What if the answer to my question is that simple? The male equivalent of a feminist is a man who himself is a feminist.

Look back to that paragraph defining “good feminism.” That’s what I believe in, support, and depend on. How can I not back feminism like that? I’m married to a woman and we have a son together.

If that’s not the kind of movement I am a fan of, then I am simply irrelevant as a modern dad. Therefore, in all seriousness, I consider myself a feminist.

Let’s back up again, though- all the way to the title. Why was it necessary for me to specify “heterosexual” dad?

The main reason is that as a heterosexual man, I can not relate to the social injustices that women, as well as homosexuals, have encountered throughout history.

To make matters worse, I happen to be middle class and white. Clearly, I do not represent a minority in any traditional sense: not for my gender, race, income level, nor sexual orientation.

Quite possibly, I am demographically the most unpitied stereotype in America. So for me to claim to be a feminist, it’s natural to assume I’m joking or making light of the subject; attempting to be ironic for a canned laugh. But I’m not.

It may not count for much, but for the simple fact that corporately sponsored daddy bloggers are extremely rare and I just happen to be one of them, representing the many dedicated dads out there who truly aren’t male chauvinists, maybe I actually do know a thing or two about being part of a minority.

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Why This Dad (Sometimes) Feels Unproductive As a Parent

January 22, 2012 at 8:32 pm , by 

14 months.

It’s Sunday night and I’m exhausted. My wife is upstairs with our son right now giving him a bath and then she’ll put him to bed for the night.

Finally, I have a good 25 minutes to think about whatever I want to, including “nothing,” without hearing him crying, without trying to keep him from making a mess, or without attempting to invent yet another new way to entertain him.

In other words, I’m spent.

Physically, mentally, and psychologically, I’m done for the weekend. I hate to admit I look forward to going to the office in the morning, but I do.

Why, though?

Because there’s no way to verify my productivity as a dad.

I would love it at the end of the day to receive a “Daddy Report Card.” A while back, I explained that I am the kind of person whothrives on constructive criticism. I’m obsessed with being the best possible version of myself I can be.

Without knowing how to improve and without someone being brave enough to tell me; and without some confirmation of what I’m actually doing right, I tend to get disillusioned, frustrated, and even angry.

Welcome to fatherhood… I know, right?

It doesn’t change the fact that I have good reason to feel this way right now.

At my sales job, the numbers at the end of the month give me a confirmation either way whether or not my dedication paid off.

Here writing for Parents.com, I can know at any moment how well (or unwell) a particular article of mine is doing with readers by viewing something called StatCounter.

Like today, I am pleased to see all my hard work writing about chicken nuggets paid off; people evidently want to know how those things are made. Certain posts like this one take less than 25 minutes and I’m done; just vulnerable streaming of consciousness. But the one about mechanically separated chicken took about 4 days and several people editing it for me to get it just right.

If only a stressful day in Dadland was like that:

“Today, you scored a 99. The only thing to improve on based on today’s role as a dad was that you let him eat a Cheerio off the floor.”

See, that would be cool. I don’t know- blame it on my culture or my generation. I sort of like instant gratification.

Parenthood isn’t that way. Can you really ever know when you’re successful at it? Maybe when they grow up?

(Probably not.)

 

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When This Dad Is, By Default, The Alpha Male

January 18, 2012 at 11:25 pm , by 

14 months.

Put me in a room with a dozen guys my age and most likely I will surface as either the cultural equivalent of Paul Rudd, Ron Paul, or Jack Johnson.

If I were a main character on Lost, at best I would be the reluctant leader Jack Shephard, but I definitely would not be Sawyer or Sayid.

If I were part of the cast of Scrubs, I would be J.D. Dorian, not Dr. Cox.

In other words, by default, I am not the alpha male. I am the off-beat guy in the corner that people like being around, but don’t look to for protection, acceptance, or approval.

I am not the pack leader. Instead, I am the pack… guy next door.

And that’s fine by me; I know my role and my place in society.

Except when it’s not fine. Except when I must by default become the necessary pack leader. Most importantly, in my home.

In a household consisting of my wife and our 14 month-old son, I am obviously the alpha male. If I wasn’t, it would be a disaster; like the kind of thing you would watch on the TV show Supernanny.

And at my day job, with my sales position, being aggressive and taking charge is vital. I’m definitely by no means the alpha male there, but applying the things I learn from being one in my home helps me perform better at work.

Being the alpha male in my home means making important decisions on the spot and being good at making those decisions. Being this pack leader of my home means establishing order and trusting that my direction allows for my “society” to carry out that established order.

Yes, I am using the phrases “alpha male” and “pack leader” but when it really comes down to it, I’m talking about being the head of the household.

I’m going to edit this next sentence for sexual content, so use your imagination:

I’ve learned that as a man, it’s better to be perceived as a [jerk] than a [pansy]. 

My wife would rather be married to someone she respects because he is willing to take control of the situation, as needed, as compared to a man who is so easy-going that he leaves her up to take care of the decision-making and planning of both small and large household events.

Granted, we make our decisions together. But there are plenty of times where it needs to be my call and my initiative.

When it comes down to it, I don’t like being in charge and making decicisions. But to be a man, to be a husband, to be a dad; it’s just something I’m having to get used to.

Image: Goldfish swim in an aquarium, via Shutterstock.

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This Dad’s (Naive) Take At Understanding Feminism

January 11, 2012 at 9:52 pm , by 

13 months.

When I think of a feminist, I think of stereotypes like Jessie Spano from Saved By the Bell or the bookstore owners on Portlandia. I don’t really know what else to go on.

To make matters worse, no one can or is willing to define feminism for me. The answers I got when I asked people on Facebook were either A) “there is no one definition” or B) “you should read [so-and-so] book.”

So not only can no one tell me what it is, but I’m still left with stereotypes that no one seems to necessarily defend. I am a dad who simply wants to understand feminism. Why, though?

Because there is no denying the trading of so many traditional gender roles in the world of current American parenting. Like I’ve said before, changing diapers is no big deal at all for me. I can do that. I can learn to do a lot of things, but not all things are natural to my gender. In my book, changing diapers is neutral.

From what I understand, a feminist would say that when we assign gender roles to either parent, we are promoting sexism. Yet I was never able to breast feed. But I was the one able to get our son to sleep through the night by letting him cry it out. A lot of women would have a hard time with that.

I think it’s ridiculous to ignore gender roles. Why not work to the advantages of our natural abilities which our genders have graced us? Sure, some things are neutral; but others aren’t.

Are men and women truly equal?

Can a woman do anything a man can do?

Can a man do anything a woman can do?

My answer is: in theory. But in reality, I think if we are honest with ourselves, we know the real answers.

I celebrate the truth and find no shame in it. Celebrate women. Celebrate men. Celebrate both.

To me, if we can do that, we are truly not being sexists.

Image: Two hands giving each other, via Shutterstock.