By Vincent E. Ware
My journey into fatherhood started in June of 1997. Without having so much as the ability to change diapers, I found myself partly responsible for raising and molding another human being.
Although lacking any practical experience with children, I knew exactly what kind of father I aspired to be -- a loving one who took an active role in raising his child. Not even diaper mishaps, of which there were plenty, could dissuade me.
I was set on being a full and active participant in the raising of my son -- more than just a guy who supplied genetic material, helped pay bills, and provided discipline when needed.
Having more aspirations than ability, I had a lot to learn. But looking back at the past nine years, I’d say I’ve done everything I set out to accomplish, if you don’t count the fact that my children aren’t in Mensa and my two boys aren’t poised to be the next LeBron James any time soon.
While I have several things to be proud of, being a loving father is at the top of my list. Not only do I show my kids love, but I tell them as well. I’m not the kind of father who needs his wife to tell his kids he loves them. In my house, my wife doesn’t have to tell my children, “That’s just your father’s way of saying he loves you.”
While my kids appear happy and well adjusted, not a day goes by that I don’t second-guess how I’m doing as a father. I often worry that I haven’t, or won’t, do enough to prepare them for the cruel and harsh world that awaits them.
Even when those closest to me tell me I’m preparing my kids well for the world they will encounter, I remain worried. And yet this excessive worrying that I do isn’t unfounded, at least in my mind. It seems every newspaper or magazine article I read about parenting has some study showing that a father’s role is more important than I ever imagined.
Some suggest that a father’s role is critical in the development of a child’s IQ, sense of humor, self-esteem, whether or not children abuse drugs and alcohol, become teen parents, and are motivated to learn. That’s a lot to ask of a guy who didn’t master changing diapers until his third child was nearly potty trained.
And if that’s not daunting enough, they say that I’m the prototype for my daughter’s future husband. So if my daughter marries a drunkard who has an aversion to doing the right thing, it’s because I failed her. Talk about pressure.
Even if no such studies existed, I’d have no choice but to cultivate a special relationship with my daughter. In fact, at the behest of my mother, my daughter and I now have a ritual we call Father-Daughter Day. It’s a day when just the two of us go out and enjoy the world. Some days we go to a movie, others, a museum. While she’s only six, my daughter seems to enjoy the time we spend together, and I hope it is something we can continue for life.
And while I worry about my daughter becoming a happy and productive woman, I have an even greater concern for my two sons. As a Black man, I know how much contempt society will have for them when they become adults. So I spend as much time being a demanding father as I do being a loving one.
When my sons become men, I want them to be thoughtful, caring, and loving, worthy of carrying on the family name. As sappy as that might sound, it’s enough to make me a happy and proud father.
I’m only nine years into my fatherhood odyssey, but I’ve already learned it’s the most important thing I’m doing right now, and, likely, will be for the rest of my life.