Watching my father, Rick Taylor, sit on the floor playing with my daughter felt more like a scene from a contemporary sitcom than a reflection of the parenting style from my childhood in the 1980s. Back then, the level of daily engagement that modern dads display was virtually unheard of among men like my father and his peers.
Sure, part of that can be attributed to the fact that the women’s movement was just beginning to make waves, especially in suburban areas like ours. After all, “the problem that has no name” could very well have referred to husbands who contributed little beyond earning a paycheck. Additionally, a good part of my father’s detachment can be chalked up to a generational norm—where young parents often found themselves ill-prepared for parenthood. I have snapshots of my dad at 22, looking just like any modern young adult: late morning, in his boxers, probably nursing a hangover, with a face riddled with acne.
What sets that image apart from today’s 22-year-olds? He’s cradling my baby sister, a sight that strikes me as amusingly ironic. Frankly, at that age, he was hardly equipped to care for anything more delicate than a houseplant.
Now, at 71, my dad has never boiled a pot of water or changed a diaper. My mother often shares a light-hearted tale about returning home from shopping to find me, a toddler, soaked in my own mess, thanks to my father’s reluctance to change diapers. Yet, my childhood memories are filled with Saturday afternoons spent at the driving range, where he would hit golf balls while my sisters and I scrambled to retrieve them.
Books? Never once did he read to us, which I find profoundly sad. (Hey, technogogy, can someone bottle the comforting smell of my daughter’s hair as I read to her? Thanks in advance.) And despite recognizing the joy of reading to kids, I still catch myself worrying about my father’s judgment when my husband, Alex, sits down with our daughter for a morning story.
Whenever we visit my parents, I can’t help but think my dad might view Alex’s involvement—like fetching something from a high shelf—as indicative of a lack of masculinity. This reflects my own cowardice, wanting to shield Alex from my father’s outdated perspectives. Thankfully, Alex is wise to the game; we steer clear of political discussions and have an unspoken pact that he can lean toward the more traditional end of fatherhood when we’re with my parents.
It’s a different world now—many dads today can’t simply turn off their nurturing instincts. Even when Alex plays the role of the old-school dad at my parents’ house, he’s still fully engaged. He rises early to prepare breakfast, takes our daughter to explore the beach, and is all-around present. The real question I should ponder is, “What does my mom think?” And trust me, she sees Alex as nothing short of a hero.
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In summary, generational shifts in parenting styles reveal a stark contrast between my father’s era and today’s more involved fathers. While I often worry about my dad’s outdated views, I find solace in knowing that my husband is an engaged and loving father, much to my mother’s delight.
Keyphrase: Old-School vs. Modern Dad
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