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The poetics of manhood

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It was one of those familiar rituals of my childhood, as familiar as the smell of Sunday dinner and the sound of the dog barking to go out.

Every Wednesday night my dad would sit down in the big chair in the lounge and, with his pipe fixed between his teeth and his glasses tipped half way down his nose, he’d set about his deep contemplation of the pools coupon.

To me at the impressionable age of ten this weekly observance was the quintessence of manhood. There was something about the pipesmoke, the arcane poetry of names that meant nothing whatsoever – Port Vale, Leyton Orient, Queen of the South – as well as the pin-point dedication to the tiny grid that, together, seemed to have a tweedily priestly air to it.

Nowhere in this tableau do my mother or my sister feature. The family’s fortune lay entirely in the brown freckled hands of the old man. He’d insist it was a matter of the most acute judgement, requiring considered scrutiny of the sports pages and a deep concentration. It was the sort of concentration that, of necessity, called for an easy chair and a full pipe.

Time passes and things change. The pools have gone. Thirty years on and it’s my wife who buys the Irish national lottery tickets and who picks the same numbers with a faintly familiar ritual consistency. Birthdays, anniversaries and one for your age because you need at least one number over 40…

And whilst she goes about the business of chasing that still elusive family fortune, it’s now me – husband and father – who puts the roast in the oven, and it’s me who walks the dog.

My old man’s not around to see it anymore, but he’d be upset by this arrangement. It would strike him as somehow unmanly – there’s an old fashioned word – not to be steering the big dreams and the big numbers, just as he’d look askew at any man who knew how to turn the oven on.

He was a dab hand with a broken fuel pump or a recalcitrant alternator, but the kitchen was a foreign country to him. He was extraordinarily proud the day he fried an egg. On the one occasion when my mother was not there to cater for him the glow of triumph on his face as he turned from the hob to bring us his masterpiece was lastingly unforgettable.

The hot pan scorched a perfect black circle across the table top.

He copped for a fearsome rollocking when my mother saw the damage he’d done to her table.  He took it remarkably calmly for once, simply repairing to the haven of the big old chair in the lounge to draw what little comfort he could from his creaky old pipe.

That was the first time I realised he might be in some way hiding there, behind the smoke, the sports pages and his pools coupon.

By Will Turner

Image:  Flickr /  JD Hancock 

We don’t need to redefine masculinity, amazing men have always been all around us

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As a toddler and small boy my sisters and I often spent the weekend on an estate in Camden, Maine.  A place where the hills meet the sea, it’s what San Francisco would be if San Francisco were a small New England town.

The estate had a mansion and two other small houses.  My grandparents lived in one of the small houses.  The other was empty.  And except for a few weeks each summer the mansion was empty as well.

My grandfather, Fred Daley, was the groundskeeper (pictured as a young man, on the right of this photograph).  He kept the lawn manicured, grew vegetables on a small patch of land, went deer hunting in the woods every November, and plowed snow in winter.  My grandmother cleaned the houses and cooked when the owners were there.

The wealthy family that owned the estate could impress their guests with vegetables straight from the garden, and venison from their property.  Their appreciation for my grandparents was clear.

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Years later, after the property was sold and my grandparents had bought their own house, my grandfather showed me an officer’s sword from the First World War.  He told me his old boss, whose father was a captain in the Great War, gave him the sword as a gift.

Almost two decades later my grandfather died.  I asked my grandmother for the sword.  But she had already sold it.  I don’t think she understood the value of that sword.  And I don’t mean financial value.

Back in the day, it was quite the honor to be given a man’s sword.  That a man of wealth would give a family heirloom to a common laborer was an immense sign of respect.

And my grandfather was a well-respected man.  He was a quiet man.  People trusted him because his word was his bond.  But he was not a domineering man.  The only time I ever saw him get angry was during a television interview with a holocaust denier (he was an American GI during World War II and saw a concentration camp first hand).

Quiet self-confidence

He was also a man who could get things done.  He knew basic carpentry, plumbing, electric, automotive, and agriculture.  It was a matter of necessity.  The second of five boys, he finished high school in the early 1930s at the peak of the Great Depression.

He told me they were poor before the depression, so it didn’t make much difference.  Except for one thing.

His father was a marine carpenter, and New Deal farm subsidies meant that Maine potatoes would be sent by ship to larger American ports.  The increased demand for carpenters to build and maintain docks should have been a help to the family.  But his father was a Canadian citizen, and back then a man couldn’t get American citizenship by marrying an American woman.  (In fact, between 1907 and 1922 an American woman lost her citizenship for marrying a foreign man.)  My great-grandfather was barred from any job that involved government funds, and my grandfather worked what jobs he could find in the 1930s to help support his parents and brothers before being drafted into World War II.

His masculinity was conveyed with a quiet self-confidence and dedication to those closest to him.

A person, not a role

Pop culture, for better or worse, is a barometer of what our culture thinks of what it means to be a man or a woman.  The increase in strong female characters, and the recurring theme of women rejecting traditional roles (often after a man attempts to impose it on her) has been notable over the past few decades, and especially of late.  Men, meanwhile, are often buffoons, soft or ineffective “nice guys,” or the violent heroes of summer block buster action films.

We ask what it means to be a man because men’s roles in modern society are shifting.  Part of this is due to the diminished need for brawn.  Part of it is due to a dramatic expansion of women’s options, meaning that women aren’t dependent on men as they were in the past.  Part of it is that many men both want and are expected to take a greater role in child rearing.  And gay and transgender men are fighting for their equality as men.

But a man’s dignity has always been about who he is as a person, not the particular role he serves.  The self-possessed man who leads with a quiet self-confidence, who is a valued member of his family and community, has always been there.

And he’s still here today.  I think of the fathers and children I see everyday.  I think of my father, who tells me he loves me every time we talk, even though his father never spoke those words to him.  I think of my friends.  I think of my first boss after college, my sometime mentor, a gay Jewish man (now married with two kids) who also played a large role in the man and the social worker I am today.  I think of my boss ten years ago who gave me a hug when I told him my grandfather had died.  I think of the men who reached out to me a few years ago when I got divorced.

It is often said that masculinity is about domination and control.  Such men exist, but the domineering tough guy has never been the sum total of masculinity.  The notion of toxic masculinity, however, is presupposed in the question of how to redefine masculinity.  But this is a one-sided view.  We don’t need to redefine masculinity.  We need only look around us.

By David Dubay

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What’s so great about being a dad?

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It tests friendships, ruins hobbies and kills your sex life, so is fatherhood really worth it asks David Atkinson?

I was on the radio recently, talking about this very topic as part of a panel discussion for Men’s Hour on BBC Radio 5 live. 

 

 

As one of five dads from different family backgrounds – I was taking the role of shared-custody dad, since you ask – we debated whether the joy of having kids outweighs the pressures and inevitable self-sacrifice it involves.

From missing Match of the Day to giving up nights down the pub with mates, being a dad is not all cuddles and gurgles. Indeed, a recent survey by Amazon Family revealed that some 64 per cent of people underestimate how much their lives will be transformed by becoming a parent. Watching a film without Disney princesses and waking up not feeling like the living dead were amongst the grumbles cited by the new parents questioned across the North West of England.

 A.D. Miller, whose new book The Faithful Couple deals with the pressure of children on friendships and relationships, believes it’s easy to get into a siege mentality around children, especially when a new baby arrives.

 “When you send that email with the uploaded photos of your newborn, what you’re actually doing is saying goodbye to a whole load of people. You’re life becomes unrecognisable to your childless friend,” he says.

“On the other hand,” he adds, “you’re going through an experience that is both fascinating and challenging.”

The role of fathers is generally perceived to have changed markedly over generations. From the hands-off, Victorian dads of yesterday to the nappy-changing multi-taskers of today, contemporary dads are seen to give more to – and get more from – fatherhood.

But, according to Dr Laura King, a family historian at the University of Leeds and the author of Family Men: Fatherhood and Masculinity in Britain, 1914-60, the evolution of the über-dad is less marked than we may think.

“My research into individual testimonies of fatherhood shows that rather than being distant, men and children in the past shared special and often close relationships, and fatherhood was a very important part of masculinity, particularly in the wake of the Second World War,” she says.

“Some things are very different now – men’s openness about their emotions, and their role in childbirth, for example. But women still take on the bulk of childcare and are still understood to have a far more special bond with children than men. Fathers are still seen as the secondary parent in lots of ways.”

Back in the radio studio, the debate was raging on. But, as fathers, we also found common ground despite our individual circumstances to suggest the life change of fatherhood had been overwhelmingly positive.

Sure, we were more tired and had less time to ourselves. But we were also more selfless, more considerate and, faced with the unconditional love of a child, more in tune with our emotions.

Most of all, we agreed, it was the little things that made it all worthwhile. One father talked about the first words his son uttered. Another spoke of the bonding feeling of bedtime stories. Me? With my two daughters now aged five and nine respectively, I have moved into a new phase of getting out and doing more together as a tightly bonded trio.

I shared a story about a sunny Saturday in early spring when we want for a walk to a local park and collected wild daffodils from the roadside to put in a vase in the kitchen.

It was a simple pleasure and, yes, I could have been sat in a local cafe with a nice coffee and the weekend papers. But, like so many moments of fatherhood for me, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

David Atkinson is a freelance writer and father to two girls. Read more of his stories at www.atkinsondavid.com and follow him on Twitter https://twitter.com/atkinsondavid.

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The story of a gay grandad

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I am going to New Zealand with my life partner to visit our son and his wife and, of huge importance this time, our grand-daughter, Frida for the very first time.

Born nine months ago, contact so far has been on Skype. All very well: a great improvement on waiting for letters or photos but, for someone specialising in intimate personal relations skills, definitely second rate to skin-to-skin, face-to-face connection. We couldn’t be more excited!

One unusual dimension to this story is that we’re gay dads who fell in love thirty-three years ago when my sons from my recently ended marriage were just three and seven. Jeremy was twenty-two, ten years my junior. How those years have flown!

I’d always had relationships with males and females and met my wife while living with my boyfriend who was her friend. No surprises or secrets then!

‘Pretend families’

Growing up queer in working-class London, poor schools and children’s homes had been difficult: my sexuality only one of many ways I felt different and was never much of a surprise to anyone! I had no real relationship with my drunken dad, except fear, and no grandparents: all had died before my birth. This adds poignancy and charge to travelling to meet Frida.

When my partner and I met it was difficult for gay men to be carers for young children. I was a trained primary teacher and my partner a play leader so we had skills to help us fight mainly sexist, but sometimes homophobic, bigotry. Thatcher changed the scene for the worse, however, when she pushed through Clause 28 and demonised ours as ‘pretend families.’

We put enormous love and commitment into building and keeping good relationships with our wider families, the boys’ mother and her family, and the diverse communities in which we lived, worked and socialised. Our sons were adored in two stable homes and led the complex lives of London children, eventually successfully finding rewarding love and work of their own.

My partner became a donor father for good lesbian friends eleven years ago, so we’ve avoided an ’empty nest’, our gorgeous third son being an intrinsic part of our lives for ten years now. He increasingly spends time at home and away with us as he gains more confidence and we’re excited about that.

Being with Frida

Five years ago our second son moved to Auckland with his wife, whose mother grew up nearby, and they’ve made their lives there with interesting jobs and a good home. This raises painful stresses of separation for us all: most of their friends are in the UK as well as all of his family. It’s tough that the two countries are so very far apart and tough that two such close brothers are!

The first sounds each day blend loud birdsong in the palms with Frida’s singsong chatter while she plays. Parting the curtain and sliding the door between our bedroom and the living room, my first sight will be her beaming smile and delighted eyes as I peep round. She encapsulates joy and this thrills me.

Long days of sunny winds in Wanaka and rainy forests in Waitakere pass with us all mesmerised by her. She is a bright, beautiful, cheery nine month old person who loves to engage through clapping, singing, dancing, hiding, banging, burping, playful contact. She starts to crawl while we are here: for us a great thrill, for her no  big deal!

It is heartbreakingly poignant for me to watch my beautiful younger son, whom I still cannot but regard as my ‘boy’, fathering Frida so elegantly, so sensitively, with boundless, patient love and I feel a happy pride. This stirs deep longings in me to be the child of such a father, or the father of such a child. He and his wife are so in love with their longed-for daughter, in love with parenting together, that the three of them create a kind of sacred triangle.

Daily delight

The rôle of granddad is unknown to me so I feel a little precarious: who and how are my partner and I in Frida’s life? My son’s ‘in-laws’ are delightful, respecting and welcoming us as equals, yet (is this entirely from a lifetime dealing with prejudice?) I find it hard to feel equality with them, struggling with a sense that they precede my son’s mother and that we come third in a line of grandparental significance. These feelings sadden me – and evoke some shame.

I always felt alien in my dysfunctional original family and this echoes still, conjuring ancient demons. So the experience of living in this ‘perfect’ happy family for a couple of weeks is bittersweet: I long to be at the heart of it, partly a creator of it but, honestly, feel quite often like I’m trying very hard to join. This is familiar and no-one’s responsibility but mine.

Frida is a daily delight: the warm buttery smell of her, the soft silk feel of her, her delicacy and fineness; in form and character she is delicious.

Christmas and New Year swell with friends and family with Frida as a central star. My partner and I are warmly received everywhere. We fill ourselves up with her in order to have a store for when we are without her back home. It has been a huge journey in every sense to get ourselves together like this.

The way ahead

Facing physical separation takes its toll again as we each begin to close down to cope: the brute fact is that we will not touch one another for at least another year! Only Frida, who will change most, does not know this, thankfully will not know this. We will yearn for her presence now as we have longed year after year for our sons. Love hurts.

Since my life partner and I returned from meeting our granddaughter for the first time early this year, much has changed. She has changed most: just under a year old when we met, she’s now cut lots of teeth, walks well, spends two days a week happily at nursery, talks a great deal and chatters knowledgeably on many topics. She remains joyous, humorous, full of verve.

We keep in touch by Skype, of course: everyone says what a blessing it is in such circumstances and that’s true – a lot better than waiting weeks for a letter full of snapshots! Meeting us ‘in the flesh’ has meant Frida now knows we’re us somehow, hearing us on screen, and we can continue little verbal games we invented when we were together. When I say, “Are you dancing, Frida?” in a certain tone she takes it as a cue to climb on a box, wave like a diva to her parent for music and start gyrating excitedly. We pretend to sleep and she wakes us up and puts us back to sleep again.

Relating increasingly is rewarding, as when she makes ‘a cuppa’ and rushes it to the screen for us to taste or puts us to bed next to it and wakes us up with a start, giggling. It’s still poignant, however, that she – and her mum and dad – are so far from us physically and, as we switch Skype off, we usually let go some tears. Close connection with those we love is so natural it’s strange to need all the planning we must do in modern life to get it. It would feel great to drop in to their home with a casserole to have that cuppa and babysit Frida.

It’s never too late…

Being in New Zealand with them raised old ghosts about separation and loss for me and I eventually wrote at length to explain those feelings to my son.

His experience was obviously entirely different: he didn’t feel the separation between us I had felt – one of our special connections has, in fact, always been writing to each other. My childhood was full of painful separation and losses while his was mainly shaped by loving care and positivity. It was constructive for us both to have these buried hurts aired frankly and has led to planning greater contact when we can, as well as opening me up to sharing feelings with his mother, although we separated thirty-four years ago. It’s never too late to be honest or to clear things up.

Meeting Frida has helped me to embody her: from holding, cuddling, kissing and nurturing her I feel her in me more now, just as I do my two sons, and that’s a comfort and a pleasure. We now have the added excitement, shared with many friends and family, of a visit from her to us and planning for that.

Everyone longs to see them, to meet her, to introduce their new spouses and children to them. I know that waiting time will quickly pass and that there is less time until we meet than it has been since we met.

By Charles Neal

Charles Neal founded and chaired the Association for Lesbian, Gay & Bisexual Psychologists, co-edited the bestselling ‘Pink Therapy’ trilogy of handbooks with Dominic Davies (Open University 1996 & 2000) and is Hon. Clinical Associate with Pink Therapy Services, the largest provider of therapy and training on these issues.

His latest book, ‘The Marrying Kind?: Lives of Gay & Bi Men Who Marry Women’ is available here and you contact Charles at: www.charles-neal.com

This article previously appeared  on www.thedadnetwork.co.uk and was originally published inwww.wearefamilymagazine.co.uk 

From abusive childhood to Led Zeppelin bodyguard — Just one of the stories in our new #insideMANbook

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The story of Oliver Wilson’s life is an incredible one — overcoming an upbringing scarred by poverty and abuse, he became a professional boxer, Hollywood stuntman and a bodyguard for Led Zeppelin.

But what he’s most proud of is the deep bond he has with his own children – a connection he never had with his own alcoholic father.

Oliver’s is just one of the amazing and inspiring stories by and about men that insideMAN has published over the past year and that we’re soon to turn into a real-life, hard copy book.

On Monday we’re launching a crowdfunder campaign to raise £2500 to cover the publication costs.

Once it’s live you’ll be able to support the project by pre-ordering copies of the book as a paperback, hardback or eBook, and by sharing the crowdfunder link to anyone who knows a man or a boy.

In the meantime, it would be amazing if you can support us by:

  • Adding your email to the sign up form to the right
  • Telling us what you think in a comment or a tweet using #insideMANbook
  • Following us on Twitter @insideMANmagand Facebook

To find out more about the book, see our story here and watch this clip to hear Oliver’s own heartfelt description of what fatherhood means to him.

 

How are men affected by their partner’s abortion?

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Studies have shown abortion also has a psychological impact on the millions of men whose partners have gone through it. Here Peter Chaplin, who organises male rites of passage retreats, explains how he made sense of his own experience.

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The abortion debate is generally perceived as one of those women-only territories where male perspectives are unwelcome, unless they are in full-throttle support of the pro-choice viewpoint. Irrespective of the roles that men wittingly or unwittingly play in the drama that surrounds abortion, the general public note is that it’s really, and rightly, a subject men should not speak out about.

Studies on the effects of abortion on women are not that numerous, but they massively outweigh those about the effects on men, and the few that are about men don’t always agree. But here’s what some of those few generally concur on.

Men experience many of the same emotions as women after their partner has had an abortion, whether they assented to and supported the decision or not: relief, depression, grief, anger, shame and guilt. Anger is often related to disenfranchisement from the legal decision when the man was not consulted. Men, probably more so than women, can react by falling into patterns of abusing drugs, alcohol and sex and taking part in high-risk sports and adventures.

‘Men experience remorse for the child that might have been’

One team of researchers in Canada found that 56.9 per cent of women and 39.6 per cent of men involved in first-trimester abortions were much more distressed than the control groups who were not involved in abortions. And these negative psychological effects can be intense and can be long-term, for men as well as women. Untreated depression is untreated depression, whatever the cause.

Men can also experience great ambivalence about the abortion even if their partner is not so troubled, and this might arise from feelings of personal failure, of having caused someone else to cause harm, and of failing to protect one’s own child.

A small study (50 men) showed 40% of the men having day-dreams about the child that might have been, and experiencing remorse and sadness. Some researchers see the denial of fatherhood as a powerful factor in pathological guilt that can lead to a type of self-alienation, and can adversely affect fatherhood when it arrives later.

And of course in unmarried relationships where abortion takes place, the chances of the relationship surviving are greatly diminished. In one study of 400 men, 70% of the relationships had broken up within one month of the abortion, despite the men being confident at the time of the abortion that they would not regret it later.

‘Even asking for help crosses a heavily-guarded boundary’

So just like women, men might lose not only a child but a partner too, while both parties think they are taking the correct course of action. The father and the mother will be left to grieve alone, though in general, the man will be somewhat less likely to deal with this in a healthy way. And there is no place to visit, no stone or memorial and for some, no closure.

Not all men will experience all the reactions noted here. And there is some evidence that men’s reactions are more muted if the abortion is for a serious medical reason.

Still more men are married to or partnered with a woman who has had an abortion from a previous relationship and here the scenario is very muddled. Such relationships may carry a lot of baggage that is hard to recognise. Not your fault, but quite possibly your problem, and it’s easy to fall into “fix” mode, which just makes things worse.

Whether you agree with abortion or not, it’s actually a major life event disguised as a routine healthcare issue. Millions of men in the UK have experienced it. Not only is there hardly any support for men, but even to ask the question about how to support men crosses one of those heavily guarded feminist boundaries, and the flak starts to fly. So we tend to muddle on, without any support to help us make sense of what’s happened.

‘Men are wounded by abortion too’

My own experience is that for most men, any kind of opening up to the rawness of the emotional aspects of abortion is best done in a male-only space at first. The simple act of witnessing someone’s story can begin a healing process. It’s not always going to be gentle either.  That said, I’m pretty sure that this process can’t be completed without continuing that conversation with women who have started that conversation themselves, but that’s not a starting place, more a long range goal.

Finding closure can take many forms, from therapy to real-talk groups and sacred circles to hill-walking or art or ritual. And it might be quick or slow. All of us will find we  have a story about what might or could or should have been, whether we are imaginative, religious , spiritual or whatever.

My own experience involved devising a short ritual that combined adoption with a funeral, but there aren’t any rules except authenticity. What flavour this might take depends on your story about children, childhood and parenting (particularly fathering). And such an approach might be either the beginning or the ending of a journey towards healing. The important thing is to have somewhere to begin and some compassionate and informed company, because men are wounded by abortion too.

By Peter Chaplin

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Top fears of a dad-to-be (number five will make you chuckle)

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Matthew Adams became a dad for the first time just two weeks ago. Before he did he went on record to acknowledge his top five fears of being a dad.

Before we share his fears with you, here’s what he said about the first 11 days of being a new dad:

My days have been filled with nappy cleaning duties and plenty of staring at my beautiful baby girl. She’s perfect. Even although I’m sleep deprived, seeing her smile makes it all worth it. In one simple sentence:

Snooze a little, wake to crying baby, clean nappy, hold baby, try remember to eat, stare at baby, smile: repeat (x11).

That’s fatherhood thus far. Although it doesn’t sound like the most exciting 11 days it actually is pretty damn amazing. I go back to work on Monday and am dreading the idea of it – getting up early, not sleeping enough to function, not being able to spend the whole day with Lana.

Congratulations to Matthew and his family, now here’s his list of top fears as a new dad:

“How are you feeling?”

“Excited.”

That’s usually how the conversation goes when asked and I’ve been giving the same answer from day one. I can understand why some dads-to-be feel fear or worry but that’s not been the case for me and never has. I’m so relaxed that I’m starting to think I’m maybe being ridiculously naive about the whole parenthood thing – maybe I should be scared?

So, in a bid to reassure myself that it’s not going to be plain sailing, I thought I would list my five father-to-be fears (a list that I would love to hear your feedback on – are they justified, am I missing anything?).

  1. Lana’s health

I’ll admit I have always had underlying worries about whether my child would be born healthy or not (even prior to becoming a father-to-be). The thing is, I can’t really do anything about this, so can only hope. I’m pretty sure this is normal but as long as Lana is healthy, I’ll be happy. The rest of this list is irrelevant.

  1. Sleep deprivation

“Sleep now” is the advice I’m always given from mums and dads. I love sleep and I hate mornings. This has been the state of affairs from the moment I hit puberty (Circa. 2012) and not only am I convinced it’s not going to change anytime soon but it’s going to become a whole lot tougher.

  1. Sex deprivation

I’m sure this depends on the couple and the circumstances but I’m sure it’s common. Nina and I are still young and I don’t think either of us are ready to call it a day yet. In the same way that we must devote time to the baby I guess we need to make sure we put aside some time for ourselves (that doesn’t have to always be sex but if it is then so be it

  1. Stress

Between baby, work, money and the constant threat of sex deprivation I am sure this is a cloud that is likely to come and go. It happens in life anyway so I’ll deal with it when it comes. I consider myself a relaxed individual who doesn’t let things get to him but perhaps baby induced stressed is of a caliber I am yet to experience. Can any dads out there shed some light on the matter?

  1. Dressing like a dad

Me now

I don’t claim to be a fashion guru but I do my best to dress well. At work I feel that if I make an effort to look smart I will work smart – totally psychological I know but it works for me.

Me in ten years time

When Lana comes along I hope I can maintain some form of fashion sense without descending into socks and sandals or fleeces and hiking boots.

 

—Photos: Blogging Dad

Matthew Adams lives in Edinburgh and blogs about fatherhood at www.lessonsintheartofdad.com. You can follow him on twitter @blogging_dad.

To mark the launch of the film Down Dog, insideMAN is running a series of articles about fatherhood throughout February and we’d love you to get involved. You can join the conversation on twitter by using the hashtag #MenBehavingDADly; leave a comment in the section below or email us with your thoughts and ideas for articles to insideMANeditor@gmail.com.

For more information about the film see www.downdogfilm.com

Great infographic: 23 things for a dad to teach his son

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Al Ferguson from The Dad Network UK has come up with his all time list of 23 things he wants to teach his son.

I might not know everything there is to know and the boy might not fully understand why he is learning what I decide to teach him… But I’m sure he’ll thank me at some point in his life.

There’s something special about dads teaching their sons invaluable skills for getting through life. When I found out I was having a son, all the wonderful, both practical & emotional, essential life skills that I will need to teach him flashed before my eyes. Amongst other things, I could see the two of us calmly sitting on a log, pen knives in hand and me teaching him to always cut away from your body and to keep your fingers out the way.

There are so many things that I simply can’t wait to teach my son and so I’ve compiled them into a list of 23 things:

23 valuable things I think you’ll agree! He won’t get far through life without these essential things which is why it’s important for me to teach my son them! He’ll be fine now if he has to use reef knot to repair his bike so he can cycle to collect his car to drive to his girlfriends in a blue shirt without headphones in and gets caught in the wilderness having to hunt for his own food. Absolutely fine… And he’ll be polite to any bears that try to attack him too!

—Photo: Flickr/Poppofatticus 

You can follow Al’s fatherhood adventures at www.thedadnetwork.co.uk of follow him on twitter @thedadnetworkuk.

To mark the launch of the film Down Dog, insideMAN is running a series of articles about fatherhood throughout February and we’d love you to get involved. You can join the conversation on twitter by using the hashtag #MenBehavingDADly; leave a comment in the section below or email us with your thoughts and ideas for articles to insideMANeditor@gmail.com.

For more information about the film see www.downdogfilm.com

 

I love going on adventures with my sons, it’s fatherhood at its best!

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Spending time away with your children is something all dads should do says Paul Mills, who enjoys regular adventures with his two sons.

Arguably the greatest gift of my adult life has been my two boys, and some of the best times I have had with them has been our precious ‘dad and boy’ trips – just the two or three of us, no work, no email, no other commitments and the great outdoors to explore and be alive in.

For us these annual trips consist of sailing on a yacht away from ‘civilisation’ to explore isolated islands and coves or off road trips into the Sahara desert with endless miles of dunes, hamada and sparse vegetation.

We also have regular evening or weekend sessions lasting a couple of precious hours, nearer to home, of a simple nature and led by the boys desires for freedom and exploration – to a camp in the woods, or a beach at low water, or to dam a mountain stream.

Focus on what’s important

At these times it’s a real opportunity to focus on what’s important and to develop a greater connection with each other as men and boys, away from other distractions and agenda’s – in that slightly different way that happens when there is just one parent – dad – in the picture.

Me and the boys call this ‘expedition mode’. It means that we are not bound by strict timings and schedules, we have food that we enjoy – and cook it together often outdoors, we get dirty freely and then choose whether there is any point in drying/changing – or not.

We take time to laugh and have fun, splashing in the water – stripping off for an end of day swim or surfing down a sand dune just because we can. We marvel at nature, sun sets and the night sky. We listen to the silence and when we talk the words are more meaningful.

Sleeping under the stars

When we can, we sleep under the stars and talk about important stuff – in between teasing and joking in that way that people who care about each other do, out of love and mutual admiration. We have fires and make stuff and the boys get real responsibility – taking a full part in what we are doing.

This could be managing our water supply or getting wood for the evening fire, it could be working out a route that keeps us away from the rocks or steering the boat in high winds and big seas so that dad can go forward, clipped onto a lifeline, and take a sail down.

At these times I really appreciate my boys and what it is to be their dad. I get to value them for being themselves; not the them as part of their peer group, or the them that is or isn’t ‘performing at an age appropriate level’ at school (whatever that means).

I get to be close to them for days on end, laying awake in the tent at night listening to their quiet breathing and dreamy mumblings and sighs. I watch them turning a rock pool into a moated, fortified encampment or building a den in the deserted ruin of a foreign legion fort. I get to hold onto to them as we crawl on our bellies to the edge of a 100m escarpment to peer down as the wind tugs viciously at our clothing and hair.

Precious little time 

I also see how they approach other people and what they bring to this contact, offering help with a tent, our tow rope when another vehicle is stuck; or chatting with a old and wrinkled shoemaker in his workshop in a Saharan dusty town, and cherishing beyond reason his gift of a leather necklace with their name carved into it – wearing it with pride and explaining its origin to visitors with starry eyes and a far away look.

In this modern world we so often get completely immersed in external pressures and demands, in work that maintains our professional pride; or simply getting through the 18 hours of pressure, travel, routines, commitments and keeping up with the Jones that make up our days, before tumbling exhausted into bed for a precious few hours respite.

How does this serve us as men? how does this help us be good dads? What do our kids think of how we prioritise our time and how we interact with them? ­ go on, I challenge you, take a few minutes to reflect, and then choose to spend some ‘dad and boy’ time of your own, put it in the diary and make it a priority; you will never regret it and your boys will remember it forever!

—Photo: Flickr/frontierofficial

Paul Mills lives on the West coast of Scotland. He is is a parent, a trainer in the education and care sectors, an ex foster carer and therapeutic teacher who cares passionately about and working with young people, especially boys, as they start their life’s journey.

To mark the launch of the film Down Dog, insideMAN is running a series of articles about fatherhood throughout February and we’d love you to get involved. You can join the conversation on twitter by using the hashtag #MenBehavingDADly; leave a comment in the section below or email us with your thoughts and ideas for articles to insideMANeditor@gmail.com.

For more information about the film see www.downdogfilm.com

Five reasons involved fatherhood is good for everyone

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The feminists Gary Barker and Michael Kaufman are on a mission to promote “caring masculinities” around the world, particularly in relation to fatherhood. Here we share the top five reasons they say involved fatherhood is good for everyone.

In a recent article for The Daily Beast, Kaufman and Barker said:

“With all the years of women’s empowerment and the push for gender equality, we still have trouble imagining that men can do the care work, that they matter for children, and that they matter for women’s equality.

“In middle and upper income countries—the U.S. and Europe—we have achieved something closer to pay equality and something closer to equality in terms of who does the domestic and care work. In these regions, men are now doing between 30 and 45 percent of the care work.”

Kaufman and Barker argue that helping fathers around the world to be more involved in childcare can have transform the lives of men women and children. Here are five of the reasons they saying involved fatherhood is good for everyone.

1. Involved fatherhood reduces crime

Kaufman and Barker cite a study that followed 1,000 low income young men in high-risk neighbourhoods in Boston over forty-five years from the 1950s which found that one of the biggest factors that kept men out of gangs and away from criminal activity was being a dad. This is evidence, they say, that caregiving transforms men.

2. Reduces violence against women

Kaufman and Barker also claim that “evidence is piling up that as men do more of the caregiving, violence against women falls”.

3. Men’s wellbeing improves (and so does their sex life)

“Caregiving is good for men,” say Kaufman and Barker “we have richer, healthier lives and more meaningful relationships of all kinds. We learn that our job is not everything. The health, happiness and well-being of men, children and women improve [and] couples report better sex lives”.

4. Men get a biological high from fatherhood

There is a growing body of biological research showing that fathers, like mothers, are hard-wired to care for children. When fathers hold and play with their children, the hormones oxytocin and prolactin kick in, priming us for bonding. The more men care for children, the more our bodies respond to the task.

5. Involved fatherhood is good for the economy

A study over 15 years in the U.S. found that men’s salaries increase 6% for every child they have while women’s salaries decrease by 4% for every child they have as men work more hours after having children, while women shift to jobs with more flexibility and fewer hours. If women did as much paid work as men, the U.S. GDP would be 9% higher, say Kaufman and Barker. If men did more caregiving, women would do more breadwinning, they argue.

Three steps to making it happen

Kaufman and Barker suggest three key actions that could help dads all over the world become more involved in caregiving.

1. Paid parental leave

In countries where paid paternity leave is the norm, dads are more involved in caregiving. For this to work, a portion of parental leave must be ring-fenced specifically for fathers, and workplaces must create a culture that supports men in taking leave, say Kaufman and Barker. They cite the example of Norway, where more than 90% of men who are fathers take at least six weeks of paid leave.

2. Intervene early

Kaufman and Barker believe that “we have to promote men’s caregiving early on [to] provide opportunities for boys and girls to question out-dated notions of manhood and womanhood, and provide opportunities for both to practice involved caregiving in the classroom and beyond”. They also suggest intervention with fathers in ante-natal settings to support and promote involved fatherhood.

3. Include fatherhood in international policy debates

According to Kaufman and Barker, fatherhood gets little attention in policy debates, gets scarce mention in UN reports and seldom shows up in the reports of international aid organizations. Supporting fathers all over the world to be involved in parenting is, they say, a key overlooked strategy in reducing poverty.

To find out more see: how good dads can change the world. 

—Photo/Flickr/b3nscott

To mark the launch of the film Down Dog, insideMAN is running a series of articles about fatherhood throughout February and we’d love you to get involved. You can join the conversation on twitter by using the hashtag #MenBehavingDADly; leave a comment in the section below or email us with your thoughts and ideas for articles to insideMANeditor@gmail.com.

For more information about the film see www.downdogfilm.com