I read it and while he's absolutely right on the specifics, it reminds me of a piece from Michael Chabon's collection of parenting essays Manhood for Amateurs (a terrific book- Chabon doesn't stint on the heavy literary lifting because it's 'only' magazine articles). He muses on the hollowness of praise for being a 'great father' when the bar's set at roughly ankle height- it takes a conscious effort not to clear the hurdle of society's abysmal expectations.
Case in point, the Ten Commandments of Righteous Fatherhood at the link.
It's all commonsense, everyday stuff that should be blindingly obvious to anyone living in the same house with a child. But the expectation is that doing stuff like hanging out with your kids, waking up with them in the morning, doing a little housework and giving mom the occasional break qualifies you for the title "righteous".
That's like getting a standing ovation for putting on clean socks in the morning, or not confusing the toothpaste with the diaper cream when you brush.
I realize I'm in a better (parenting) position than many with my low key day job, three days off and partial self employment. And even though I'm rarely exhausted when I clock out I understand that entitled desire to just zone out after work.
But as noted, young children develop FAST. A few hours a day of 'me time' may sound reasonable, but over seven days, over four weeks, over 12 months, it adds up.
I get up with him every morning, hang out with him every night and take over 'primary care' duties on my three days off. And it still seems like I'm watching one of those old stop-motion movies where a seed sprouts into a tree in roughly 45 seconds.
Wasn't it just a few months ago that stairs were a hazard and he couldn't walk more than a dozen feet without teetering precariously?
Now he demands that I bear witness to the amazing feats of "Stair Boy!", who makes the formerly fearsome descent to the ground floor by ignoring the hand rail and pogoing from step to step, or lying on his belly and slithering down face first, serpent fashion.
Likewise, he's gone from periodically barking out words like MILK! and BIRD! to serenading me with original musical compositions over breakfast.
And all of it, good, bad and in between, blasts past like Superman- faster than a speeding bullet. The rest of your life, including all the unattainably alluring stuff whispering seductively in your ear whenever you're elbow deep in a diaper change or hauling a shrieking toddler through a crowded grocery store? It ain't going anywhere- all that junk operates on adult time. You can pick it up again when the kid's five and suddenly not so wildly interested in your undivided 24/7 attention.
I'm not perfect, or even very good- I'm selfish, I'll space out on the computer while he watches a show, I'll sneak off and read a few pages while he's temporarily occupied by a can of play doh or a new drum, I get frustrated and eagerly pawn him off on Auntie Burl or Devra for a few hours of peace, I get caught out at the end of my rope and say the exact wrong thing too much of the time.
But mostly I'm there for his minor triumphs (last night, for the first time ever he stayed on the bed just because I asked , no judo involved,) as well as his major ones, watching him grow out of his shoes, clothes and toys in real time, graduating from sippy cups to real ones, from rice cereal to toast and scrambled eggs.
And even so, having spent over 95% of my non-working time with him for the last three years and being profoundly mindful that his toddler self is momentary and ephemeral, a magic book with calligraphy that vanishes as you read it....I can still tell you stories like this .
A few months ago I was making dinner. The kitchen is a place where my control freak-ness really gets out of hand- I can't cook with anyone, and I can't be in a kitchen where someone else is cooking without getting completely tweaked. When Fuss wandered in at a crucial juncture and started grabbing at my legs wanting up, demanding attention and generally getting in the way I snapped.
"I can't hold you right now, I'm VERY BUSY!"
Of course he laid down in the middle of the floor, burst into tears and I spent the next 20 minutes calming him down while the dinner went to hell.
One thing I always try to keep in mind is that kids will always, one way or another, however long it takes, get their payback.
Fuss got his the next day.
He wandered up to me wanting to do something, I forget what exactly- play trains, go to the garage, something like that. Then he stared up at me with a worried look and asked,
"You're not too busy, Dada?"
So I can imagine the reception an 'absentee' dad would get checking back in ten years or whatever down the road. The only currency children value is your time and your attention- shortchange them of either at your own peril.
TL/DR:
Here's Remi with The Wife at our wedding- he was our ringbearer
And Remi again, a few days ago with his prom date
Make of this what you will, but never say you weren't warned.
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