Picture this: Robert Crawley sprawled on a carpet, but it feels more like 2014 than 1924—or even 1974, which was a different era for parenting. Back then, fathers like mine and his pals weren’t exactly the hands-on types we see today. Maybe it was because the women’s movement hadn’t fully taken hold, especially in the suburbs where we lived. (The term “the problem that has no name” might have just been a polite reference to the husband who vanished daily to bring home the bacon without lifting a finger at home.) But let’s also face it: many dads back then were simply kids themselves. I’ve got a snapshot of my dad at 22, looking like any young adult today—late morning, still in his undershirt and boxers, possibly nursing a hangover, and sporting a face full of acne.
What makes this image different from a modern 22-year-old? He’s cradling my oldest sister, a baby at the time. Honestly, at that age, he’d have struggled to look after a houseplant, let alone a tiny human.
Fast forward to now—Dad is 71, and the man has never boiled water. He’s the father of four daughters and five granddaughters, yet he has never changed a diaper in his life. My mom recalls with a chuckle (not bitterly, mind you) a time when she returned home from shopping to find me wandering around in a onesie, soaked in my own pee, because Dad didn’t bother with diaper duty. At least that was better than the time one of her Bunco friends had to dash home because her husband couldn’t be bothered to deal with a crying child!
My strongest childhood memories revolve around trips to the Fairgrounds with my dad, where he turned our outings into a makeshift driving range. He’d hit golf balls, and we’d race to fetch them across the sun-baked grass. Sunday nights were reserved for foot massages or head scratches while he caught up on “60 Minutes,” all while assuring us that such pampering might help with his baldness.
Yet, in all those years, he never read a single book to a child. It’s heartbreaking on so many levels. (Dear universe, could you please bottle up the sweet scent of my daughter’s hair as she leans against me while I read her a story? Thanks.) And though I recognize that reading to children is one of the purest joys of parenting, I still find myself worried about Dad’s opinions on my husband, Jake, reading to our daughter first thing in the morning. I can’t help but wonder, “What will my dad think?”
Whenever we’re at my parents’ house and Jake interacts with our daughter—even for something as simple as reaching for a snack from a high cabinet—I imagine my dad thinking that Jake has been stripped of his manhood and misplaced somewhere with the glitter and yarn we use for crafts.
It might sound silly, but I find myself wanting to shield Jake from my dad’s outdated judgments. Thankfully, Jake is savvy enough to navigate this. We’ve made an unspoken agreement to keep things a bit more traditional when we’re with my parents. I remember one time on our way to their house, watching Jake struggle to fit both a stroller and a giant golf bag into our already packed car and then deciding to leave the stroller behind.
Today, many dads can’t just flip a switch and revert to the old ways. Even when Jake is playing it cool with my parents, he’s still a hands-on dad. He rises early with our daughter, whips up her breakfast, and takes her to explore the beach at low tide. The real question I should ponder is: What does my mom think? Spoiler alert: she considers Jake a superhero!
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Summary:
This article highlights the generational divide in parenting styles, contrasting the traditional approach of a grandfather with the engaged and modern practices of today’s dads. Through personal anecdotes, it explores the evolving nature of fatherhood and the sometimes humorous judgments that arise from these differences.