I have been a father for almost forty years, and even at this late date, I am not completely sure what it means or how I am supposed to “do” it.
Of course, I know what it means biologically—trust me, I know. I see some traits in my kids that have been passed down. Like me, my children suffer from anxiety, and I will never believe that I, or their mother, somehow socialized them this way. While I mourn for them, for myself too, it feels like anxiety was part of the biological package over which I had no control, and while it saddens me, I don’t fret too much about the fact that I “caused” it.
But there are large parts of being a father that I do not understand at all. There are other things like this in my life; bodies of knowledge that the majority of humans seem to understand that I cannot grasp, no matter how hard I try.
For example, and these may sound silly, I can’t “get” algebra. Oh, I have taken classes in it, and always passed, but every time I approach it, I am struck by how I just don’t understand it in any intuitive way. I know what it is for and generally how it is supposed to work, but when I dive in (and I have tried to dive in many times over the years), it feels like a thick fog descends and everything is out there, but out of my reach and my understanding.
I feel the same way about “efficiency.” I know there are efficiency experts, and that I should be able to rationally walk my way through making my work more efficient, but it all seems so complex, and I wonder how I would ever figure it out.
Maybe my mind can only deal with one variable at a time, and when math or work introduces any complexity, my mind shuts down. I don’t know why.
And, if fatherhood is anything, it is a multi-variate challenge. Complex, small, and then no longer small, human beings with their own mind, their own gifts, their own experience of the world, who need my care, are the “problem” to be solved.
And the fog descends.
When I talk to my kids about the things they struggle with, even in adulthood (and, yes, we talk), I find myself trying to isolate the one key thing they can do to start to address the issue. I try to identify the key variable (one) that will help them move off go, or deal with a messy relationship, or solve a thorny problem.
Of course, none of these problems is univariate in nature. They are all multivariate challenges that require holding many elements in the mind at the same time. My “problem solving” no doubt comes across as rather flat, even though I consider my advice elegant (of course I do, I am the father!).
My wife takes a different approach. She understands that life is a whole set of unpredictable entanglements and that human relationships require a more finessed set of solutions. For that reason, she listens mostly, offers advice rarely, and plays a long game to understand the complexity. She is a multivariate thinker.
For this reason, I increasingly see my kids coming to me with basic math questions—simple financial planning, for example—stuff not much more complex than changing a lightbulb. That does not mean it is less important to them. Money must be saved, just as lightbulbs must be changed. These things are important, and I think they value my input and the way I drive towards a solution.
The more complex challenges go to my wife. She doesn’t solve them; she knows there are no easy answers. But she listens and, as I have come to understand, uses more of a “coaching” approach to help our kids find their own solution. She sits with the complexity, sees a bigger picture, and lets the solution come with time.
I am not saying being “single-minded” is a fault. It does not mean that I engage in binary thinking, that all my views of things are black and white. Not at all. In fact, I am really good at looking at a situation and driving towards the one key thing that might change it. Again, I see individual elements clearly, and because of my experience, I can usually pinpoint the cause of a problem or quickly identify a key factor.
Together we make a good team, and that has been my experience throughout my career, too. I need a team. I need help engaging the complexity. When I feel the fog of too many variables descend on me, I need a teammate who can make sense of it. I am thankful for the people who can analyze complexity—actually, I am grateful to have them in my life, and I hold a great deal of affection for them, since they help me see a world that is like a foreign land to me. A far country that my mind will not allow me to visit.
If I had to start over on the fathering business, there are things I would change. Taking a cue from my wife, I would travel less and be more present when I am present (I think you know what I mean). I would deal with misunderstandings with more patience. I would try not to jump to solutions, but just let the emotions come out until they find their own place to land.
I would probably be more vulnerable about my doubts and share more about my personal journey with my kids.
I would not change anything about what I have exposed them to. They have seen the hurt in the world, and they understand its injustice. Even if I failed, at times, to explore the full complexity of that injustice—because I could not fathom it myself—I think they have a pretty solid picture of what the world is like. Yet, like me, they are not cynical. Those are the children I want, and my cognitive limitations do not seem to have limited their ability to see at all.
Traveling at the Speed of Bike 