One Maplewood Father's Definition of a Dad

I've got two kids, and I often say they are the most "right" thing I've ever done in my life. As I've reached further into adulthood I've asked myself one simple question, "Can I be selfless enough to do this well?" 

I don't know that I'll ever have that answer, but let's go back a bit and revisit my model of what a dad could or maybe should be.

My dad was a great guy. Everyone loved my dad. People who worked for, with and over him all respected and enjoyed him. He just had that kind of energy.

He was a big bear of a man, strong as hell and never lifted a weight in his life (that I'm aware of). Yet his biceps bulged, and his large hands felt like skin stretched over rock. He loved to tease me and do that "roll your knuckles" thing when shaking my hand, and if you've ever met me you know I'm not exactly tiny. But he was never intimidating. In fact, he was quite the opposite. 

I think back to my youth and remember him being very much my hero. Most kids think their dad could take the other dads on the block.

I knew mine could, but never would. 

My dad had a little plaque he hung in the laundry room—"MR. MAYTAG" to remember when he screwed up one of my mom's sweaters in the dryer.  Yes, he took care of the laundry and ironing. Maybe not so big a deal today, but 20 years ago….

My love of sports came through my dad. He just made it so fun. I wasn't so popular in the "sports playing" years. My family moved south from Cleveland to rural North Carolina, making me a bit of an outcast. Coaches didn't dig me much (I talked like those folks on TV). The kids even less. I could've quit, but my dad made it so fun that it even rubbed off on the kids that picked on me endlessly. Soon he was helping coach the football team, and all the kids were working desperately for his approval, which he never held back. My acceptance in this foreign culture was probably mostly due to him.

As I grew older he never turned me down for a catch. To this day I still cannot watch Field of Dreams. The scene at the end just kills me. What I wouldn't do to have that opportunity just one more time.

But he wasn't just there to give me what I wanted when I asked, he had demands as well. I had to earn my keep. Many a Saturday and Sunday were spent cutting down trees, transplanting bushes, chopping firewood, mulching the beds…you get the picture. This wasn't optional: It was expected. And just like the sports, I wanted his approval. I respected him. 

Now, of course, I had to go through my ridiculous "I'm so embarrassed of my parents" teenage years.  I was so much more embarrassing than they could ever be! Thank the heavens I had a brief chance to know my dad beyond those years.

When I got older, went through my hippy stage and announced I intended to be an actor, of course he hesitated. But as soon as he saw I was going to really try, even though it was completely out of his realm of experience, he never missed one of my plays. 

I can only remember one selfish moment from my father. One. I was sick with the flu, and after a doctors visit, I finally had to "drive that porcelain bus home." He was missing some very important meetings to be with me and needed me to take my medicine before he could go back. I felt his internal struggle to get back to work.  That's it. Really. 

So back to now. "Can I be selfless enough to do this well?" 

That's what I asked myself from the moment we began discussing having kids until the moment I saw my little August in the delivery room, and then it all just went away. The love was so instant, so overwhelming, I knew what my dad had known and we never got to talk about. And I felt it all over again exactly two years later when I met Sinikka for the first time. Of course you'll have your lapses, but I knew then that I would do whatever it took for this little boy, and that all the crap I filled my time with before was just that…filling the time. 

Don't get me wrong here, we all pine for a bit of that freedom…a moment in the bathroom with a magazine without a baby pounding on the door to see what you're doing. But I've personally never felt so gratifying a reward as having these two in my life. So selflessness isn't really an issue. 

I just want to make sure that I do it even a little bit as well as he did, and the pressure is huge. As you gather, he left big shoes behind.  I want so desperately to mold and guide them into all the things I never could aspire to be, to be "above and beyond." I want them to achieve greatness. But all I can really do is just love them, support them, and teach them how to be responsible for their own actions (a quality many a grown up I know could learn a bit more about).  

And I will try desperately to be here for them for the long haul. My dad left me about 15 years ago, and fought it every step of the way. I don't want to miss a moment, as he was forced to.  So I'll be here for them. I'll guide them. I'll love them. I'll do my very best not to scream when there is magic marker all over the dining room walls. I'll always aspire to be someone they can respect.  I will not cower from their embarrassment of me as they grow older. I'll try my best to understand what makes their clocks tick, not mine.

It's not about me anymore. It's about them. 

I once heard one of Dad's friend's say, "I used to be somebody, now I'm somebody's dad." I thought it sounded so sad, as if his life and dreams were now a thing of the past. Only now do I realize he was bragging.   

This essay was originally written for and published in the June 2009 edition of The MotherHood Magazine. It is appears here with the permission of the original publisher, Lisa Duggan.

Tim Reynolds is the owner/operator of THE GYM ON SPRINGFIELD, a personal training studio in its third year of operation on Springfield Avenue in Maplewood. He resides in Maplewood with his wife, Suzanne, and their two children, August and Sinikka.