Dissection of a Doleful Dad
There is a wonderful line in Gabriel Ba and Fabio Moon’s latest book, Two Brothers, in which a man's two sons, sons he never wanted, "rob him of serenity and good humour." It’s a gorgeous book that warrants more exploration and celebration, but was pertinent for me as a crucial reminder of the kind of presence and identity we want to avoid with our children.
There are odd moments, perhaps more than there used to be, where I seek to quell the hysteric laughter and banter of our children. There are times when this dampening is a logical and reasonable act. If we’re sitting in church for example, one would understand why I might want to calm and quiet them, it’s a no brainer. But there are other moments, at home, particularly in the evenings as we’re winding down for bed with a pretty structured routine. There are other moments when they’re having the time of their lives, laughing and carrying on as children (and perhaps even their parents at times, damnit) should do, where I step in and ask them to settle down. I ask them to restrain themselves, to keep it down, to lower their voices, to slow it down. And the truth of it is, they’re not bothering anybody, except perhaps me.
The irony of all this is a pivotal memory I have from my own childhood, which my wife reminded me of last week. I once told her about a time I was playing and laughing hysterically with a dear cousin of mine, having a wonderful time whilst our families were scattered throughout the house celebrating, eating, drinking and carousing. An older family member walked in, raising his hands like a sheriff and urging us to ‘calm it down,’ for no reason other than, well, for no reason.
It always struck me as sad and strange, that this well meaning, well adjusted man would ask us to stop enjoying ourselves, without great cause or claim. I always held myself in opposition to the events of the memory, silently defending the innocence and the joy of the moment whenever I thought back to it. The baffling this is that now, thirty or so odd years later, I find myself doing the same damn thing to my own kids! The same thing I found distasteful for decades, has now crept into my own parenting!
What on Earth drives me to suppress the mirth of my own children? This ghost of my own childhood? My own reverence for silence? Is it the educator in me that is driven to quell the masses before an uprising prevents us from fulfilling our learning intentions for our designated time together? How did I become this man? And to be fair, and honest, it’s not every time, every day, but it’s often enough to make the love of my life gently stop and remind me of exactly what I’m doing and who I sound like.
I think there is something broken, in us all (or is it just me), that seeks to restrain or restrict the children in our lives, within certain norms of volume and excitement. There is an odd, misplaced terror about where it will all go if they keep laughing and carrying on, as if they’ll lose every semblance of self control and decide to kill us and eat us if we let them continue unchecked. It makes no sense.
Laugher, joy, levity are vital elements of life, of family life. There are enough moments of tension and conflict with seven kids in the house that I know I need to wake up and nurture these moments of hysterical laughter and play. We can feel so burdened by the weight of our responsibilities and the endless annoyances that plague us, burdened enough to lash out in odd and illogical ways - this is just one of them.
But this one carries the terrible risk of a growing rift, a gulf, a separation between yourself and the joy in your kids’ lives. It is a dangerous thing to lose your role and identity as a co-conspirator and participant in the levity of your household. If laughter, joy and play become your enemies, your children will too. There is so much simplicity, innocence and happiness we can draw from the presence of our children, further compounded by that intoxicating love that comes from knowing and loving your own.
If we let these gifts wash over us, we can find ourselves unburdened, strengthened and largely liberated from the spurious distractions, obsessions and annoyances of the world beyond our four walls. If we set ourselves against these gifts, we force them to stoke the rancour and resentment we needlessly carry within ourselves.
In these moments, as fathers, we have fallen. So be aware of it. Be on guard. And be the father who brings laughter and levity to his household; not the one who bitterly suppresses it.