I Learned How to Be a Dad from Television

I didn't grow up with a manual for fatherhood. I had sitcoms, a kitchen, and an extraordinary amount of confidence for someone who was making it up as he went.

When I was younger, I did what any sensible man with no experience raising children would do.

I watched Roseanne.

Specifically, I paid attention to Dan Conner.

Now, I'm reasonably certain that nobody in the child-development profession recommends a sitcom as a primary parenting textbook. And, to be fair, Dan had the benefit of writers who knew exactly how the episode was supposed to end.

I didn't have that.

My father died when I was five. I grew up knowing what it was like not to have him around, but that isn't the same as knowing how to become the kind of father I wished I'd had. My mother was a major influence on my life. Still, when I pictured how a dad was supposed to act, a lot of what came to mind was what I'd seen on television.

And then, while I was still in my twenties, I found myself taking care of a boy who needed someone to show up for him. Eventually, there were two young men whose lives became wrapped up in mine.

Suddenly I wasn't watching a family. I was responsible for helping one function.

Breakfast at 6:30

Here's what I remember: getting up at 6:30 in the morning to make breakfast. Making sure school actually happened. Checking in. Going to sporting events. Figuring out how to get food on the table and how to keep the ordinary machinery of a household running.

I didn't start with some sophisticated philosophy of parenting. I started with the things I thought a decent father did.

You get up. You make breakfast. You know where the kids are supposed to be. You notice when something is wrong. When a school or an institution says no, you ask why.

And when you have absolutely no idea how something works, you find out. Usually with a telephone, some paperwork, and more determination than the situation probably requires.

I've always had a talent for becoming deeply involved in problems that other people would rather leave alone. As a parent, that talent had some practical benefits. It also meant I could take the whole responsibility thing rather seriously.

I wanted them to have the experiences I associated with family. Breakfasts, school activities, vacations when I could manage them, someone paying attention, someone who would pick up the phone.

Those are ordinary things. They're also the things that make a home feel like more than an address.

The part the sitcom didn't explain

Television makes family look like a collection of recognizable gestures. Someone puts a hand on a shoulder. Someone gives advice in the kitchen. Somebody screws up, everybody gets upset, and by the end of the episode they've reached an understanding.

Real families are considerably less cooperative with scheduling.

I had spent so much time thinking about what a good father should do that I wasn't always prepared for a harder question: what if the people I'm doing all of this for don't experience it the same way I do?

I thought consistency, effort, sacrifice, and love would naturally add up to a particular kind of bond. Looking back, I can see how much expectation I attached to that. I also know that some of the care I provided was real and mattered, regardless of what happened later.

Both things deserve to be true.

I don't want to rewrite those years as a series of mistakes simply because not every relationship developed the way I hoped. That would be unfair to the good parts. But I don't want to turn every sacrifice into proof that I must have been right about everything, either.

Taking care of people can be generous. It can also become part of how you measure your own worth. If you're not paying attention, being needed can start to feel like the same thing as being loved.

That's a rather complicated subject for a half-hour sitcom, even one with a talented cast.

What I got from those shows

For all their limitations, I don't regret looking to television for examples. I was trying to answer a question I didn't have anyone available to answer directly.

What does being a dad actually look like on an ordinary Tuesday?

Not on Father's Day. Not in a graduation speech. On a morning when everyone needs to be somewhere, there's barely enough time to eat, and the day is going to happen whether you're ready for it or not.

The shows gave me a picture. Life provided the actual work.

And I learned some things that weren't in the picture: paperwork matters; affection and authority are different things; growing up means other people develop lives you don't control; and doing everything you can doesn't mean everything will turn out the way you imagined.

I can still picture the father I wanted to be. I can also look back at the younger man trying very hard to play that part and feel a combination of affection, pride, and a little embarrassment.

He really did think he could figure it all out.

He also got up at 6:30 to make breakfast.

I think both details tell you something about him.