The oldest of my children is over thirty and my youngest is under ten. For me, the generation gap between them represents a world of difference between fatherhood then and fatherhood now. It all began with the birth of my firstborn.
At the birth of my first child, I was a waiting-room outcast, separated from my wife, who was moved from a clinically traditional hospital labor room to the delivery room and, finally, to a maternity-floor room down the hall from the room where the newborn babies were kept. I knew nothing of what was going on during the many hours that passed before I was permitted to see my wife again and my son for the first time. What did I do? I behaved like the stereotypical expectant father from sitcoms of those years. I paced the floor, smoked countless cigarettes even though I did not usually smoke, kept looking at the clock, leafed through old magazines without understanding what I was reading, and practically pounced on any nurse who came through the door with news that always seemed to be for someone else. It was a lonely, anxious, miserable experience.
At the birth of my youngest child, I was there with my wife in a homelike "birthing room" throughout the labor and delivery. I helped her with here breathing exercises, timed the contractions and the intervals between them, fed her ice chips, rubbed her shoulders when she asked, and otherwise was just there. What I did was less important than the encouragement and support my being there conveyed. When our daughter was ready to make her entrance, I watched her emerge into the world and into her mother's waiting arms. Soon it was my turn to hold her, cuddle her, and give her first warm, gentle bath. We were never separated from her, and after our pediatrician had come and checked her out an hour or so later, we took her home to our other kids, who greeted us with ribbons and streamers and posters proclaiming "Welcome Home, Kelli!" It was a profoundly moving, uplifting, exhilarating experience.
In recent years, much has been written about the value of such early bonding between parent and child. For me, this was the best possible way to be launched once again into fatherhood.
Do Real Men Change Diapers?
The second major difference between fatherhood then and now involves a significant shift in my perception of what a father is and does. The first time around I saw myself primarily as the family breadwinner rather than an actively nurturing parent. From my perspective, as well as that of many of my male contemporaries, being a father largely meant bringing home the bacon during the day and taking care of minor disciplinary problems at night. We were part of the "Wait till your father gets home" era, when we never knew whether our kids were awaiting our return home after work with anticipation or trepidation. In our view, all that was really necessary to qualify for a "Father of the Year" award was to have lots of kids who stayed out of trouble.
This did not mean that we did not love our kids and want the very best for them. It was simply that we routinely left most of the tasks of parenting to our wives, without ever asking, why her and not me? On the movie screens of the day, fathers who tried to change their babies' diapers were objects of mirth - they might as well put on aprons and cook supper for the
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