Showing Up

My dad has told me on several occasions that he thinks he should've been a better father to me when I was a kid.

I do not agree with his assessment.

During one of those conversations, he told me he feels he should've been around more when I was little.   I'm intrigued by how his filter is shaping his memory.  It's true that when I was young, he had to work very hard to support our family, to pay my mom's college and then law school tuition, and to fulfill his responsibilities as a Navy fighter pilot during those earlier years.  And over the last decade or so, he's articulated something that sounds vaguely like regret about what I guess he perceives as a notable absence during my childhood, even though he also knows that part of being a parent is being The Provider, which he absolutely was.

The thing is, I don't remember him being absent during my childhood.  In fact, just the opposite.  I remember him being very present.  He was particularly present, for example, the day I crumpled the hood of the family Buick, the day I scraped the SUV against the side of the garage, and the semester I got a C- in Chemistry.

But he was also present for other stuff too.  Good and important stuff.

The man taught me the single most important rule about being a parent: Show up.  On a Good Dad Day, or a Bad Dad Day.  Whether you're in the same town as your kids or not.  If you find a way to show up for your kids, in one form or another, they'll get it.  They'll know it.

And in the interest of showing up, I can say that I have plenty of memories that place my dad right by my side, at so many important moments in my life.

When I was two or three, he put me on my first horse.  (Among other things, my dad was, is, and always will be a cowboy.)  I dimly recall him hoisting me up onto what at the time seemed like a horse of Trojan proportions.  I also remember him standing right next to me as I tried to grip the reins.

Me and Dad. 

I remember us on a hill flying a kite when I was around five.  I was afraid of losing my grip on the string, and he kept saying that if I did, it was ok -- he'd just grab it fast, to make sure our kite wouldn't escape into the clouds.  So I shouldn't worry.

I remember the two of us throwing baseballs and footballs around in various front yards throughout my youth.  He insisted on it, even after I reached the age when I thought playing catch with one's dad was, like, soooo lame.  I'm sure my uppity adolescent attitude was truly smackworthy, but the man never lost his temper in the face of my snottiness.  I never became a particularly great athlete, but I know I have much better hand-eye coordination because of him.

I remember the two of us riding our bikes in Boulder on many an Autumn Saturday, to watch the CU Buffs play whenever they had a home game.  He and I would ride from our house up to campus, stop by the law library where my mom was studying, say Hi, and then pedal over to the stadium where we'd sit and cheer with all the good-natured, rowdy students.

I remember him attending every talent show, school play, and concert I was in during high school.  And college as well, which meant traveling to California to do it.  I was never particularly gifted in the performing arts, but Dad still came to countless auditoriums, and applauded until his hands stung.  (The man sat through not one, but two back-to-back performances of Into the Woods.  Do you understand what I'm saying?)

I remember him calling me during the more transient times in my life when I was between jobs, just to check in, asking if I was "doing ok."  In other words, asking if I needed money.  (This has never stopped.  The most recent call of this type came last week.)

I remember him always doting on his granddaughter, the Mini-Pirate.  Oh sure, this was easy back when she was tiny and adoring.  But as she's gotten older, she likes to dole out love to her grandparents in carefully measured increments, which can be deeply frustrating to those who are devoted to her.  And yet my Dad maintains his sense of calm, even when she's being slightly less than precious towards him.

My girl is four-ish in this picture, in her ruffly-butt pants. She wasn't too interested
in her Grandfather's fishing skills -- she just liked being around him.

Mini-P and her grandfather, last Easter.

I remember my Dad telling me he loved me throughout my entire life.  He still does.  He's a barrel-chested, Alpha-dog kind of guy, but he's never been afraid of emotions.  Men often get gruffer as they age, but not him.  When it comes to telling the people in his life how he feels about them, the guy is downright effusive.

And I remember last year, when he and my Mom were about to fly out to San Diego for a visit, and I knew I'd be telling them that I was gay.  I was especially nervous about telling him.  Even though my logical brain knew it would be fine, that he was a great person and a kind man and an outstanding father and those things do not change in the face of new information,  I was still very anxious about it.  You know.  Fathers and sons, and all that.

Once they got here, I was a wreck during the actual conversation.  It took me forever to get to the point.  Remember the Coming Out blog post I wrote for you people?  Remember how long that was?  The preamble to telling my parents took longer than that.  So long in fact, that my Dad finally had to interrupt my rambling and ask quietly, "Son, are you gay?"

Which made the moment a lot easier.  I don't think he realizes how much.

And immediately after that, he made it very clear to me that even though homosexuality may be a concept that doesn't make a lot of sense to him, he was him, I was me, and we are forever father and son.  And that's all that matters.  

He wants me to be happy.  Period.

My dad has shown up for me every day of my life.  Every single day, regardless of how old I was, or where I was living.

Dad and I on a cycling trip in Washington a few years ago.
The man is still tough as nails.

This post may not get a lot of hits.  That's ok -- there's really only one reader I want to see this.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.  You da man.

Actual Faces for the New Faces of Dad

Not the New Face of Dad. Impressive Dad jawline, though.

Earlier this week, I posted about this video campaign I was given the opportunity to take part in alongside some other very cool dad bloggers.

Our instructions were very clear: we were not to talk about what we do as Dads -- because let's face it, dads everywhere do a lot of similar stuff.  We put food on tables.  We apply band-aids.  We make our kids bring their dishes into the kitchen.  We try to help them with math without seeming like we're helping.  We play Mario Kart with them (even though we'd be perfectly to play it alone, without those pesky kids getting in our way).  We tell them that we are not going to ask them to pick their clothes up off the floor one more time SO HELP ME. 

I don't know about you, but I would not so much be interested in watching a video about that on YouTube.  Especially when there's all those other great videos of pageant contestants tripping on stage, and newscasters throwing up on live TV.

We weren't asked to talk about what we do as Dads.  Instead, we were asked to talk about how we feel.  Our footage was brought together to make one video that's part of Philips Norelco's campaign celebrating The New Face of Dad.

I was looking forward to contributing, but I was also nervous.  Part of our job was to tell a Dad story of our own.  If I was going to tell one important tale about being Mini-Pirate's father, it's pretty obvious what mine was gonna have to be at this point.  And even though I'd already told it before and blogged about it, I'd always had my little Anonymity Blanket to keep me warm and safe.

Turns out to film a video, they expect you to have a face and stuff.  Gulp.

So I did mine.  I vowed not to go through too many takes.  I also vowed not to go back and look at the finished product too many times once it went live later.  That happened yesterday, by the way.  I did watch it.  I discovered exactly how expansive my forehead is (when the Hell did THAT happen?).  And I got reacquainted with the old adage that the camera adds ten pounds to one's ears.  So... there will be no more watching of the video for me.

But if you check it out, you can see five guys talking about fatherhood: Clay, Jim, Jon, Whit and me.  Our stories are different, but we all have one thing in common, which becomes pretty damn clear right away.  And if you were to add 5 more dads to the final edit, or 50 more, that same commonality would still be there.

We all love our kids.

You can see the video here.  And you can check out the slightly longer individual videos from everyone here.  Interesting stuff there too.

Happy Father's Day, Gentlemen.

P.S. Once more, thanks to Doug French, the inimitable Laid-Off Dad, for letting me be a part of this.

"The New Face of Dad"... Who, me?

I am so totally going to be famous.

Why?  Because I'm going to be on YouTube!  No, I won't be riding a skateboard into an empty concrete fountain, or having a cat attack my face in public, or lip syncing Lady Gaga in my boxers while bouncing on my bed.  Not that any of those wouldn't be Internet Viral Gold.

Instead of having to resort to such tactics, I was given the opportunity to do something different over the weekend.  Philips Norelco (home of the clean, close shave) is kicking off a new campaign: "The New Face of Dad." They tapped five guys to record a short video about what it feels like to be a father.  Not the stuff we do everyday -- taping chore charts to the fridge, teaching our kids to vacuum, coaching Little League, or warning them about swear words in public -- but what we think and feel about those daily dad acts.  What it feels like to be a Dad.  Right here, right now, today.

I originally thought that recording a video where I talk about why being a Dad is the most important gig in the world to me would be a total no-brainer.  Fifteen takes later, I realized I probably would've been better off going with that whole Cat-Attack-On-Face concept.

My video will undoubtedly be the dorkiest of the five, is all I'm saying.  (Turns out my ears are even bigger on camera than they are in life.  Plus, where'd that big zit on my forehead come from?)  However, when it's all put together, you'll see some great thoughts from some great fathers.  Check out the roster, and you'll see what I mean:

White from Honea Express
Jim from Bobblehead Dad
Clay from Dad Labs
Jon from Blurbomat

These are big-time guys, am I right?  And I'd say each one qualifies as The New Face of Dad.

And... well, then there's me.

I don't know how it'll all turn out, but I do want to thank Philips Norelco for including me, and giving me the chance to talk about a couple recent experiences I had with Mini-Pirate that tell me that there's no better job than being her father.  Looking like a total nerd on the Internet is a small price to pay for the opportunity to talk about my daughter's awesomeness.

Hey, what do you know? Maybe I actually am The New Face of Dad.

But if I am... then so are you.

*

P.S. I have a couple things to add to the above post.  First, the blogger at the top of the roster above is, of course, WHIT from Honea Express, not WHITE.  That's what happens when you type fast and don't proofread, kids.  Take heed.


Second, there's actually a lot more to say about what Philips Norelco is doing, which I didn't have the chance to articulate when I first put this post up.  They're stepping up and taking part in the dialogue that's happening right now about the new role of dads, the value of dads, and the fact that this new face of Dadhood is, in fact, changing for the better.   As part of that dialogue, the other New Face Dads and I will part of a Twitter party on Thursday June 14th (same day as the video's release) from 8:00 pm - 9:00 pm Eastern time.  You can find it by using the hashtag #NewFaceOfDad.  You don't even have to shave first.  Just be there.   If nothing else, you'll see the many ways Whit finds to mock me for misspelling his name.

At DadCentric: My Thoughts on Gay Green Lantern

I know I haven't been posting a ton of new stuff here lately.  That's mainly because I'm also trying to be a reliable contributor at the other sites I write for.  And if you ask the editors on those sites, they'll probably say that I'm even not so much doin' that.

That said, I'm over at DadCentric today, where I've posted a few thoughts on the shocking (?) reveal from DC Comics that the Green Lantern is gay.

No, not this Green Lantern:

This one:

Way different.  And not as much of a ground-shaker for comics fans.  Still, an interesting development.  Or not.

Either way, you can read about it here.

Time to Buy the Folks at BlogHer a BIG Muffin Basket.

So I got some interesting news yesterday.

A few months ago, I wrote this.  Hereafter referred to as the Hamburger post.

Then yesterday, the movers and shakers at BlogHer announced their 2012 Voices of the Year honorees.  And this happened.  Scroll down to the Parenting list.

Look.  See it?

I know, right?  Gosh.

I'm not able to go to BlogHer this Summer -- which is a bummer, because I'm thinking I'd be getting a lot of free drink coupons this year (Right?  Come on...), but I do want to thank the good folks who nominated me and got me included on a list with such fine writers.

What?  You haven't read the other posts they selected?  Seriously?  Stop what you're doing and go there RIGHT NOW.  Those are some galactically talented folks on that list, including my fellow DadCentricians Whit and Two Busy, and my Culture Brats pal Jett Superior.

And Anissa Mayhew, Maven of Aiming Low.

And Adam Avitable, with whom I hope to someday be cool enough to hang.

 Plus Kristine Cook, who's in a class all her own.  (This particular post made me laugh so hard last night my daughter woke up and thought I was having some sort of seizure.)

And many others.  I killed several good hours reading the other writers on the list. I encourage you to do the same.  Right now.  I'll wait here.

***

A few days after the Hamburger post ran on DadCentric in April, it got picked up by Huffington Post, which was exciting and scary.  A lot of the HuffPo commenters were kind.  Some were not.  Some were pretty mean.

One particularly sarcastic respondent said something like, "Gee, it's amazing how you can remember that conversation with your daughter so clearly, word for word.  You must have such a good memory."  Implying that I made the whole thing up, I guess.  Or that I put a nice gloss on the story to make it sound like a Movie of the Week on Logo.

It's true that writing a personal blog can be a very convenient way to take your life and package it up into a narrative.  You can make it gripping.  You can make it hi-lar-ious.  You can turn yourself and the people in your life into characters.  Caricatures, even.

You can make complicated events seem simple, straightforward, cut-and-dried.  

I want to make it clear that the coming out process certainly wasn't simple, or straightforward, or easy. Not for me, or the people in my life.  And if I ever make it sound like that on this blog, someone should come over here and smack me in the head.

To that commenter (who surely stopped giving a shit the second after he hit Submit), I'll say this: You know what?  I DO remember that conversation word for word.  Because I was nervous about having it, and I was hyper-aware of my daughter's reactions when it happened. One thing I can say about that post is that the conversation I described is accurate.  And Mini-Pirate's awesomeness?  All real, all true.  All I did was describe her.

Which is why the recognition from BlogHer is really, really nice to receive.