Illustration by Peter Arkle
On the surface, this is terrific at-home daddying. Active involvement, support, encouraging a healthy athletic pursuit for life that also prevents drowning. And, don't let me forget, our seven-year-old only daughter dearly loves swimming and the cool competition-optional team I got her into.
Before practices, 5:30 pm Tuesdays and Thursdays, I see to it that she does homework and eats a power snack. Then I check her swim bag and speak words (per Mama) on the need to rinse and condition post-swim so her hair isn't a complete chlorine write-off and she has to get a boy cut. She likes me to sit poolside and watch practices.
What could be wrong here? This ravening, demented, deep green monster that stalks my inner being, that's what. Instead of enjoying my child's enjoyment - the coach has a genius for keeping it all mellow and fun - I silently scream for her to focus, pick up the pace, swim like a winner.
Am I crazy, b-a-d, what? Only a seriously wrong guy would perceive the two-kids-at-a-time lengths they do, so coach can keep order and watch, as races. But I do, I do, all keyed-up like a degenerate gambler at the off-track betting parlor. Now and again words actually escape my lips, "You're faster than the girl in the blue suit." "She's fading." "Wake up." "Go!" Thank God nobody hears.
What's it going to be like if she decides to race at meets, as she's eligible to do next year?
My BBF (Bald British Friend), work-at-home and my sole male confidant in our idyllic parental penal colony, says I have no reason to feel troubled and ashamed. For one thing, I keep it to myself, unlike certain jackass sideline screamers in his younger son's soccer league. "And you want only your daughter to do her best. This is good…"
Thanks, man, but I don't buy it. I'm the kid's father, not a sponsor or demento over-identified sports fan. And kidsport for my seven-year-old is just, you know, that. She can't help it if parents and other grownups looking to make money have, for their own purposes, organized and booked up after-school hours and weekends, when back in the day kids such as I used to do whatever they felt like doing.
My sole non-family female confidante, half of our best friend-couple now living three states away, says the problem is gender - "You're a dad. Dads are the worst, much worse than moms." She has told me of major efforts to rein in her man's out-of-control competitive involvement in the activities of their girl, exactly the same age as ours. This amazed me because he's such a good guy - terrific father, too.
I have no idea what the score is -- if it's me, or maleness, or if everybody feels so competitive about kids' performances but manage to hide it. This seems to be one of parenting's Secret Shames.
Pater-Familias is an at-home writer and freelance brooder, who lives in lib-lab New York suburbia and takes the lead role, during his wife's working hours, parenting the couple's seven-year-old daughter.
More (possibly) Bad Dad confessions from pater-familias.com...

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