From the New York Times, a report on the new study out of Boston College on new fathers and the "new" fatherhood. Here is a relevant passage from the article, "Now, Dads Feel as Stressed as Mom." This is part of my fathers day series of articles I have been collecting from around the web - there are two earlier posts at my other blog, The Masculine Heart (part one, part two).
Men, the truism went, did not do their share of the grocery shopping or diaper changing. They let women pull the double shift.Things have changed a lot for fathers since I was a kid - and many young fathers now, my age or younger, didn't have good role models for how to be a father, but they know they want to it differently.But several studies show that fathers are now struggling just as much — and sometimes even more — than mothers in trying to fulfill their responsibilities at home and in the office. Just last week, Boston College released a study called “The New Dad” suggesting that new fathers face a subtle bias in the workplace, which fails to recognize their stepped-up family responsibilities and presumes that they will be largely unaffected by children.
Fathers also seem more unhappy than mothers with the juggling act: In dual-earner couples, 59 percent of fathers report some level of “work-life conflict,” compared with about 45 percent of women, according to a 2008 report from the Families and Work Institute in New York.
The research highlights the singular challenges of fathers. Men are typically the primary breadwinner, but they also increasingly report a desire to spend more time with their children. To do so, they must first navigate a workplace that is often reluctant to give them time off for family reasons. And they must negotiate with a wife who may not always recognize their contributions at home.
“Men are facing the same clash of social ideals that women have faced since the 1970s — how do you be a good parent and a good worker?” said Joan C. Williams, the director of the Center for WorkLife Law at the Hastings College of the Law at the University of California. “This is a pretty sensitive indicator of the rise of the new ideal of the good father as a nurturing father, not just a provider father.”
When it comes to taking time off for children, men seem to be second-class citizens. Several studies show that men, compared with their female colleagues, are less likely to take advantage of benefits like flexible schedules and family leave. The Boston College study found that when men needed to take their offspring to the doctor or pick them up from child care, they tended to do so in a “stealth” fashion rather than ask for a formal flexible work arrangement.
The reluctance to ask for help may not stem from a bias in the office. Instead, men may just be wandering into strange, frightening territory.
“The conflict is newer to men, and it feels bigger than the same amount of conflict might feel to a woman,” notes Ellen Galinsky, president of the Families and Work Institute. “Women have been doing it for a longer time, and they have more role models.”
It's heartening to see someone like Dwayne Wade, one of the best and most successful basketball players feel that "daddy" is the best nickname he can have - better than D-Wade or Flash. It's interesting to read how Wade tries to be more emotionally close to his sons than his father was with him. It no doubt helps that he is set for life financially, but still, lots of pro athletes have fathered many kids and have little relationship with any of them.
And let's be clear with all this - Wade is divorcing his first wife, the mother of his boys, and suing for sole custody (and requesting a psych evaluation for his soon to be ex-wife). Their custody battle is ugly and the ex-wife was arrested for failure to appear after one of the May hearings. I know it's hard to judge by media reports, but it sounds like it would be criminal not to give D-Wade full custody.
Why I Love Being Dad
By Dwyane WadePosted: June 19, 2010
Throughout my life, I've never been at a loss for nicknames. There's D-Wade and Flash. I love them both, but to be honest, no label sounds as good to me as Daddy.
Fatherhood has been a life-changing experience for me. While no one is perfect, I think we all have an idea of what the perfect father would look like. I strive to be a better father every day. I want to foster a friendship with my sons and have them grow up feeling close enough to me to talk to me about anything.
It's probably no surprise that one of the main ways I connect with my sons is through sports. However, because of what I do and how competitive I am, I make a point to never get too hard on my sons about sports. Instead, I try to have fun with them. Basketball is an obvious favorite. My younger one is three and doesn't have the attention span yet for long sessions, but my older son, who is eight, can play full out for three hours or so. He's got a lot of energy and that's a great way to burn it off. I try to keep it light when I play with them -- we'll work on some basic skills and play one-on-one, and I'll even let them both beat me sometimes to get their confidence up. My oldest son has an ever-revolving list of top NBA players, and as he often reminds me, my reign at number one is never guaranteed. LeBron and Kobe are his other favorites, and in the past, when my game has been a little off, I've settled for the number three spot.
There's more to our relationship than just basketball. In general, it's really the small things I do with my sons that are the most fun. One thing I really enjoy doing is taking them to the bookstore and seeing what books they like. I also enjoy taking them to the movies. We also have a lot of fun just eating together, having pillow fights and playing video games. If they're with me on the road, I love watching them order breakfast at the hotel. They can run up the bill higher then I can! I also love giving them bubble baths. I remember from my own childhood that it was always small moments that mattered most, so I try to do those things, have those goofy moments with my kids where we really laugh and let loose.
It's no secret that my father was strict and very tough on me and my step-brothers. He wasn't the type to give hugs, but instead made us do push-ups. But I respect him for what he tried to instill in us. Now that I'm a father I can see what he was trying to do by teaching us discipline. At this point in my life I can accept who he is. We all go through a time when we wish our parents were different, but now I must say I understand him a lot more.
Being a parent makes you more forgiving of your own parents. And for me, family has always come first. For instance, my mother went down a tough road and my siblings and I went down it with her, but now, she's the mother I always wanted. We can hang out, eat, and laugh, and we have a great relationship.
I'm very aware of the importance of making memories, and the importance of being really present when I'm with them. I'm constantly taking photos with them and capturing key moments on the flipcam. The great thing is, when I'm with my kids, I'm just a father. I hope people understand that when I'm with my kids, I don't take pictures and I don't give out autographs. I'm trying to make them my sole focus.
And even though they get to experience a lot of the fun involved with having a father who's a professional athlete, it's important to me that they see the importance of giving back as well. I have a Foundation, Wade's World, and I make sure they're with me as much as possible when I'm involved with activities for the Foundation. I want them to learn the same thing my mother taught me when I was growing up: To whom much has been given much is required. The motto for my foundation is "Every Child Deserves a Shot" and I truly believe that if we can touch one child, or one family, we can start to make a real difference.
Parenting can be challenging at times, and unlike the game of basketball, there aren't any playbooks or scouting reports for quick reference. All I can do is be the best parent and person that I can, and hope that the old sport saying proves true, and that practice really does make perfect.
When I was 12, my father came and spoke to my seventh-grade class. I remember feeling proud, for my rural school was impressed by a visit from a university professor. But I also recall being embarrassed — at my dad’s strong Slavic accent, at his refugee origins, at his “differentness.”
I’m back at my childhood home and reflecting on all this because abruptly I find myself fatherless on Father’s Day. My dad died a few days ago at age 91, after a storybook life — devoted above all to his only child.
Reporting on poverty and absentee fathers has taught me what a gift fatherhood is: I know I won the lottery of life by having loving, caring parents. There’s another reason I feel indebted to my father, and it has to do with those embarrassing foreign ways: his willingness to leave everything familiar behind in the quest for a new world that would provide opportunity even for a refugee’s children.
My father, an Armenian, was born in a country that no longer exists, Austria-Hungary, in a way of life that no longer exists. The family was in the nobility, living on an estate of thousands of acres — and then came World War II.
My father was imprisoned by the Nazis for helping spy on their military presence in Poland. He bribed his way out of prison, but other relatives died at Auschwitz for spying. Then the Soviet Union grabbed the region and absorbed it into Ukraine, and other relatives died in Siberian labor camps.
Penniless, my father fled on horseback to Romania but saw that a Communist country would afford a future neither for him nor his offspring. So he headed toward the West, swimming across the Danube River on a moonless night. On the Yugoslav side of the river, he was captured and sent to a concentration camp and then an asbestos mine and a logging camp. After two years, he was able to flee to Italy and then to France.
My father found that despite his fluent French and university education, France did not embrace refugees. Even children of refugees were regarded as less than fully French.
So he boarded a ship in 1952 to the United States, the land of opportunity — even though English was not among the seven languages that he spoke. His first purchase was a copy of the Sunday New York Times, with which he began to teach himself an eighth language.
He arrived as Vladislav Krzysztofowicz, but no American could pronounce that. So he shortened it to Ladis Kristof.
After working in an Oregon logging camp to earn money and learn English, he started university all over again at the age of 34, at Reed College. He earned his doctorate at the University of Chicago, where he met my mother, Jane, and in his 40s he began a career as a political science professor, eventually winding up at Portland State University.
Because he never forgot what it is to be needy, my dad was attentive to other people’s needs. Infuriatingly so. He picked up every hitchhiker and drove them miles out of his way; if they needed a place to sleep, he offered our couch.
Seeking an echo of his old estate, my dad settled us on a farm, which he equipped with tractors and an extraordinary 30,000-volume library: From chain saws to the complete works of Hegel (in German), our farm has it all.
At the age of 80, my father still chopped firewood as fast as I did. In his late 80s, he climbed the highest tree on our farm each spring to photograph our cherry orchard in bloom. At 90, he still hunted.
I know that such a long and rich life is to be celebrated, not mourned. I know that his values and outlook survive because they are woven into my fabric. But my heart still aches terribly.
As I grew up, I came to admire my father’s foreign manners as emblems of any immigrant’s gift to his children. When I was in college, I copied out a statement of his:
“War, want and concentration camps, exile from home and homeland, these have made me hate strife among men, but they have not made me lose faith in the future of mankind. ... If man has been able to create the arts, the sciences and the material civilization we know in America, why should he be judged powerless to create justice, fraternity and peace?”
I taped it to my dorm room wall, but I didn’t tell him. It felt too awkward. And now it’s too late. Even this column comes a few days too late.
So my message for Father’s Day is simple: Celebrate the bequest of fatherhood with something simpler, deeper and truer than an artificial verse on a store-bought card. Speak and hug from your heart and soul — while there is still time.
