Father Of One

Birthday parties and anniversaries

2009-08-10T13:06:00.002-05:00

Year 1 is behind us. Our daughter had her birthday (and two birthday parties). I haven't posted in a couple of weeks mostly out of exhaustion.
Both birthdays went really well...I have a good template now as to what will work and what will not work for future parties. One thing I believe that worked well was having one party for my side of the family and another party for my wife's side of the family. This strategy prevented us from becoming too overwhelmed (although both my wife and I had our moments).
With family dynamics, I feel like I'm inside a painting and I'm the only object moving. I can see every detail of the painting: the paint, the thread of the canvas, everything from the inside. And everything and everyone is standing still, nothing but brush strokes...and I walk through the canvas, seeing things for what they are. It's fucking eerie.
Over the last two weeks I've noticed that my wife has begun to "shimmer" within the painting, as if she is being released within the confines of the brush strokes.
The freedom of therapy is terrifying. We shimmer with life before we are able to walk amongst the dead.
And anniversaries...the "anniversary" of our daughter's birth.
Any anniversary is important: a death, a birth, a new job, a broken relationship.
Some of the things that we celebrated as an anniversary over the past couple of weeks: the birth of our daughter, another summer survived in Texas, a 1 year calling to the truth, 1 year after the job failed to be safe, 1 year after the failing of many friends and family to be what we needed them to be.
And so we go on, moving forward even as we deal with the past.
The Thousand Yard Stare has lifted at last.

Ripped Out

2009-07-28T21:08:00.000-05:00

I want to address a phenomenon that I believe happens to men as they become fathers. I know a similar, if not exact, phenomenon happens with women as they become mothers, but this blog is about men and fathers. Anyway.
I've noticed over the past year that I've had this unbearable desire to shred any aspect of who I was before our daughters birth. I think I had it better than many other men who became fathers: I didn't need to kick a drug habit, I already had a job, I "had it together" (as much as anyone can while in their 20s). I was also lazy and lacked drive.
When my daughter was born, I was relieved when I realized I was finally shedding some of this left-over adolescence. I couldn't get out of that skin fast enough.
Yet I was strangely mournful to see it go. It really was like a death. A part of me was dying. A part of me that I wanted to let go of for so long, yet was not allowing myself to do so.
The last year was a struggle with my new role as father. It was also a struggle with my old role as an independent person.
And I believe I've won the war. I still have desires for a certain independence, but I've been able to manage it within the context of being 'a family man.'
A did a painting not long ago that I called "The Warrior." I didn't know why I called it that until recently. It was a self-portrait.
The Warrior. I went to battle with myself. I had to fight with my selfishness.
I needed to win this battle. My daughter needed me to win this battle.
And I'm a better man for it. Even if I have a few scars.

The Auditorium

2009-07-21T10:59:00.011-05:00

The ball thuds on the court, the sound booming throughout the empty gym. I dribble again and again and again as I jog a lap around the perimeter, keeping the ball in front of me and coming up to the basket I stop ten feet short jump and shoot. Clank.
I brick more balls than I swish.
But the point is not to make baskets as much as it's to take my mind off the humdrum of my job.
I come to the court during my breaks. I come to the court to meditate.
For almost three weeks now the court calls me. I don't really know why. I do love basketball, but I haven't played the game...hell, I haven't picked up a ball, in years.
Yet I keep coming here, dribbling, shooting, running, and staring at the giant mural painted on the far wall: an angry hornet, feet curled into sharp stingers with a whip-like tail jutting out from below and curling in front of his body ending with a dagger for a tip. Paint peels off these walls, these white walls and the angry hornet mascot and the rim of the basket.
An easiness is about this place. Unsettling. It's not quite my memory of elementary school. It's not quite my memory of middle school. It's not quite high school. It's all of them.
Empty gyms.
I walk through the hallway back to my office. Deserted. Cockroaches splattered on the floor, moldy towels, staph infections all along the corridor. To my right is an open door. Space.
I look inside. An auditorium. Empty. Black.
I walk inside, I'm on the stage now and I barely make out the empty seats stretching away from me. Away from me.
My footsteps echo on the worn wooden stage. I see myself at the age of eight. It's the spelling bee and there are only six of us left.
I don't know what words I've already spelled. That part is gone from me. But I know what word is coming.
The lady with white puffy hair says to me, "PARKA."
Easy.
I see my father sitting toward the back of the auditorium, a block with legs.
"PARKA", I say. And I begin to spell: P-A-R-C.... I stumble over the fourth letter, accidentally begin to say C and quickly change it to a K. Too late.
The lady with white puffy hair says to me, "I'm sorry. PARKA. P-A-R-K-A." She emphasizes the K. I'm an IDIOT.
I slowly walk to my seat in the auditorium...the lady with white puffy hair has already gone to the next victim. I sit and turn around looking for my dad.
He's gone.
Where did he go? Back to work.
Why did he go?
I'll ask this question for the next 24 years.
Until now there has been no answer.
I walk to the end of the deck as a 32 year old man and I speak loudly into the darkness:
"PARKA. P-A-R-K-A." My voice squeaks on the K. But I make it through the word.
I stare defiantly into the black space. Where are you now?
I walk away, out to the hallway and back to my office.
I'll continue this ritual for the next week.
I remember the final word of the spelling bee, but not the kid who spelled the word correctly.
MEDICINE.
I spell that correctly each time I walk up to the empty podium. I could have won.
And each time I walk into this blackness I spell the word. I never falter, my voice won't squeak again. Each time I stare into the blackness.
Why did you leave?
Why, Father, why?
On the last day my answer comes: It wasn't about me. It wasn't about me. It wasn't about me.
I'll never misspell PARKA again. But I'll always search for you in the dark.
I promise my one year old daughter, I promise her...."You'll never be alone in the blackness. I'll always be your light. Always."
It's about me. And her.
Why did my father leave?
He doesn't know.
The eight year old in me cries.
The 32 year old Me comforts him.
Because my father never could.

A Long Vacation

2009-07-21T10:40:00.003-05:00

Today marks my first day of "summer vacation." I'm off until the fall semester starts in late August. It's going to be difficult without the income but we'll manage.
My wife is beginning the steps of opening up her own preschool (we hope), and we are both excited and nervous.
With all of this time off I have, I plan on spending more time during the morning with my daughter. Today we spent about 2 hours together: I changed her, played with her, fed her, and then we went to the park with our dog. My wife was able to enjoy 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep! It's nice to spend morning time together.
I have several projects I'm diving into over the next month: a new painting, more writing, more time spent with my daughter. I'm excited. If I don't get to every project, then that's fine as long as I feel like I've spent my time well.
I finally got the book in the mail: E. Ethelbert Miller's "Fathering Words".
So far the book is very good, and I'll write a review of it shortly.
I'm going to spend some of this time getting in touch with my "roots", so to speak. Listening to some music I loved as a kid, a writing project I've got going on, visiting my grandparents...many things.
We all want to be the children of our fondness memories.

Capitalist Parenting

2009-07-16T08:52:00.005-05:00

I read a fascinating article today on msnbc.com about "mommy bloggers." Seems capitalism is ruining the basic idea of a "blogger." This isn't a new concept to me: corporate America ruining a product. What is new(s) to me is the "mommy bloggers" (mothers who blog about all things 'mommy') have basically become advertisers for corporate America.
Moms that blog have lost touch with who they are.
I understand accepting financial compensation for the time and effort put into a blog, especially if a blogger has a large following. It must be nice to be paid for your thoughts.
But if you accept money for your product, i.e. blog, then you have an obligation to your readers to report who you are receiving money from.
If I ever receive financial compensation from an ad on this blog, let's say it's for a car ad targeting fathers, then I have an obligation to my readers to let them know that I've received income from this ad, especially if I in anyway review or write about the product being advertised.
No doubt these "mommy bloggers" are allowing their opinions to be influenced by the corporations that are paying them to review their products.
Capitalism and corporate America have ruined just about every good idea this country has ever come up with. The moment an idea becomes "trendy", that idea becomes wrapped with a little pink bow.
Too bad.
The force of "mommy bloggers", rather the force that they should have been, has already lost its way.
The article can be read here

It's a Mother's World...

2009-07-15T13:02:00.007-05:00

Yesterday my wife and I visited a daycare center close to our home. My wife got a job so we are going to need at least part time day care starting in about a month.
This place we visited last night seemed like they were a good "match", except for one nagging problem: The director, who claims she is a psychotherapist, ignored me. I would ask a question or attempt to involve myself in the conversation about our daughter and her facilities and she would talk directly to my wife. Sometimes it was as if I hadn't spoken, yet she was attentive to my wife.
My wife (I'm tired of typing "my wife"...so I'll call her Freckles from now on...yes I'm ripping off LOST), when I asked her it, said she thinks it's part of the "Men have everything, Women get to at least have Children" symptom. Let me explain:
When we had our daughter, the entire hospital staff (from the delivery room to the maternity ward) acted as if I didn't exist. They were truly there only for the Mother and Child. Hell, they came out and told me that!
It wasn't about me at all. I get that: here, for one of the few times in a woman's life, is a moment where it's just about her. The woman's needs must be met in order for the child to survive.
And the hospital was more than accommodating for her (and our newborn) but didn't pay much attention for me.
I felt the same was true yesterday at the day care center.
Yet it's not the same.
I'm part of the core family. I have just as much say so and my child is just as dependent on me as she is her mother. Day Cares cannot dismiss the father as being secondary.
Maybe this is partly the blame of fathers: maybe if more of us were more actively involved we wouldn't be treated as second class citizens.
Maybe it's payback.
I'm curious to see if this is a problem in other facilities as well.

Thoughts on the Role of Father from other writers

2009-07-13T12:12:00.009-05:00

Recently Steve McNair, a former NFL quarterback, was murdered by his mistress. It's been one of the major news stories lately and much of the news has focused on McNair's "courage" on the football field, his devotion to charity, what a great guy he was, how he just made a bad decision...
well, finally, someone in the sporting community took a stand on the real issue here: fatherhood.
And the person to take a stand was Jason Whitlock, a Kansas City Star newspaper and FoxSports.com columnist. You can read his McNair column here .
I couldn't agree with Whitlock more: our society emphasizes the breadwinner role for fathers rather than the "just be there for them" role for fathers. It's sad. McNair left 4 children behind, yet we're glorifying him for all his material worth and his "courage on the field."
The real victims here are his children.
I've written in this blog before about the frustration I feel at being a low-income father...I am frustrated that my wife needs to go back to work to bring more income into our household.
But my daughter and I have a great relationship, and she's not even a year old. I'm not going to risk that relationship, the time I get to spend with her, just so I can make more money. I'm not doing it.
Fortunately for us, our daughter is ready for daycare. She is more social than I am. She needs the stimulation of being with other toddlers. She's been home with her mom for almost a year now, and for that entire time I've been able to come home in the daytime and spend quality time with her. Quite a bit of quality time.
We're fortunate that we've had family assistance that's made this last year possible. I won't forget that and I'm grateful for it.
My wife and I newly befriended a married couple with a 15 month old child. Judging by their home, the type of work the husband does, and a few other observations...it's obvious they live in the "upper middle class." To me, they're rich. But to me, anyone that makes over 150,000 is rich. That's a part of my upbringing. I don't know what 40,000 looks like.
So our friends are rich, maybe others would say they're "upper middle class".
Regardless, this father who makes all of this money and can provide these great things for his child...the giant house in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Austin, nice cars, a wife that does not need to work...this father worked 85 hours last week. You read that correctly: 85.
On second thought, our friends aren't rich at all.

Home Run Derby: A Father's View

2009-07-11T11:55:00.005-05:00

Today ESPN showed a replay of MLB's Home Run Derby 1999. Just a year earlier, the '98 season was considered the year that saved baseball: Mark McGwire hit 70 home runs and Sammy Sosa hit 66. That was an amazing year to be a baseball fan. The sport had been saved by two home run kings. Before everything changed...
I turned on the '99 Derby just in time to see Jeff Bagwell, of my hometown Houston Astros, belt 5 home runs over the Green Monster at Fenway Park in Boston. Bagwell had been drafted by the Red Sox before being traded to the Astros (thankfully for us), so the crowd really appreciated Bagwell's at bats. There was good "buzz" around the park.
Next up was McGwire. The crowd went crazy. And then McGwire hit a booming shot over the Monster...and the crowd went insane. McGwire ended up hitting 13 home runs in that first round, and each time the crowd went bonkers.
And I found myself smiling. Even after all that's happened with the steroid era, I found the '99 Derby to be incredibly fun...bittersweet, but amazing at the same time.
I love baseball. I always have. I find the NBA to be more exciting, college football to be a better product, boxing to be more adrenaline pumping, tennis to be more fun to talk about.
But Baseball is more complex, more historic, more problematic, more traditional, more American.
Sports writers are always talking about how "hurt" they are by baseball's steroid era, how the game cheated the fans, how the game is now tainted.
They're right. But they're also wrong...
My daughter isn't old enough to know about baseball (she'll be a year old in August), but one day she might want to know what baseball is. Maybe she'll want to go to a game.
And I'll take her.
And one day I'll show her old baseball footage of the late 90s, when the game was ruled by Kings. Even if the kings were clothed in lies.
And I'll tell her the truth: the game was never better, and with the exception of the segregation years, never worse than in the late 90s.
The game was beautiful.

Things Men Should Do By Themselves

2009-07-09T10:54:00.012-05:00

There is an online article by esquire magazine (www.esquire.com) titled: "The 75 Things Every Man Should Do". It's an interesting list and a good read. I think about this type of stuff all the time. I have a list of things to do before I turn 40 (eight years from now). One of my tops is to take my daughter to an NBA game and sit courtside.

Here are some other things I believe men should do (some inspired by the esquire article, some I made up), either by themselves or with their children (OK, I guess the wife could be involved!):

-Take a solo road journey (Esquire: "Drive coast to coast"). For me, I want a minimalist landscape: give me just a view of the ocean, or just a view of the desert, or just a view of the road. Nothing but me and the car (maybe the dog)....yes, definitely the dog....Tell the wife and child, "This is something I've got to do. Don't wait up."

-Go to a sporting event with your child. Not all children are into sports, I get that. So ask him/her what they are interested in and do that instead. Just find some event to bond with your child ("You want to go see the College Cheerleading Competition? Hell yes, I'll go!"). I once asked my dad if he would like to drive cross country and see all the great MLB ballparks during a summer. His answer, "Too much driving." I've never forgotten that painful moment of my life.

-See a good therapist. Seriously. I can't emphasize this enough. If you don't do anything else in your life go see a therapist. It can be a life saver or life changer or both. How do you know the difference between a good therapist and a bad one? I'll let you figure that one out for yourself.

-Become a role model. Easier said than done. (Esquire's: "Help Someone dig out.") I've done a lot of thought on role models...a role model can take many identities. Just being good with finances can be a positive influence on someone. I hope I'm a role model for my daughter.

-Find a job that honors your commitment to family. I'm tired of companies taking advantage of me, always asking if I'll "fill in" for someone who didn't show up for work. I've got a life and I honor it.

-Write. (Esquire: "Write someone else's life story." Screw that, write your own life story). I write all the time. I also do a lot of art. Creativity is ingrained in all of us.

-Find a great female friend. Don't think it's possible to have a platonic relationship with a female? I call B.S. I've met mine and she's added value to my life.

-Take the most bad ass hike of your life. Men and the outdoors. Nothing better.

Short list, but only because I'm about to listen to sports radio.

IMS...Isolated Male Syndrome?

2009-07-09T08:59:00.009-05:00

My wife and I are organizers of a "meetup" group on a website called www.meetup.com. We wanted to find other people that had babies that were interested in hiking, exploring the outdoors, sharing parenting stories...basically a support network centered around our children and the outdoors.
We started it in February 2009 and we've been successful in that we have a couple of regular members. Yet it's been a source of frustration for me because of the lack of men that come to our play group.
The usual excuses that the women offer are: he's working, he's away on business, etc. I understand that: I miss the meetups that we plan during the work day as well because of my job, unless they are in the late afternoon.
But what about the weekend? It's more likely that other men will show up, but for the most part they don't come. One member told me, "My husband doesn't want to be the only man in the group." I understand that...most of the time I am the only man in the group. But at least I come to the meetups!
This got me to thinking: why do men isolate themselves from groups? It seems that this is the general MO of my gender. Women seem to be far more social. And I don't exclude myself from what I will call "Isolated Male Syndrome". I am more comfortable doing my own thing than I am in groups of people. I live for moments of isolation...maybe a great hill country hike with my dog, or a drive through the countryside with no distractions.
I embrace moments of silence (for the love of god, would someone please please please invent a soundless leaf blower already!).
Maybe that's the clue to IMS: So much of our time is given over to others...coworkers, strangers, mothers, family members, wives, children...that when our spouses want to go have a "play date" with other parents, the men decide that this is the perfect time to embrace being a MALE.
Sexual innuendo free of charge!

Poetry and Fatherhood

2009-07-08T13:00:00.006-05:00

I came across an out of print book on amazon a few weeks ago called "Fathering Words: The Making of an African American Writer" by E. Ethelbert Miller.
I'm not African American, but I do love African American writing, art, perspective. I had never heard of Miller, but after reading the reviews and the first paragraph of this book, I decided I had to read his story. The book should arrive in the mail anyway. Once I've digested it, I plan on writing a review on this blog.
Miller and I share a few things in common, that I am certain even without yet reading his book(s). One, we are fathers, Two, we are writers. Three...well, I'll let the first page from his book speak for itself. Miller's book can be found here.
Click on the book cover to read the first page.

I figured I'd share a few poems I've written in regards to fatherhood and my daughter. Below are two poems, written during the past year but at very different times in my life. "The Playing Field" was written in December 2008 and is about Struggle, and "My Favorite Thing..." was written in late August 2008 (less than a month after my daughter's birth) and is about Hope.

The Playing Field

Marginalized

but by who?

In my arms

you Cry

Hungry

I know the feeling.

The Playing Field

a girl I cannot quite see

kicks the ball close to me

but I miss...

Because I see them Standing

on the sideline

Silent.

Except for me

I run home

crying and hungry.

Who is left to play with me?

My favorite thing...

Is to hold you in my arms
and watch you sleep.

I imagine you dream of your birth
and how terrifying it must have been
to become part of this world.

I stare at you just hoping you'll wake up
and look at me...and when you do my heart melts.

It was ALL worth it, Naomi Willow. Every last minute was worth it.

And nobody can take this away, and nobody can take this away,
and nobody can ever take my love for you away.

copyright Jonathan Peters 2008

Role Models and The Fathers That Created Them

2009-07-08T11:43:00.001-05:00

In my ongoing search for articles and literature on fatherhood, I came across an interesting article a few days ago. It's titled "Just Be There For Them: Perceptions among Single, Low-Income Men" (scroll down to the end of this blog for more information).

While I am not single, I am low-income...and even if I had an affluent income, I would still find value in this article. It speaks about fatherhood. The basic premise is that the interviewed men view the Role of being a father through their experiences with their fathers: how did "closeness" with their fathers define their roles of being a father to their children.

The role of "Breadwinner" is an interesting role (and a role emphasized in the article), which is hard for me to ignore and harder to find satisfaction. My wife and I want to both be "breadwinners", but she's had a hard time finding a job in Austin. This is a hard town to live in.

While I struggle to define myself as breadwinner, I have found an identity in the "Just be there for them" Role. The easiest part of my day is coming home from my day job and picking up my daughter and giving her a hug. At the age of 11 months, I'd say we are already two peas in a pod. She is my life. And where I struggle is whether or not I can retain this sense of togetherness with her and at the same time work extra hours (or get a higher paying job with more demand on my time) to make more money.

I hate the idea of making money. I take responsibility for this. I could go out and get a second job, make it easier on our family. But then I'd give up some of the time I have with my daughter. I won't do that unless it was absolutely necessary to our survival. A prominent Austin pastor (and mentor of mine) told me recently, "I speak to many affluent fathers, and every last one of them wished they would have given up their "non-essential" income to spend more time with their children."

I decided I would not be a "wish I had been there more often" father. My work...that part of me that I will need to come to terms with...is how to be there for my daughter throughout her life and also provide for her financially. At this moment in my life I've sacrificed financial autonomy (we have family support) for emotional connection.

And I would do it again and again and again.

To read the article, go here
The article is in Volume 7, Number 1/Winter 2009. The cost to download is $14.