Dads by Darylynn Starr Rank

I had a friend who was one of the bravest guys I knew. He climbed overhanging rock faces, threw himself down terrifying mountain biking trails, even catapulted down rapids in, to my eyes, a breathtakingly tiny kayak. And then, in his mid-thirties, he became a father. 

Now I know the punch-line you're expecting here is that he was terrified of how to care for the baby. Completely helpless. Didn't have a clue what he was supposed to do. How to change a diaper. How to bathe the kid without drowning her. How to get her to go back to sleep in the middle of the night.

And all of that is true. He didn't know. And he was exhausted. And tense. And he missed spending quality time with his wife. Felt helpless. Resentful, too, at the crimp his daughter put in all those wonderful outside activities he loved.

Then the baby became a toddler and he was even more confused. The kid just wouldn't leave him alone. Needed attention every minute. His wife worked full-time, as did he. And the jugglers performing at the circus lost all fascination for him because what they were juggling was trivial compared to what he had to do.

Then, of course, beyond all reason, sense, or sensibility, he and his wife decided to have a second child. 

Well, you know what happened when their son was born. You multiply all of the above by a factor of ten, at least. And, because baby #2 was a boy, there were so many things that were different. That he had to learn all over again. The first time he changed the diaper was his first lesson as he learned what good aim his boy-child had.

Still, all of this isn't the punch-line. It's not what I remember most about his reaction to having first one child, and then a second. 

The thing I remember most was coming to see the three of them at the hospital a few days after their daughter was born. It was evening, a cold dark March night. I had parked my car and started walking toward the entrance when I noticed him sitting on a bench by the grass. I went over to see what he was doing.

He was crying, holding himself, rocking, the way you just don't often see guys do. I was scared to death something horrible had happened to either his wife or their child. I sat down next to him and pleaded for information. 

When he was finally able to put words together, all he could do was keep repeating, "I don't know how to protect her.  How to keep her safe. I'm terrified."

We talked about this many times over the next few years. He felt the same thing when his son was born. He got better, but he never really got over it. It was as if all the courage he had for his own safety, disappeared over the edge of some cliff and hid in the dark, when it came to his kids.

Every parent knows this fear and a thousand others. And a thousand others after that. It's as if you can't even begin to predict which direction the fears, the concerns, the worries will come from. I guess which ones are the very worst depends on who you are to begin with. But it seems no matter how you prepare, you still get caught completely offguard. 

At some point, every parent I know feels overwhelmed by the extraordinary task of raising their children. And I think every single parent needs a whole pile of support. 

But, whoops. You men aren't supposed to ask for help…

Take care, all.

Darylynn Starr Rank (psychologist/writer) works part-time for Family Services of Greater Vancouver as a group facilitator. Her articles appear bi-weekly in The Record (New Westminster) and the Richmond Review.

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