Have you ever
noticed that men get more credit for childrearing than women? In other words, I get all sorts of accolades
and applause when I take care of Jonah or when people hear I actually change
diapers or feed him. I think that’s kind
of dumb. If Sunday struts into a room
and announces that she changed a particularly toxic diaper, people don’t think
anything of it.
If I do that,
however, I get ooohhs and aaahhhs.
It also works in
reverse. If I forget diapers (which I
have) and wipes (done that too) or even a bottle (three for three), people
shake their heads and chuckle at me. If
Sunday did that, she’s looked upon with scorn and jeering, with some of the
elderly saints wishing to stone her.
I have mixed
feelings about all that. For one, it’s
pretty unfair that Sunday is held to a higher standard than I, when we both
have the same level of experience.
Neither of us got Jonah’s
owner’s manual.
When we went on
vacation, Jonah rolled over for the first time.
Well, he was actually sitting up on a pillow, so his rolling was helped
somewhat by gravity. So even after we
got back from vacation, Jonah was not too proficient at rolling over on flat
surfaces and he was downright immobile in places where we can “wedge” him in
somewhere.
My mother-in-law,
Pat, brought our nephews, Kori and Seth, down to Kentucky for Vacation Bible
School. Having those two, plus Jonah is
a three-ring circus that is nearly unimaginable. Really, they’re all good kids, but they have
enough energy to keep the lights burning on Manhattan Island for the next
decade. As she was shuttling the boys
out to the car, Pat needed some assistance, so Sunday took some pillows and
packed them around Jonah on the couch.
She literally ran out to the car, helped Pat and ran back in, only to
find Jonah on the floor getting more acquainted with the legs of our
couch.
Here is where I
think Jonah’s thoughts should come to the forefront. Can you imagine what went through his mind as
Sunday walked out the door?
Thought
#1: I guess this is when that super-handsome
guy with the large cranium will come in
and help me.
Thought
#2: Wait Mom! I can help!
Look at me! I just need to get
this pillow out of the way…
Thought
#3: Hey.
Nice carpet. Let’s take a closer
look.
Thought
#4: The couch tipped over. I promise.
It was all the couch.
When she came back
into the room, Sunday was horrified, blaming herself for our child’s advanced
physical acumen. She also thought I’d
have some sort of disappointment or something like that. I figured stuff like that happens all the time
and, hey, he landed on a pillow. Didn’t
hurt him much.
Since that day, though,
we haven’t been able to leave him without some form of rolling being attempted
on Jonah’s part.
Jonah’s quick trip
to the floor made me realize that my view of parenting and Sunday’s view of
parenting were totally different. While
I thought I recognized these differences before we had Jonah, Sunday’s
expectation that I would be “disappointed” jarred something.
If Jonah had fallen
under my supervision, Sunday may have been disappointed or worried. She trusts me, but her mind and emotions go
to places that experience what could
happen. Not what did happen. What could happen.
Which brings me to
a major philosophical and cultural phenomenon in the United States: the father as imbecile. Turn on the television and you might see him
every night. He’s the one getting into
“trouble” with his wife, leading his kids astray and acting like a complete doofus. He has become an icon, an anti-parent, a man
who cannot be responsible for another human being, including himself. As an imbecile father, these characters don’t
help, they don’t contribute, and they don’t care.
So the mother
becomes the parent, in the entertainment industry, in the literature on
parenting, and in the minds of fathers.
Look around. How many television
shows have fathers who are not consistently the punch line? How many more books are written with the word
mother in it as opposed to father? Has
the word mother become a synonym for parent, leaving father out?
The imbecile father
does not exist for me. He has never been
evident in my life, before or since I have become a father myself. The imbecile father is unwelcome in my house,
and I can thank my own father for that.