Fatherhood Freestyle: Speak Up on WeParent.com

We’re looking for a few good men…

Fathers, to be exact.  Black Fathers to be even exact-er.

WeParent is currently looking for new regular and guest contributors to write for our Fatherhood Freestyle column.  If you’re interested in telling your side of the story, send an email to info AT WeParent DOT com.  Be sure to follow these guidelines:

• Subject line should be:  Fatherhood Freestyle Submission–YOUR NAME
• In the email (not in a separate document)  include your submission which should be between 500 and 800 words.
• In the email (not in a separate document) include a 3 or 4-sentence bio
• A statement indicating whether you’re interested in being a regular monthly contributor or a guest contributor

If your submission is selected, we will contact you with additional details.

And, don’t forget to send in your submission for Fatherhood Freestyle:  The Book!  Get details here.

Fatherhood Freestyle: The Weekenders

Fatherhood Freestyle: Honoring Mothers

In the spirit of “mama-love,” this father would like to take the opportunity to recognize the importance of mothers in his life and in his ability to father a daughter. So, let me start by saying thank you to my own dear mother and the many mothers who took part in raising me, guiding me, and just loving me.

Growing up, I was blessed to have been raised by an amazing mother. She was a strong woman who instilled in us so many positive characteristics. While I could go on and on about the many wonderful things my mother did for me, I think the thing I am most thankful for is that she taught me how to take care of myself and exercise responsibility and accountability. We did not have a lot of money growing up, and many times struggled to have our basic needs met. However, no matter how difficult things got, my mom taught me how to go after what I wanted and find the win in life. That attribute alone has been a major part of my successes to this day. For example, when I didn’t have enough money for college and my family could not afford it, I went out and literally “raised” the money. When I started my law practice and may not have had the necessary funds, I found access to capital when the banks turned me down. The bottom line is my mom taught us how to work and find a way to accomplish our goals regardless of our resources.

Learning how to find that win in all situations turned out to be fundamentally important in my co-parenting relationship. I guess that is the real focus of this blog. You see, my daughter’s mom and I have had a relationship that has touched on every emotion and seemingly every possible scenario. We have gone from peace to discord, love to anger, yearning to emptiness. Over the past twelve years, our relationship has traveled from the real to the surreal and back again. Through it all, I have learned some important lessons about finding the win and appreciating the importance of mothers.

While I may still be hurt in some respects, I have unequivocally concluded that a peaceful relationship with my co-parent far outweighs the alternative. It is real easy to focus on how I was wronged in the failed relationship. It is easy for me to see things through my perspective only. It takes real courage to see through hurt and understand my co-parent’s positions and perspectives. Having had the opportunity to parent through anger, court, battles and disagreement, I have learned that we must find a way to co-exist and co-parent peacefully. In that spirit and during this month that we recognize mothers, I want to take the opportunity to acknowledge my daughter’s mother and thank her for being a loving mom to our daughter.

I also want to encourage fathers to thank your children’s mother. Even if the relationship is strained, recognizing her importance and value will go a long way. Reflect on the importance of your mother and remember your child will likely value his or her mother in the same way. Fathers, continue to work towards a peaceful relationship with your co-parent, continue to get through the pain and struggle and do everything you can to find peace in your co-parenting relationship. From someone who has been through it all, peace is the best situation for you and for the children. So, let us men honor all the mothers in our lives.

Fatherhood Freestyle: Mother-Love Makes a Man

Growing up, my family was typical of lower income New Orleans households in that one house held several branches of the family tree; my mother and I lived in my grandparents’ house, as well as my aunt and her two children.  One of my earliest memories is from my third birthday.  I see a corner of a bed, huge in my vision with faded red lines which moved toward me as I pulled on it in an attempt to lift myself up.  And then my Grandmother Frances’ bespectacled face appears, smiling and comforting as she pulls me up…no easy feat ‘cause by all accounts I was a mini Buddha-baby.  My grandmother always looked out for me.  I always felt I could count on her.  She would always slip me candy or some spending money, would take my side in little arguments.  She could fuss at me, and minutes after, console me.   When I became a teen, she even attempted to help me organize my love life.  If I was out with a girl, and another one called while I was out; she would find a way to discreetly inform me of the call, with raised eyebrows and code words.  The fact that she would do this in front of my date was especially cute.  She was also deeply religious, praying twice daily, morning and night, sowing the seeds of spirituality in me.

Then there’s my Aunt Henrietta.  She was strong and firm, plain and matter of fact.  I was quite afraid of her in my early childhood.  None of us wanted to be on her bad side.  She was my mother’s older sister and as my mother worked different shifts in her job as a nurse, my care fell into her hands from time to time.  While my grandmother was my guardian angel, saving me and aiding me, my aunt seemed to be my persecutory devil; I couldn’t get away with anything!  She could always spot my lies, know that I snuck a snack, and had an uncanny way of feeling you get off the front porch before 3pm from two rooms away.  She was also the best cook in the house and I still long for her Sunday pot roast, potato salad, cornbread and desserts.   My aunt was fair; her justice was true.  What I saw then as persecution turned out to be preparation, and her no nonsense habits are reflected in the way I have parented my own children.  As I type this, I realize my aunt was only 5, 2’, but she was a giant in my life.

My mother, Theresa or Terri to her close friends, was many things to me.  She was a young mother, 19 when I was born, and the passion of her youth was quite evident.  I remember the hugs and kisses I would get when she came home from work, her fierce protectiveness of me when she felt I’d been wronged.  I have a clear memory of feeling loved by my mother; it seemed that in her eyes I was a gift, and there was no finer or smarter or cuter boy with curly hair on the planet.  She would talk to me about my dreams, how to carry myself and how to treat a girl with respect.  To this day I still receive compliments on my chivalrous ways of holding doors and having women walk on the inside of the sidewalk; and I know that is my mother.  I showed a talent for art as a child, and my mother encouraged it and would support me despite the grandness of my ideas.  She nurtured my intellect and my love of reading, buying me comic books initially and then magazines, paperbacks and novels.  While she was not a big reader, she always allowed me time and supported me in pursuing those things that seemed important to me.  But above all, my mother encouraged my speaking my mind and taught me the importance of listening.  Like my daughter, I’m pretty clear I can talk your head off at times.  But I can count on one hand the times my mother scolded me or shut me up when talking.  It didn’t matter if I was 3 or 13 or 33, she would listen to me.  She tolerated my endless questions, my protests when I viewed hypocrisy and even what could be described as back-talk when I did not understand or agree with her instructions.  As a parent I now realize the depth of patience she showed…I still have most of my teeth!

These are only three of the women who have shaped and helped me become the man I am.  Without any doubt they are the biggest contributors, the foundation of my relationships with all women.  On Mother’s Day I will remember them and smile.  And, everyday, I hope to honor their legacy and impact on my life to make them smile.

Fatherhood Freestyle: My Story….Not My Father’s

I love women. I can find something attractive on almost anyone of them. It could be their eyes, their smile or the way they carry themselves with confidence. I don’t have a particular type or shape or color preference. Long hair doesn’t turn me on more than short, curvy bodies more than straight, tall over short. Intelligence and a sense of humor goes a long way though..

I was raised by women, have raised women and some of my closest friends are women. I’ve worked as the only male in treatment center for females and survived and thrived. Women have shaped my life, contributed to the man I’ve become and the values I have.

Whenever I would envision the way I would begin the story of my life it always began this way, with most of these words. For one thing, the words are true; women have played a huge role in my life. And I am clear that another reason why is my father.

My father and I have never lived in the same house, have never played catch, shared a joke or a laugh. We have never watched a sporting event, taken a walk or watched a cartoon together. And while many adults could make the same claims for many reasons: “my father died when I was 2” or “he ran away when I was born” or “my mama wasn’t sure who my daddy was”.. I do know who he is. I know his name and occupation and where he lives. His physical absence from my life played as big a role in my shaping as the women who were present. And notice I said his physical absence; emotionally he has been and remains one of my major influences.

As the women in my childhood taught me and scolded me and fed me, my father’s effect was subtle, almost unnoticeable until my teenage years. This increased as I grew into manhood, became a tidal wave as I became a parent to my daughter, and exploded in a crescendo as I became a father to a son. I can remember the joy and wonder I felt as I looked into my daughter’s eyes for the first time, the pride and relief of knowing she was safe, healthy and whole. The comfort I felt in feeding her, changing her and making her laugh. To this day she still takes my heart to the top of the clouds just to be in her presence. The birth of my son added a new wrinkle and sense of wonder; while my daughter was clearly related to me, my blood, my offspring- my son was a mini version of me. We shared more than similar physical features, he wanted to play sports, to wrestle, to fight, to play catch. We used our fingers to hold objects in the same way, crossed our legs and hummed while eating something special. And as I became more aware of these similarities and shared traits, that’s when my father’s presence or lack of had its biggest impact; I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand how he could leave, how could he know I existed and not been in my life. How could he not play catch, take a walk or share advice with me? Whereas not having my father in my life growing up was accepted as a fact by me, an unalterable truth, becoming a parent and seeing my son and knowing how I felt about both my children, that fact became absurd, insane, truly, beyond any words I can use.

And I have tried desperately to understand. I have thought and thunk, asked friends and strangers, spoken to clients and read books. I even went to my father and asked him directly. “Well, your mother didn’t want me around” was the first deflection, followed by “and to be honest with you, I’m not even sure if I am your father”. And that was the beginning of my enlightenment and release. At that moment, the utterance of that blatant and obvious lie, I realized that whatever I was looking for, I would not find it in him. There would be no guidance, no embrace, no shared experiences; as alike as we were in appearance, our build, our hands and that slightly up tilted Bob Hope nose, we were completely different in our hearts, our view of ourselves. Whatever motivated him to speak those words, fear, guilt, shame or ignorance, I’ll never truly know (and I can only wonder if he knows). As the father to my kids some of my biggest fears have been ‘Will I be good enough? Can I give them a different life from the one I had?’ Only time and their testament will declare the truth of that. But I know that my children and I share things he and I will never have. The memories of stitches and casts, cakes and wrapping paper and the swell of pride as they walked across various stages marking the advance of their own lives and accomplishments. When I look at them I feel a peace in knowing these are my children, and I am their father.

Call for Submissions: Fatherhood Freestyle…The Book

Fatherhood Freestyle: The Unheard Voices of Single Black Fathers
(working title)

Open Call for Submissions

Summary:

WeParent seeks submissions for an anthology expressing the insights, experiences, and feelings of African-American fathers who are no longer in relationships with their child(ren)’s mother, and who are co-parenting, solo-parenting and/or have or have attempted to do either. This book is intended for publication in mid-to-late 2011.

Deadline for submissions: October 15, 2010

Overview:

The purpose of this anthology is to explore the experiences of African-American fathers who are no longer involved with their child(ren)’s other parent but who are, have or seek to be engaged, active fathers nonetheless. WeParent seeks to amplify the often unheard voices of single, divorced, and separated African-American fathers who are parenting their children. Through a combination of probing blog posts from the popular “Fatherhood Freestyle” blog on WeParent.com and original personal essays from other contributors, WeParent seeks to pierce through the deafening charges of deadbeat absentee-baby-daddyism and offer refreshing and enlightening perspectives on parenting, co-parenting, step-dating and step-parenting, remarriage and more.

We seek essays that offer transparency and heartfelt honesty, as well as inspiration to fathers committed to navigating the sometimes tumultuous waters of fatherhood in the absence of a relationship with the other parent.

Our project is still in its early stages and we realize that at this point, though we have dedicated contributors, we cannot make any guarantees about the collection’s outcome; however, we are confident that this project will appeal to publishers for a number of reasons. One prominent reason is the focus currently being placed on fathers and fatherhood by the Obama administration and increased attention in the media. When we have a publishing contract in hand, the essays will undoubtedly go through a review process with the publisher’s readers and ultimate acceptance of articles for the book will depend on that process.

Possible topics to explore include:

• Impact of your childhood and your parents’ relationship on your experience of fatherhood
• Your journey through fatherhood, co-parenting, remarriage
• How you experience other people’s perceptions of African-American fathers/single fathers
• Your challenges and/or victories with custody, child support issues
• Insights you have gained as a co-parent, single parent, step-parent
• Experiences related to dating as a single father
• Challenges, failures and victories you have experienced in parenting or co-parenting

We are open to any topic as long as it shares your personal story and/or insights.

Submission guidelines:

• Submissions should be no longer than 5,000 words.
• Good writing skills are helpful, but not necessary. Mostly, we are looking for powerful insights and stories that share the hearts and wisdom of our contributors. We will work with you to polish your writing.
• Be sure to include full contact information, including your name, address, phone number and email address. Also, please remember to notify us at once if you move, change your phone number or email. (If you wish to remain anonymous, let us know, and we won’t include your name in the book.)
• Submissions should be sent via mail (our preference) or email. When mailing, please include a stamped, self-addressed envelope (SASE) so we can return submissions we are unable to use. Without a SASE, submissions cannot be returned.
• Each contributor chosen for the anthology will receive, as compensation, one (1) copy of the completed anthology within one month of publication.
• The deadline for final submissions is October 15, 2010. However, it may take you some time to write your submission. So that we will know if you are considering making a submission, please send us a brief letter via email or mail to notify us of your intention to submit by June 1, 2010. The letter of intent should include your contact information, along with your proposed topic. Your letter of intent in no way obligates you to make a submission. It merely allows us to provide you with information and support during this process.
• Final drafts of submissions must be postmarked on or before October 15, 2010. The final selection process will begin then.
• Address your submissions to:

WeParent
Attn: Fatherhood Freestyle
PMB 153
1000 Whitlock Ave., Suite 320
Marietta, GA 30064

Or send an email with subject ‘’Fatherhood Freestyle Book Submission’’ to: info AT weparent DOT com.

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.

Fatherhood Freestyle: When Do You Introduce “The Next”?

I’ve been single since 2000, and in that time my kids, current ages 26 and 19, have been introduced to a total one of my girlfriends! Have I only had one girlfriend? Heck no! But, only one made the cut to actually meet my kids. Let me clarify that. Early on I decided that there would be no revolving door of dates/women/boos or spoogies that my children would come to know while I searched for the next great love of my life. I remembered movies like Claudine, Kramer vs Kramer and even The Parent Trap. No one was meeting my kids unless they were someone–someone special, someone who would be around for the long haul.

I remembered my own childhood with my mom’s string of suitors…”This is Mr. Joe,..This is Harold…This is Uncle Bobby – who was clearly no relative I’d ever seen. I remembered that they all were of no significance to me; they were just the one at the time. I did form attachments to some, the ones who appeared to take a genuine interest in me, and who weren’t too creepy. But, even that became something for me to temper and be cautious about, because just ‘cause I liked them didn’t mean that my mom would keep them around. So, I’d meet and greet, superficially interact and watch to see how long they would last. And, I resolved that my kids would not have that experience.

The reactions to my position were varied, much to my surprise, ranging from agreement,–“I fully get that and support you”; to not so subtle manipulation–“I’ll know you love me when you introduce me to your kids”; to flat out rejection–“I’m not going to be second place behind your children.” Keep it moving, Sister! These experiences were confirmation for me that I’d made the right choice. I needed to keep these women at bay until I met Ms. Right, the one who would be my next wife.

So six years went by before I met and attempted to introduce my kids to a woman who met my criteria. On several levels I thought it was time, six years had gone by, several candidates had come and gone, and I was ready to broach the subject. In fact, my son had given me permission two years back saying, “ Dad, if you and Mom aren’t going to get back together, I think you should date; ‘cause I want you to be happy. In fact, how about her?” as he pointed to some attractive woman at the ATM. My son, gotta love him. So, when I met X who I felt was special and could be the one, I decided to act. I called my ex first to inform her of my decision and put her on alert for possible reactions from the kids. I also felt this was the right thing to do out of respect. I didn’t owe this and I wasn’t asking for permission, but this was a decision that would affect our children for whom we both cared. I then told both of my kids I had met someone and wanted them to meet her. They agreed, and we arranged to meet for dinner.

As the time drew closer, and I called my son to tell him I was on my way to pick him up, he admitted to me he was a little anxious about this and asked me to take my time. Five minutes later he called to say he was ok and ready. He was obviously nervous at first but appeared to loosen up and relax. On the other hand, my daughter, who’d agreed to meet us at the restaurant, never showed up. She didn’t respond to calls or text messages, and it was months before we came to some resolution on this matter. Without going into the details, it was clear that time alone hadn’t healed all wounds.

The incident validated my fears about how my kids would accept being introduced to another woman. But are my fears valid? I accept that the introduction of a third party to children after a divorce can be and usually is a slippery slope, but does delaying contact help? My rationale had been to delay and wait until there was someone significant. But another reason was my own fear of screwing up the delicate peace and appearance of balance I had with my children, as I lived outside of ‘their’ house.

I don’t believe I was wrong for waiting and limiting my kids’ exposure to the ups and downs of my dating experiences. But,I wonder if I also created a ‘that’s my daddy monster’ in the process. I’m beginning to feel that normalizing the reality of mom and dad having other people in their lives through discussion and maybe even addressing it in counseling, if that is appropriate, could help.

In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m no expert; I don’t have THE answer. In fact, I’m looking for as much dialogue and input as I can get. See, I’ve met the next Ms. Right and I…well, you get the picture. Please offer thoughts, opinions, comments, I’ll even take bad advice…

What/when do you think is the right way to introduce ”The Next”?

Fatherhood Freestyle: Parenting Time–Quality vs. Quantity

As some of you know I parent from abroad. My children live in Champaign, Illinois and I live in Kyoto, Japan. I visit them about four times a year (weeks at a time) and they spend summers with me in Kyoto. It would be an understatement to say that our time is limited, but it would be equally untrue to suggest that we do not make the best out of the time that we have.

By default I have become the “fun parent.” I don’t say this as a slight to their mother, (she does a lot of fun things with them as well) but because I see my children during holidays and school breaks we tend to take trips to interesting places, visit relatives, and get our leisure on to the fullest. When I get together with my children I am generally all theirs. Even though they are getting older (12 and 10) we do all kinds of silly stuff together like scaring each other when we walk out of public bathrooms and playing hide and seek in bookstores and malls. And of course I am the biggest kid in the group with my daughter sometimes urging me to pipe it down and chill.

But we didn’t always have this much fun. Earlier in their lives I was working hard as an Assistant Professor trying to acquire tenure. The pressures of work insured that I was not always available. My kids would want to play and I would either be deep into a book or transfixed by the computer screen. In order to cope I had to develop a fairly rigid routine that unfortunately did not always include a lot of playtime and or opportunities for bonding. Our weekdays were straightforward: wake up, breakfast, school, homework, dinner, bath, sleep—wake up repeat. On weekends we might head to a park, catch a movie, or visit friends, but because of the nature of my work I was not always there and my kids knew it.

In recent years my work situation has improved. The downside, however, is that I now live in a different hemisphere and see my children far less than when I was struggling to get my career on track. I now have “more” time for them but “less” time with them and it doesn’t always feel good. I often wish for the days when we were rushing off to school in the morning or I was trying to make dinner and check homework at the same time.

But what does it really mean to have more time versus less? I mean what is time anyway other than what we make it? My current co-parenting arrangement has taught me that quality beats quantity every time. Now let’s be clear I still yearn and hope for more time, but the consequences of my own actions have forced me to work with what I have. Sure there is less professional pressure, but there is also less opportunity to parent in the flesh.

Yet my circumstances have taught me presence. When I spend time with my children I cherish our exchanges in ways that I never did when I had a more traditional arrangement. I take a deeper and more profound interest in every word that spills from my kid’s mouths. We play more, talk more, connect more and enjoy the fullness of our time. I tend to be less restrictive and far more available physically and emotionally. Distance has made me more reflective and meditative about parenting and has assisted me in providing more substantive guidance and direction about life. Again this not in anyway to suggest that I am better at parenting than their mom, but only to underscore that my circumstances have forced me to find the upside for what might prove to others to be pretty bad situation. In other words value the time you have and never underestimate a mean game of hide and seek at Macys.

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