Dads Under Construction Read online

  FROM CHILD TO ADULT

  My father was a modest man who never bragged about what he had. In fact, he said very little about himself at all. He was very self-conscious, especially of his body. He never felt comfortable wearing shorts, for instance, because he was so thin and he had varicose veins. He always seemed to be covering himself.

  When my father and I went to public swimming pools, he would enter into another room beside the locker room and change there quickly. Then he would head directly for the pool and immediately jump in.

  His hiding was also noticeable in social situations. When we attended family gatherings, he would stay in the background. When he was with groups of other people in public, he seldom expressed his own opinions.

  At first I accepted this behaviour as normal. Likewise, I naturally imitated him.

  As I entered puberty, I felt myself increasingly uncomfortable with the changes occurring to my body. In grade seven I wanted to hide in order to avoid taking a shower with the other boys after gym class. I was afraid that someone might see me.

  It was also about this time that I became curious about where babies actually came from. There were many different explanations, but they did not make sense to me. One spring evening when my father and I were doing some work on a retaining wall at home, I asked him this very question. He hesitated, then answered quite brusquely, “From the hospital.”

  Several weeks later, my father and I were in the car. We were on our way to a sex education evening for boys at the local high school. I guess he figured out it was time. As we were driving along, I asked him more questions about babies and inquired if what happens to girls on a monthly basis also happens to boys. I had no clear idea of sexuality or what sex meant. My father was very uncomfortable, and again his answers did not address the questions. The film that my father and I saw at the school confused me even more. Eventually, over the next several months, I discovered from my friends and from books what I wanted to know regarding entering manhood, body changes, wet dreams, masturbation, and sex … and where babies come from.

  I don’t hold my father’s reticence against him. He was doing his best and had his own self-image problems to contend with. And, in the end, the way he treated my questions helped me decide how to handle the sex question with my own children.

  Prior to the birth of our daughters, my wife and I discussed the importance of helping our children to understand themselves and their bodies, and to understand femininity and masculinity. We also decided that when the time was appropriate we would talk with them about sex. We felt it important to be as open as reasonably possible to any questions they might have.

  This feeling continues as we promote an atmosphere of openness and frankness in which our daughters can approach us to discuss these important issues. We have encouraged questions and have answered with age-appropriate responses, sometimes together, sometimes one-on-one.

  My father helped me see that I must forge a strong identity for myself, which could then become the foundation for talking about sex to my daughters. Settling this issue early is important, as children today are subjected to a barrage of sex from TV, especially in music videos and advertisements.

  How comfortable are you with yourself? With your identity? Do you understand who you are? Your sexuality? How do you express your masculinity? Are you in charge of your history, or is your history in charge of you? Remember, your child is watching you, learning from you, and understanding him/herself through you.

  LET’S NOT TALK

  My teenage years coincided with the acting out of youth in the rebellious 1960s. I grew my hair long and was quite active in a variety of protest movements. My bedroom wall was plastered with posters of rock groups and radical political causes. My room itself was often in disarray. I became more and more distant from my father throughout those years. In fact, there was a time when I looked at him in a negative, condescending way.

  Once, during a federal election campaign, I expressed some of my typical adolescent frustration and anger toward authority. Leaning politically to the left at that time, I contacted the campaign headquarters of the Marxist–Leninist candidate in our riding and asked that his sign be placed on our front lawn. My request was gratefully accepted and eagerly acted on. The sign they erected was very large and very noticeable.

  When my father arrived home from work that evening and entered the driveway, the sign immediately caught his eye. He was furious. Although his political adherence was similar to mine (though not to the same extreme), this sign was a little too much for him. He wasted no time in telling me that I had one week to take the sign off the lawn.

  As much as my father discouraged this over-enthusiastic sort of expression, he did support my need to act out and to demonstrate my independence in other ways. The style of any teenager was to wear army jackets and jeans with rips, tears, and patches. I recall taking the train to Toronto with my father, walking into an army surplus store, and purchasing such a jacket. He knew it was important for me to feel that I fit in.

  During this same trip, he took me to a pawnshop and bought me an expensive wristwatch. Even though our family did not have a great deal of money, my father instinctively knew that this was important for me. I no longer have the jacket, but I have kept the watch.

  My father and I struggled to communicate during those years. We were often at odds on any number of issues. I found it difficult to speak to him about personal matters. There were times when I felt I needed to have secrets. On occasion I would come close to scorning him. I would challenge him on what I called his “middle-class sitting-on-the-fence values” and made remarks about his appearance.

  Through it all, he never raised his voice or argued. He appeared to be willing to discuss my point of view if I wanted to talk with him about it.

  Despite his anger over the sign, he gave me a week to take it down. He needed to set a limit regarding my behaviour, but he also realized the need for me to have a period of time in which to act out. I believe he understood this need even during the times that communication between us had broken down. He seemed to feel it was best just to be there and be available to me in case I wanted to talk.

  I now experience the same situation with my fifteen year old daughter. There are times when she becomes defiant or angry and walks out of the room. It is understandable; I know that she needs to do it. The worst thing I could do is follow her and immediately discuss the issue at hand. If I give things some time, and a little distance, we are usually able to sit down and talk it out. There are certain matters, however, that need to become secrets. She should be uncomfortable talking to me about them.

  The close personal relationship that you have established with your child over the years comes strongly into play during the teen years. Your child knows, deep down, that there is still some degree of connectedness — even during times when you are not talking.

  You may not talk as much, but you can still communicate. When you make it clear that you are available, that you are listening, that you will be available when you are approached, you are communicating. When you are approached, you join your child while still allowing his or her own sense of individuality.

  Adolescents need to identify with others and make them a part of themselves to help foster their independence. These times may create the feeling that your child is being distant from you or of having been shut out of his or her life. You can count on this: by being friendly, responsive, and available for conversation, your child knows there is a relationship to come back to.

  TIME ALONE TOGETHER

  My father and I travelled by train to the 1976 Olympics in Montreal to watch some of the events. I was in my early twenties and in graduate school. My father was in his late sixties. We spent several days at the Olympics and touring Montreal, travelling back and forth on subway trains. There had not been many times that we had been alone together, enjoying a common interest like this. This was one of the last times that we would do so. Shortly after the trip, I would
move away from home to pursue my career.

  At different times during the trip we spoke about my father’s family, how he felt about retirement, the direction I was taking in my university studies, my job searches and, of course, the Olympics, among other things. However, it was not just the conversation that was important, it was spending time with my father, just the two of us.

  Throughout both of my daughters’ first years, I found it rewarding to take them with me when I would go on errands, or occasionally take them with me when I went to work. There were also numerous times when I would just take them for a walk in a stroller — around the block or to the park. I was fortunate that my employment situation provided me with the opportunity to take either of my daughters to my office for part of the day.

  There were also times when I would stay with them alone at home, sometimes because my wife was at work or attending a conference out of town, sometimes because I just chose to be there with them. I discovered that I could throw a sponge in the sink or turn the light switch off and on to entertain them, and that an hour or two would quickly pass by. Both of my daughters enjoyed these simple activities at that age, and I found it an easy way to engage with them.

  As they grew, I realized that it was actually quite easy to invent numerous fun games for my daughters, whether at home, in the car, or elsewhere. It did not take long for them to involve themselves in these games with me. As they grew, they often looked to my creativity, or they expressed their own, as we developed new ways of playing together. When Ailène was two years of age and in-line skating had become the new fad, I would often put her pink tricycle helmet on her head, buckle her into the baby carriage, strap on my in-line skates, and take off, pushing the carriage. She thoroughly enjoyed these excursions and would point her finger in the direction she wanted to go. I found that if I could adapt myself to my daughters’ interests, we readily enjoyed one another’s company.

  As my two daughters grew and became more creative and ambitious in their play, it became necessary for me to engage with them in more elaborate activities that took more planning. One extremely snowy winter, for example, I built a sled run on an incline beside our home. Ailène was nine and Alexandra was three. Late at night, I sprayed water on the run so it would make it icier for them and increase their speed when they used it the next day. I obtained a number of bales of straw from a friend and placed them along the edge of the run for safety. I also built up the banks with a great deal of snow. Both of my daughters put on their bicycle helmets, and the older one lay down on the sled on her stomach. The younger one would then climb on top of her sister’s back and hold onto her shoulders. They would ask me to give them a push, and off they went.

  We had a great deal of fun doing this despite the amount of work involved for me. I am not a handyman or an engineer by nature, so I learned how to build the sled run on the job. My daughters gave me ideas and participated in its construction. I enjoyed going down the run with them, and the winter passed by quickly. My wife, our two daughters, and I would often spend a weekend afternoon sledding. It did not take long for the word to get out to other children in the neighbourhood that they were invited to go down this sled run as well. Numerous friends of my daughters came over and played for hours.

  Another way I found time alone with my daughters was to take them on a vacation for several days, sometimes even up to a week. It started when Ailène was eight. This time alone has come to mean a great deal to all three of us.

  Finding ways of spending time alone with my children as they have grown has been both challenging and rewarding. I quickly discovered that all I really had to do was observe what they enjoyed doing or wanted to do and then figure out ways we could participate in those activities together.

  I have many fond memories of playing catch with my father. He and I also went golfing and worked together around the home or in the family business. These times together were very special for me, as I got to be alone with my father. For a son or daughter to have these moments alone with dad means a great deal. Both a father and a child need opportunities to be alone and to experience each other.

  For the father, it assists in his role as a parent and contributes to a better understanding of himself and how he fathers the next generation. It also provides him with increased feelings of confidence and competence in what he is doing.

  For the child, this time alone provides him or her with a very important model apart from the mother. It gives them the opportunity to experience nurturing from a masculine perspective.

  My father’s participation in my life, whether it was driving me to school, building me a steeplechase jump, travelling to the Olympics, or going on family vacations, was a way for him to join me in my interests. There were other numerous ways that he and I were able to involve ourselves in each other’s lives. My father appeared to be happy just observing my participation in various activities as well. He did not necessarily have to join in all of them, all the time. I believe my father learned for himself a way that he could engage in my life and at the same time understand what it was that I needed to meet both my own needs and those of interacting with others.

  As a society, we now have more leisure time than my father’s generation did. This time provides us with the opportunity to engage with our children in numerous activities. By being actively involved with the child, we are able to become a part of them and join with them and what they are involved in. The more time we are able to spend with them, the better we can understand what it is they need and help to provide that for them.

  It can start with throwing a sponge in the sink or turning a light switch off and on, and then watch how fast the time goes by! If a person engages in the play activity and does not worry about outside pressures or work responsibilities, moments pass most pleasurably.

  It is special for father and child to be alone together. This time provides a father with the opportunity to see these developmental moments in the child’s life. Fond memories are created. These alone-times together give your child a special feeling that they will carry throughout a lifetime.

  GOD?

  My father was born into a very devout Presbyterian family tradition. The rural church his family attended joined with a Methodist congregation when he was quite young. Later it became a United Church. My father was reared in a strict belief system based on the Protestant work ethic. His parents were active in numerous church-related activities, including singing in the choir, attending Bible study, and teaching Sunday school. For my father and his family, the church was the focal point of their social lives. It provided him with strong moral values — values to which he would adhere throughout his life.

  During the Depression in the 1930s, my father was forced to leave this tight-knit, rural community, as well as the farm on which he was raised, to seek employment in urban areas. While working as a relief operator at a railway station in Kitchener, Ontario, he met my mother. Her religious background was Lutheran and more liberal than his. My father was able to adapt to a more flexible religious lifestyle when he married my mother and became involved in a Lutheran church.

  My spiritual upbringing was a coming-together of these two religious backgrounds. In my family, there was a strong attachment to religious beliefs. This was tempered, however, with tolerance toward others’ beliefs. As a young man I attended a Lutheran seminary and graduated with a Master of Divinity degree. During my seminary years, I dated a Jewish woman. My father, to his credit, was tolerant of this inter-religious relationship, which in any case did not last.

  After seminary and prior to my marriage, I found myself less inclined to follow institutionalized religion. I decided to pursue studies in social work instead of becoming a minister. As my wife had no specific religious adherence, we felt comfortable exposing our daughters to a variety of religions.

  Upon reflection of my religious past and present, I feel that I may have moved too far from a structured religious perspective. As I speak to my daughters about religious mat
ters, or as they ask me questions about religion, I am aware of the need to provide both of them with a framework in which they will be able to develop their own religious beliefs. This religious framework is what I view as defining one’s sense of one’s own integrity. Integrity, as I see it, is made up of a firm attachment to morality, honesty, and sincerity.

  Let’s view religion and integrity from another perspective. If you exercised your right leg only, your right leg would become overdeveloped, and your left leg underdeveloped. Obviously, it would be difficult to walk at all. If a dad is too rigid and moralistic, or perhaps too flexible and permissive, an imbalance will occur. The question is whether our beliefs or faith are balanced.

  FAMILY FIRST

  My father lay motionless in his bed, in a fetal position, as if asleep. I held his hand and touched his face. He died the way he wanted to: in his bed, at home, surrounded by family. He was in his ninetieth year.

  My father was born in a family farmhouse on the kitchen table. The next-door neighbour came from several miles away by horse and buggy to be the midwife. My grandfather and uncle waited on the veranda outside, doing what they could to help out.

  My father’s family moved only once, and that was when he was a young boy. They moved several farms over. Everybody in the community knew each other, and they often met weekly, either in the town market or at church. The families were very supportive of each other and worked quite hard, especially through the difficult period of the Depression.