Being a “hands-on” dad
Walking to the train station in Manchester city centre this morning, I saw a little boy of about four years old riding a tiny bike towards me, followed by a dad also on a bike. I smiled to see them, and felt a pang of heartache as I wondered what my own son was doing at that moment – I’m on my way back home after a night in another city for a gig.
As the boy rode past me, his bike tyre skidded on the wet pavement and he toppled off the bike. I turned as soon as I heard him fall, but his dad was on the scene already, slowing his bike to a stop. As I checked to see if the boy was okay, the dad just… stood there on his bike, watching?!
To be clear, the little guy didn’t seem badly hurt, but as I looked over my shoulder trying not to stare, I wondered why the dad wasn't immediately jumping off his bike and running to comfort the boy and pick him up off the sodden ground.
Maybe this was a kind of "tough love" thing the man was experimenting with? Maybe they cycle a lot together and this was a common occurrence, and the boy would quickly be back on two wheels again? Maybe the dad subscribes to that parenting notion that a child looks to you when they hurt themselves to decide how to react (eg. if you make a huge fuss about a minor injury, they'll howl with pain because they feel they're supposed to)?
Who knows. Eventually I had to leave them to it and stop goggling at strangers. But it reminded me of another conversation a few weeks ago.
Just what is a “hands-on dad”?
I'd told an acquaintance that we'd just had another baby recently, and in the course of small talk, he asked me "are you a hands-on dad?".
I wasn't sure how to answer this, so I began a quick assessment of my parenting style: I take my son trampolining and end up mock-fighting him in pits filled with foam cubes. I strapped my daughter to my chest when she was a week old and carried her around for afternoon walks while softly singing to (vainly) sooth her. I've solo parented for a weekend with two kids and I've dressed up as Disney characters and role-played a wide cast of made-up characters with backstories and accents to entertain a four year old. I think I'm fairly hands-on...?
"I mean, do you change nappies and stuff?" he clarified while I puzzled.
This is the bar, then. This is what being a hands-on dad is, to a non-dad who's presumably basing this on his interpretation of what it means (and no shade to him, it's only a response to what you see around you). That man watching his son cry on the pavements of Manchester this morning might think he's hands-on too: I mean, I'd never dare take my son out on our bikes in the city centre (far too much chance of one of Birmingham's many pavement-parkers choosing the wrong moment to pull over).
But I think it might be another instance where masculinity has failed us. Some men think that "hands-on" means... doing the bare minimum. Providing absolutely basic care to a child (cleaning and comforting them, for example). Anything in addition to this feels a bit "showy", perhaps?
Don’t be a tryhard
Even listing out the activities I do with my kids above feels a bit like a humblebrag: look at all the things I do compared to this rubbish dad I saw. But I'm still only doing the same as my partner (or let's be real, probably *less* than she does). We're conditioned as men to be flippant and nonchalant about anything that smacks of making an effort or enthusiasm. You have to affect boredom, make a joke about yourself if someone praises you, and sit back and watch other people do things because being "hands-on" has somehow become coded as effeminate.
I wanted to go back to that little boy on the street and pick him up, give him a hug and tell him his knee would be okay and his bike just needed a quick wipe down, but of course I didn't, and of course I was substituting my own son for this random child, and feeling the sharp pang of love for him because I missed him. But maybe someone needed to hug that dad too, be "hands-on" with him so he knew it was okay to put aside the facade, tell his son it's okay to cry, and build on the already-impressive things he was doing to share his experiences with his son.
Mini feels this week
Who puts sweetcorn on burgers anyway
We went to a smokehouse/burger place in Manchester for dinner last night. Despite not discussing it, I'm 100% confident that neither myself or my friend Nathan understood a word that the guy who served us said (due to a combo of his hoarse voice and strong accent). Despite this obvious encumbrance to ordering food, we both just pretended we knew what he'd said, didn't ask him to repeat anything once, and meekly paid for and ate the food which was still a bit of a mystery right up until it arrived. Why are we quite so ridiculous about just saying "sorry, can you repeat that"?!
Train bantz
A man on the train I'm typing this on just came past selling tea and coffee, and when I asked if he had any cold drinks he said "we've got full-fat or semi-skimmed Coke". I don't care how much of a dad joke this is, I'm stealing (and embracing) it.
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