Me, Thing One, Maria and Coach Bill$

I read an article in the Wall Street Journal called This Is Your Brain Without Dad. Scientists studied rodents called degus whose brains react similarly to humans’ brains to environmental stimuli. These scientists attempted to observe what happens when fathers are taken out of the picture. And the verdict was:

1. When deprived of their father, the degu pups exhibit both short- and long-term changes in nerve-cell growth in different regions of the brain.
2. Their preliminary analysis indicates that fatherless degu pups exhibit more aggressive and impulsive behavior than pups raised by two parents.

In other words when degus where deprived of their fathers care (licking, preening, snuggling) the degus suffered brain damage. The study also showed short absences of fathers away from pups was less damaging than long or permanent absences. The study also goes on to say that the pups continued this brain damaged state into adulthood. I will let you read the article to get the explanation as to the science-y reasons any of this happens.

It got me to thinking, am I causing my kids brain damage? I’ve tried my best to form my schedule where I can spend as much time with the babies as possible. To a degree, I’m successful but not without a lot of sacrafice in other areas of my life. But even with that effort my non-parenting obligations simply don’t neatly conform to a court ordered 50/50 custody schedule.

Inevitably, I’m spending guilt-filled time away from the babies. Although the babies are much better off than most children of split marriages/relationships in that they see both of their parents consistently and frequently, it’s still not ideal. The article was a swift reminder I need to be diligent in carving out time with the girls, both quality and quantity. There are a few things I try to do and would suggest for any parent, especially parents who do not live with the children 100% of the time:

Choose your companion well.  Eddie Murphy once joked the secret to relationship happiness is finding someone as f’d up as you and settling down. There’s certainly a lot of truth there. Opposites may attract in physics (it’s physics right?) but not necessarily in relationships. If he likes coffee she should probably like coffee too. If she likes dining out at a new restaurant every third Friday of the month, it’s probably good if he likes to as well.

What does this have to do with the subject matter at hand? Well, as a single parent, I’ve realized your dating relationship has to be in harmony with your parenting. Having coffee in common or liking to work out together is an indicator that someone will have a deeper understanding of you and your situation. If you plan on spending a lot of time with your children, and you should, having an understanding companion is essential. It’s likely you’ll find yourself having child-related schedule conflicts with date night. Trust me, you want a companion who will roll with those punches and sometimes invite the extra company. What you don’t want is someone telling you he or she is not fond of your kids or acting like it. A companion on the same page as you will undoubtedly allow you to spend more time with your children.

Treat everyday as bring your daughter (or son) to work (or play) day. Some of my most fond memories of my childhood involved hanging out with my father at the local bar. Now if he had taken me there in this day and age someone would definitely be calling child services. But I have to say it was some of the better times I had with him. Hey, it was the ’70s. I got to drink ginger ale with a little umbrella in the glass, eat all the chips and peanuts I wanted and I played billiards to my heart’s content. And I got to see my father pal around and be jovial. It was a cool experience.

I try to do the same with my girls, only I’ve replaced Starbucks for the local pub. C-Thunda has even gotten to the point where she asks daily if we can go “coffee shoppin’ “. I bring the girls on errands, to work and to the gym when I can. Mostly I want them to see me in my daily element. And I don’t want to miss stuff they might say or do when they’d otherwise be with a baby sitter.  Some of that stuff is priceless. And this goes both ways. Sometimes I let them choose the activity. Typically it’s the bookstore or the park, and I’m cool with either.

Communicate often. Vary the method. If you want to stay bonded with your kids, you need to consider both the quality, as well as the quantity, of your communications with them. Again my parenting situation separates the babies and me a few days at a time. Since I’m only seeing them every couple of days (for some kids and parents maybe it’s every couple of weeks or months) I want to make sure we have the volume of connections we need to maintain the ideal relationship. The only way to do that is to use technology.

T-One has had her own cell phone since she was 6-years-old. Although she/we rarely use it, it has put in the babies’ minds they always have access to their parents even if we are not under the same roof. We often send text messages back and forth, with C-Thunda reciting and T-One manipulating the keys. We have a blog where we write and basically keep a scrap book of our daily adventures together. Sometimes T-One writes on it when she’s at their mom’s. Pictures and videos go without saying. I’m not sure what I would do without a camera on my cell phone.

Savor breakfasts and backseats. Most of our talking is done in the car and at breakfast. When I discovered this I instituted two rules. No TV at breakfast and no iPod in the car except on weekends. I find my girls hate silence, so they can’t help but spill the beans about their day or what they’re thinking. It’s a great time to connect.

As I started writing this post (I know it’s long as hell) so many other things came to mind. One in particular I will call “Remove Barriers to Entry“, I’ll write about soon. It’s a subject unto itself.

T-One just texted me. Later.

Source: Flickr by aftab

Hey babies,

I just had a thought about something. I wanted to share it with you today. You may not understand it now but I want you to remember it. It might make more sense when you get older. It’s about rules. I know you guys don’t like rules for the most part. But rules are very important to us all. For instance, it’s a rule that you should look both ways before you cross the street. That’s a very good rule and one you should always follow.

Here is what you should know about rules.

• You should always know what the rules are
• Some rules must be followed
• Some rules can be bent
• Some rules can and must be broken
• Some rules are not rules at all, we only think they are

I know, I know. Today this doesn’t make much sense. I’m still trying to understand it. But one day it will to you (and hopefully to me too).

Take for instance that some rules can be broken. Did you know that? Rules are broken all the time. Many times when rules are broken, that’s a bad thing. But sometimes it can be a good thing. One rule I was always taught was that if you want a flower to grow, you had to plant it in soil, and give it plenty of sunshine and water. But sometimes the flowers don’t know the rules. Sometimes a flower will grow out of concrete, in the city, with no water and no sunshine and a lot of pollution right next to a fence. And that flower will be as beautiful, maybe more beautiful, than a flower the grew in a garden.

Now imagine if that flower followed the rules.

Be good babies. That’s a rule that can’t be broken.

Love,
Dad

So daughter number one (Thing One or T-One) complained to me the other day that she had to do yet another paper on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. She then went on to explain how she’ll have to do a paper a year all the way up through middle school. Still being of single digit age, I doubt my daughter has any real understanding of King’s significance, especially in the Obama era.

I asked her what was wrong with writing a paper a year on King. She responded that she was running out of things to say. Mind you, each paper so far has been a one paragraph essay. She went on to explain, “All he did was help end segregation!” (As if that’s some small feat.)

My mother (The Duchess), who was in earshot, gasped. “All he did?” My mother grew up in the segregated south, participated in sit-ins and marched on Washington in ’63. So to her saying that s all King did was, well, a little disappointing. But my mom wasn’t so disappointed in my daughter. She was disappointed in me. Somehow I had dropped the ball in making my daughter aware of her history. Where we had been as people of color in this country and how far we had come.

“That little girl needs to know!” 

Immediately I began to cull together some things on the internet about and by King. The goal was to gather and compile material to convey to my daughter the greater significance of King’s life beyond what he did in fighting segregation. My first stop was his “Letter From A Birmingham Jail” in which King wrote to his fellow clergyman after being jailed for civil discord. The letter is famous for explaining why we could not wait for justice. In it he explained the difference between just and unjust laws.

A couple of weeks ago I had had a conversation with T-One about rules and why some should be followed, some can be bent and others should be broken. King was basically having the same conversation with the clergymen. I felt in good company. As I was reading the letter for my daughter (and re-reading for myself) I was struck by King’s examples.

“Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait’. But… when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality… when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’ then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.”

King was talking about the immediate effects of a terrible institution. But I wonder if he anticipated or could even fathom the long term effects. My parents always told me I could be anything. But if I am to be completely honest, something deep in me did not allow me to believe them fully. Although I have never lived during the time of segregation, the “history” I had been taught told me my parents weren’t quite telling me the truth, unintentionally or not. America was against me I thought. Self-doubt was in me.

This isn’t a unique feeling. Doubts run rampant. No matter how confident each of us as dark brown people (we are all some shade of brown) in America feel there is a nagging doubt that we can have it all. One of the most asked questions of prominent dark brown people the days leading to Obama’s inauguration was, “Did you think you’d ever see?” To a person they all said no. That includes Oprah, Jesse Jackson, Colin Powell, Whoopi Goldberg, John Lewis and Mya Angelou and anyone else you could name. Although most of these people lived during the segregation era, many others including Will Smith, did not. But Smith felt the same doubt. On Oprah’s show Smith exclaimed that he always believed in the American ideal that anyone can do anything in this country. But, he didn’t really believe it until Obama was elected president. This cat makes $80 million a year! And he had doubts!?

So here I am wondering how much my daughter should be told about her, our “history”. I would not want the simple knowledge of where we’ve been as a country and how she would have been treated because she’s a little too brown to become ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky. Or for her to feel even on a microscopic level the need to fight a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”. I’m thinking her ignorance is a blessing. At least for now, and hopefully forever, there is nothing in her mind that would tell her a dark brown person (thanks Barack!) or a woman (thanks Hillary!) can’t be the thing she wants. I don’t want to put those thoughts in her mind by trying to teach “history”.

Does that little girl need to know? Maybe. But maybe some things are better left unsaid.