Dark Daze
Posted: January 8th, 2010 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping, Fatherhood | 7 Comments »
“The child is father of the man” – William Wordsworth
By the time a boy is 15 or 16 years old, he has inherited his definition of manhood. Observations of his father play a major part, as do experiences with other male role models. Your first basketball coach, who taught discipline, teamwork and selflessness. Your first boss who expected you to adhere to a code of conduct and to complete a list of tasks in a prompt and effective manner.
The high school teacher whose chalk-stained sport coat hung just against the ledge of the blackboard, gathering ever more chalk dust as he droned on by rote, teaching you both algebra and the danger of settling for “good enough.”
But at the end of the day, and at the end of your twenties, it comes back to dad. Dad, who left home before you were awake and returned after it was dark. Dad, who delayed dinner and set your stomachs to rumbling because “…we’ll eat when your father gets home.” Dad, who sat you on his lap and let you steer the car as he worked the pedals, and you felt so empowered, so privileged, so grown up.
Dad, who listened to you bemoan student loan payments and a steady diet of tuna, spaghetti and powdered iced tea mix, and cheered your first job after college, and visited your first apartment, which was scarcely bigger than your childhood bedroom.
“Work hard,” he said. “If you work hard and pay your dues, you’ll be rewarded. You’ve just got to pay your dues first. Everyone does. Someday you’ll get married and have kids of your own and you’ll provide them with a home, hot meals, clothing and school. That’s what you’ll do.”
And that’s what you do. You marry a beautiful woman. You find a decent job. Nothing that’ll buy a house on Capri but it’ll pay the bills and allow for a small vacation to the shore in the summer. You have a child, then two. You’re paying the bills. You’re providing for your family. You’re a man.
Then, it ends.
Your employer goes out of business and there’s no more job for you. They say it’ll take six months to close the doors for good. It takes two. Three months pass and you haven’t found a job. Then six. Then eighteen. You find small ways to earn a few dollars but it’s not enough.
You see your wife’s smile fade, and the lines in her face seem deeper. Where they there before? Around her mouth? You can’t remember. She smiles when you come into the room but from the corner of your eye you see a change when she thinks you’re not looking. The smile is gone and you wonder if she’s losing faith. Losing faith in you. You wonder if you’ve failed.
You wonder if you’re a man.
At night you go into your kids’ bedrooms as you’ve done countless times before, to check on them one last time before heading to bed yourself. Their little mouths breathe in and out and you hear yourself talking. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry. I have failed you. I have failed your mother. I have failed this family.”
And you walk out, and close the door, and get into your own bed and you wonder, “When will this end?”
I know the exact feelings you’re going through. My advice? 1) Be the best stay-at-home dad you can. My dad was never home growing up and he laments not being there more for me. 2) Failing that, land any job to keep any money coming in, no matter how menial or non-job related it is. It’s all about the humble pie in times like these. 3) Network, go back to school, learn more. There’s always something out there in your chosen field that you didn’t know before. 4) Keep the faith. In the end, the only one who can vouch for you is you.
My lessons of manhood from my father were not about things provided but of character and how to Be. I am a better human because of those lessons. Character in the face of circumstance can be a powerful teacher.
Following your blog one can tell there is character and caring. You will never feel you have done enough. That’s a pretty good sign you are doing the right thing.
My husband can commiserate.
I can’t speak for your wife, but I can speak for me. I did not look at my husband differently because he was ‘failing’. If I looked at him differently it was because the feelings were so palpable, so there. I could feel it; I could feel some of what he was feeling. I felt as if I had not done enough– my share– to get him to where he needed to be in life.
Things are getting better. My husband is still underemployed, but the simplification (that’s what we’re calling it here) has turned into a positive. We made it into a positive. We may be not be what he envisioned when his father defined his role for him, but we’ll be stronger when this is done.
I have no sage words of advice. Just sending good thoughts your way.
Also sending good thoughts your way.
I’ve read how you write about your family. You are giving an enormous gift of yourself, as any stay-at-home parent does.
What you are doing is WORTH something – impossible to find an adequate metric to relate to dollars – those charts that show a SAHM saves her family $30,000 or more a year are crap. Because it’s not ABOUT the money.
What you are doing is worth EVERYTHING.
Also sending positive thoughts your way. I believe in you.
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