It sounds so perfect: a little boy playing pirates with his parents in the backyard, his sister (equally taken with Tinkerbell) his devoted pixie sidekick.
But there’s a problem: I’m just not always that into it.
Don’t get me wrong. I love, love, love to watch them play. And I like to join in initially. But I find that my enthusiasm for playtime wears thin pretty quickly. I find myself, well, to be perfectly honest, a little bored and wishing I were just watching again.
I feel really awful about it, but am not sure what to do. I’ve tried to convince myself to simply be in the moment and enjoy the mayhem. And I do…for a while. But then someone gets too rough, and someone else cries. Or someone gets different ideas about how the game should be played, and someone else cries. Or they both get distracted and move on to another game, the rules of which I do not yet comprehend.
More likely, I just don't have the imagination to keep up. Luckily, Nancy does. Yesterday she helped them build a dinosaur habitat in the backyard, complete with pond and surrounding jungle. That wouldn't have (and didn't) occur to me as a possibility.
I heard about a new book by Michael Lewis, called Home Game: An Accidental Guide to Fatherhood, in which the author recounts his surprise at the gap between what he thinks he should be feeling about being a dad, and what he actually feels. It’s a gap I feel all too frequently and all too strongly sometimes. My own approach seems to vacillate wildly between patience and tyranny. I’m as inclined to bark “WHAT?” or "HEY, KNOCK IT OFF!" when Trinity screams “DAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDYYYYYYYYY” from the living room, as I am to simply get up from what I’m doing and say “What is it, honey? And please, in the future, just get up and find me.” (although I do the latter sometimes, too).
The bottom line is that I’m starting to worry that I’m not doing this right. Most of the people I know with small kids talk about them in terms like “blessing” and “joy.” And while I know that all of this is true, and that I do find extraordinary joy in my kids, I know also that I don’t always feel like joining in the fun. Sometimes, if only for a minute or two, I’m faking it.
Nancy and I talked about all of this last night. She asked what I remember about playing when I was little, and I couldn’t come up with much, though I know I played all the time, and had a damn good time doing it. Asked if I thought I could dial that feeling up again and just enjoy the exuberance of unbridled youth, I said I didn’t think I could. It just didn’t sound like me.
“Sounds like you grew up,” she said.
Damn.
But I hope they know that, no matter what, I love them with all my heart and will fight off any and all bad guys.
3 comments:
Jonathan, the fact that you care enough to WANT to find that elusive pixie dust...well,that alone speaks volumes about your character as a dad.
BL
I kid you not - I could have written the exact same post, guilt and all. It still worries me sometimes, especially when I'm stressed out and running around the house like a crazywoman on steroids. I do take a little comfort in the fact that the kids are generally not just healthy but happy; when they start really acting out (esp. Molly) is when I know that I've probably been too hard to live with.
I've come to think it's more an innate thing than something you can just turn on; I've always had limited patience with small kid games, even before I had kids of my own. But I love talking with older kids and I think that's when I'll probably come into my own as a parent - I hope so, anyway. In the meantime, Michael is always willing to sit with Molly for hours on end while she pretends he's her baby and bosses him around - my absolute least favorite game (Clint's easy to play with right now - it's all about hurtling himself at people/objects and then doing it over and over and over).
Don't beat yourself up about this, seriously. You're not the only one out there who has these feelings, and I sometimes think that some of the "raising children is such a joy" talk masks the same kinds of contradictions and ambivalence.
FWIW, my $0.02.
As a non-parent who knows and spends much time with many kids and parents (and is therefore completely unqualified to speak on the matter), I think everything you're saying is right on the money. As Lori said, the "blessing" and "joy" talk often seems to mask ambivalence. We all know that kids are a blessing and a joy as well as a big pain in the neck sometimes. I think it's good that you grew up and that your kids get to see a dad and a mom who are grown ups--grown ups with grown up friendships and problems and lives, but also grown ups who balance all that with play and imagination. Besides, I teach Peter Pan (the play) to my college students, and JM Barrie's introduction to that play is about the most heartbreaking thing you'll ever read. Barrie's own life was so colored by the fact that he himself couldn't grow up, and the Davies boys ended up really resenting him for being stuck in an eternal childhood of sorts. In fact, in some ways, the play is less a celebration of childhood than a really sad examination of what happens to someone who can't grow up. It makes me cry every time I read it. You and Nancy balance all the many and varied challenges of parenting so beautifully. And even when you're not all that into playing, you fake it really well, which, when you think about it, is just another form of making pretend!
xo
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