Fatherhood Freestyle: You Are the Prize

This post was inspired by the recent “Co-Parenting Matters” show on “Dads Raising Daughters” as well as my recent move from one coast to the other.

So, my daughter has been walking to school with one particular “friend” from our neighborhood since school began. We’ll call her, “Sarah” for the sake of anonymity. Well, around 7:15AM a few Mondays ago, my daughter sent Sarah the customary text to determine the logistics for the morning’s plans. When she responded “I can’t walk today,” I made the decision to drive my daughter to school myself. As we sat in the school parking lot waiting for the doors to open, I casually asked why her friend couldn’t walk. She shrugged her shoulders, explaining that Sarah “doesn’t speak” to her anymore.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Rewind.

She doesn’t speak to her anymore? How about all the back-and-forth texts? And her smile when I drop my daughter off every morning? No sooner than she’d said this, we looked ahead and there was Sarah walking up the hill…by herself. My daughter pulled out her phone to confirm she had read the text correctly, and disappointingly stated, “That’s what she said.” I immediately got that visceral feeling that overcomes every parent when they think someone has hurt their kid, regardless of that person’s age.

While we sat in the car waiting for the school’s doors to open, I decided it was time to press the issue a little. My daughter explained that Sarah had given some kids in the classroom necklaces, but not her. She told me Sarah sometimes didn’t even speak to her in school despite their having walked together just that morning. My daughter said Sarah called her “sooo annoying” and had recently been very mean to her. My blood, a raging 212 degrees Farenheit at this point was about to explode into a wicked headache. I tried my damnedest not to show my frustration, because I didn’t want her to pick up that this bothered me and (possibly) decide against sharing these kinds of stories in the future out of concern I would be hurt.

Convinced I had already heard enough, I let her finish telling the story anyway. I knew my daughter wanted that relationship, even though it probably didn’t feel good to her. I felt she was sticking around, because she didn’t see any better alternative. She had plenty of other good friendships from before, so she probably thought she’d easily find them here. After all, she had never experienced being the new girl in the new neighborhood in the new school on a different coast. Honestly, I may have underestimated these challenges myself. Given the recent transition, I knew she really wanted to be accepted and would be willing to try her hardest to make that happen, even if it meant forgetting her own strength and value. The whole discussion actually reminded me so much of those I’ve had with adult women about their own friendships and romantic relationships throughout the years. All I could see was my own daughter ten or fifteen years from now…and I refused to let this teachable moment pass without my sending a powerful message.

After she finished, I started to teach (or was it venting?). I told her she didn’t need to pursue ANY relationship where she was not equally pursued. I told her she was a good friend and needed to find friends who reciprocated. I explained to her that making new friends quickly wasn’t as important as making good friends. I even told her most people are lucky to have just five or so true friends in life. I explained that she should want friends who value her friendship, and that she should never settle for less. This probably lasted for a good half hour. She opened the car door after the school doors opened and gave me a hug. As she was leaving, I told her to look around, and I said, “Remember, YOU and your friendship are the prize.” She nodded her head, sighed, and left.

All day, I kept wondering if I had said the right thing. I was completely unproductive at work, calling friends left and right to see if they could help me wrap my head around the whole situation. I was consumed. Did she pick up on my anger? Was she listening to or even understanding what I had said? Was I being too protective and not just allowing her to ride it out naturally (with less overt support)? Should I pull her from the school if things didn’t improve? Would I continue the conversation later at home? Or maybe I was just blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

By the time I got home, I had already decided I would drop subtle nuggets of wisdom here and there instead of continuing to explicitly reference the situation. However, later that evening, my daughter spontaneously said to me, “Dad, Sarah told me a few days ago that she was going to buy me a Christmas present.” I calmly asked if Sarah had spoken to her throughout the day, and she responded, “No.” I wanted to make sure she wasn’t getting her hopes up too high. Plus, I had mixed feelings about her accepting a gift from Sarah. However, I wanted to leave the decision up to her, so I asked her whether she intended to accept it. She shot back forcefully, “I don’t know, but even if she gives me one, I am not getting her one!” Although it was her decision to make, I insisted she consider the message she would be sending either way. “If you really do not want to be her friend, do you really think it’s cool to take a gift from her?”

She went on to say that how Sarah had been acting was not nice, how she didn’t appreciate it and didn’t want to be her friend anymore. In fact, she told me that if the girl did not apologize and tried to talk to her, she would simply say, “Wait! What is that buzzing sound in my ear?” She stated she could make friends with other kids, and she no longer wanted to walk with Sarah. (Of course, she didn’t know I’d already made arrangements with the boss to go in late, so I could bring her to school myself.)  Surprised at this new energy and spirit, I was smiling as I asked her where all this was coming from. She looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and said, “Remember Daddy, I am the prize.”

Fatherhood Freestyle: Not Your Average Baby Daddy, Part I

My mother raised me and my older sister by herself. We had little means, lived in public housing, and like all parents, she always wanted and expected more for us. Throughout my childhood, I observed my mother as she ripped and ran, worked up to three jobs simultaneously, and developed no healthy romantic relationships (that I can remember, anyway). So as a kid, I made a commitment to myself that I was never going to be anybody’s “baby daddy.” Oh, how the universe has a way of telling us that we are so not in control. Well, kinda.

At 31, I am a single dad, but my story has a twist –a twist that has statistically become more common these days. I am the ballet and gymnastics dad, a man in a room full of middle-aged suburban moms who drive minivans. I set up play dates, I help other parents (usually moms) pick up their kids, and I arrange that expensive, draining, and anticlimactic birthday party every year. Hell, I even brought my daughter to get her first pedicure and sports bra….and I did this all as a full student struggling to make ends meet. Yup, these experiences as the custodial father of a nine-year-old girl have truly given me insight into my mother’s life as the prototypical single mother.

Although I am extremely comfortable in my role as a single father, there is one question that I am inevitably asked and still makes me squeamish: “So, what happened to her mother?” And, of course, there are always those who declare, “I do not see how a mother could leave her child. A little girl needs her mother.” Now, as a PhD psychologist with a dissertation on and specialized training in nontraditional parenting and youth development, I have plenty to say to those who truly believe daughters need their mothers more than their fathers, but I will refrain from doing so for the time being. Instead, I’ll tell the story about how I became a single dad, and why the process has made me a better man.

Imagine a 20-year-old black male studying abroad in the Dominican Republic with one more year of college. Now imagine this guy in what was supposed to be a fling with an American woman. That woman becomes pregnant, and now this man is less than a year away from becoming a “baby daddy”. That wasn’t me, only because I refused to be the average “baby daddy.” The rest is definitely me. However, my plan to avoid being labeled had one huge snag — I wasn’t in love with her. I told myself I would do anything short of marrying her in order to keep my promise to myself, even if it meant being in what I knew would be an unsatisfying relationship that was destined to deteriorate over time. So, she graduated a semester early, moved to the South where I was working on my Bachelors degree, and we shacked up while I took classes. A few months later, our baby was born, a beautiful little girl with an instant bond with her daddy.

I must admit I was a great father, but a horrible boyfriend. I was a willing participant in multiple “minor indiscretions,” and I was dismissive and uncaring toward her. I graduated soon thereafter; and even though I was not happy, I dragged her to a different state so I could attend graduate school. Our relationship suffered for a year or so and shortly after being laid off, she finally decided she’d had enough. She lacked emotional and social support, and she wanted to “be around family and friends” back north (her voiced desire to be closer to “family” is still quite ironic to me). Ever the negotiator, I convinced her that our then two-year-old would be better served by remaining with me. After all, I had purchased a home, my daughter was attending a great Spanish immersion preschool, and we were becoming part of the community. Furthermore, we both knew my daughter had a stronger bond with me. The feelings of elation and freedom I experienced as she walked to her car to make that long trip back home remain salient to this day. Also, I will never forget my daughter (what appeared to me to be) gleefully waving goodbye as her mother drove off in a packed car, only to turn to me and say “Daddy, I hungry” as I closed the house door. At that point, it seemed clear to me that my daughter could still have a “normal life” with me as the primary parent. In fact, I’d argue that she is much better off not having to grow up in a house where unhappy and unhealthy relationships are normalized and modeled. It was just my daughter and me, and I was excited to be the best dad I could be.

It is now 2009, and I cringe as I sit here writing about how I was in the relationship with my daughter’s mother. I have apologized, and sometimes I believe she forgives me. At other times, I am sure she hasn’t. After countless hours of reflecting over the past seven years, I have learned so much about myself — the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. However, I believe I am a much better person, father, and partner because of it. And my daughter? Well, she is a well-adjusted, self-possessed, and opinionated “normal” nine-year-old girl.

As I navigate through single fatherhood, I realize it has been anything but easy. However, I am happy I can tell this story and confidently inform the naysayers that little girls need their fathers too.