My father has assumed many roles that may have historically been filled by a woman. As such, I gave him the nickname Mr. Mom. My father was reluctant to embrace the nickname, rather choosing to define his title as a parent without a need to specify defined gender roles. My father’s stance on the nickname appeared to change when he was treated as a social outcast. A group of moms at a birthday party did not include him while talking about their kids’ activities. My father engaged the group of moms, giving his real name followed by, “My nickname is Mr. Mom.” That statement appeared to be magical words to the moms as they smiled and invited my father into their circle of trust. From that point forward my father was on the mom text chain, coordinated social outings, and rendered general parental guidance and support. My father has committed to forgo all wine nights to avoid any appearances of any conflicts of interests.
The fact that my father’s role is uncommon had not gone unnoticed. Other kids in my class have asked me questions and other parents commonly ask about his role. To better prepare myself for future inquires I decided I would ask my father a few questions to better understand the role of Mr. Mom. “Dad, you are Mr. Mom because Mom makes more money than you, right?” “That seems like a loaded question. I believe you are well aware that is the case. I do not make a pittance, but they don’t call me Mr. Money Bags either,” he responded. I followed-up with another question, “If Mom makes more money than you, then is she smarter than you?” “OK, this seems very rehearsed; is there an end goal you are seeking to get to out of this exercise?”, he asked. “If you could just answer the questions that would be great,” I responded. Of course, that elicited a melodramatic response from my father. “Of course your mother is more intelligent than I am; her knowledge and wisdom are unrivaled.” As usual, I did not fully understand my father’s comments but the tone alone provided sufficient context for me to understand that I needed to pivot in my approach.
I modified my approach by framing my next series of questions about me. “Dad, if I want to be Mr. Mom when I grow, how do I do that?” “Well, I do not have a specific roadmap I can provide you, but I would say you would need to marry a person that is smart, ambitious, assertive, and compassionate. Then discuss a plan that works for both of you and execute accordingly.” “Can you give me the kindergarten version of that answer,” I thought as I stared flummoxed at him. My father caught on quickly, “To answer your earlier questions, marry someone that is smarter than you and consequently earns more money than you and that is how you become Mr. Mom.” “Now was that so hard? You answered my questions without acting like you are giving a speech at the United Nations,” I thought. To build on that momentum I asked my next question, “Do you ever feel weird being Mr. Mom?” “Good question. As you know I am a little weird, OK very weird, which helps me feel more at ease with talking to other parents. We just talk about kid stuff, which I have pulse on, so I can empathize with other parents,” he replied. I was glad he ended there; I feared he would lose me again with his wonted habit of using a series of SAT vocabulary words to explain things further.
Although my father had established himself as a competent and trusted member of the moms group at my school, outside of that social bubble others tend to immediately jump to conclusions while my father is serving in his role as Mr. Mom. A primary example took place at the grocery store a few weeks ago. My brother and I admittedly were behaving very poorly while my father was trying to navigate the store to obtain the needed groceries. The disruptive behavior my brother and I demonstrated caught the attention of another mother, who decided to approach my father to offer assistance and guidance. “Looks like you need a little help; are you struggling a bit?”, the mother stated. To which my father replied, “I have everything under control. Thank you for offering to assist.” The mother was persistent and pushed harder, “You likely do not have much experience with the boys on your own.” My father politely smiled, then responded, “Parenting is a challenge. I am doing everything in my power to be calm, keep the boys safe, and prevent them from breaking anything while achieving the objective of completing this shopping trip.”
It was almost as if my father was grinding his teeth to withhold his rage as he proceeded, “I apologize if the boys have caused you any trouble. If you are going to proceed to continue to judge me, I kindly ask that you do it over there.” My father’s response was perhaps not the most smoothly worded response but I could tell he was near his wits end. The mother prodded further providing unsolicited advice, “I’d recommend that you spend more time with the boys so you know how their personalities interact with each other to assist in providing better guidance and discipline.” My father briefly closed his eyes, which was a tell-all sign he was going to intellectually extirpate the mother. Before he could fire off his intellectual assault, I intervened stating, “My dad is with us all the time. His nickname is Mr. Mom.” The woman shockingly said, “OK, have a good day.” I was mystified, the title Mr. Mom appeared to carry some mythical powers, a true panacea. All you had to do is state my father’s nickname was Mr. Mom and all seemed to be right in the world instantly. Just as tensions had just eased, we were ambushed by another mother in passing as she mumbled under her breathe, “Do you celebrate Mother’s Day too?” To which my father replied, “Bless your heart.”
My father returned his attention to me and thanked me for my pacifying support before he went nuclear on the aggressors. To which I responded, “Can we get this on video? Your acknowledgment of my good behavior does not happen often. I want to make sure we memorialize this event.” “OK wise guy, how about I pay for the cookies in the shopping cart as your Noble Peace prize?” It was a pretty weak prize for my significant accomplish, so I caveated my acceptance on the ability to eat them in the car on the way home. My father just wanted to get out of there, so he agreed. While consuming my delicious cookies on the way home I reflected on the power the nickname Mr. Mom held (that if you recall I give him), a title my father was indisposed to initially embracing. It has positioned him well to succeed in this complex world. The parent-child relationship is routinely viewed through the lens that the parent disproportionally provides vast knowledge to the child to aid in their development. I view my father and I as equals in the parent-child knowledge sharing relationship; he truly wouldn’t be the man or Mr. Mom he is today without my unconventional wisdom.