Father Time is a weekly column dedicated to the concept of time in a parent’s life, particularly a father’s life. The point of view comes from a father of two young sons, both under three-years-old, and how time really is just that: a concept.
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My best friend Alex and I have been riding parallel tracks for as long as I can remember. We’ve lived in different states for over a decade now, yet we still keep in close contact and share stories of work, life, and love. Our parallel tracks separated more, however, when I got married and started a family. Alex has been on a longer search for his soul mate and the good news is, he found her and they’ll marry next spring. Since I’m nine years in with two kids, Alex and my conversations have obviously departed somewhat when I’m talking diapers and sleepless nights, and he’s talking about all the Netflix he’s caught up on.
“…There are no more movies or long dinners out. You have to fantasize about those things.”
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A few conversations ago, he earnestly asked me: “When do you get free time?”
I laughed. “Free time?” I said. “You don’t get free time.”
“Well, when do you get to do the things you like to do?” He really wanted to know this; if having kids is all it’s cracked up to be.
“You find time here and there,” I said. “Like when the children sleep. Usually late at night. There are no more movies or long dinners out. You have to fantasize about those things.”
Alex was dumbfounded. “What do you mean fantasize?”
“Just that,” I said. “You have to think about the prospect of one day being able to do those things you love—those entertainments you so enjoyed as a single person—and know that they will come back.”
I gave him the example of the new Jurassic World movie that hit theaters over the summer of 2015. I desperately wanted to see it, and all those movie trailers and reviews stoked my desire to watch it. All those previews, however, came during the first three weeks of my second son’s life. We had our almost two-year-old in the house, plus a newborn. I wasn’t going to be seeing Jurassic World anytime soon. But, I explained to Alex, I’d found a way to fantasize about that future time when I will. When I caught a glimpse of that Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing park visitors in the preview, I saw just enough of what I needed to see. Just enough to thrill me.
Once you marry and have children, you are still you—a free-thinking, independent man—yet you are now part of a unit that depends on you.
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Sure, I told him, there are babysitters and relatives and neighbors to take over when you must get out; however, it’s still a rush to get back to your kids. To get back to the unit, because that’s what you are now: a unit.
That was the most foreign of concepts to him. That, once you marry and have children, you are still you—a free-thinking, independent man—yet you are now part of a unit that depends on you. You are an important cog in the machine, and your presence makes the whole thing go. In this way, I explained, your time becomes shared time. It becomes a shared commodity.
Mind blown, his was. Though I assured him it’s not all so dire. You’re not a prisoner. Your new concept of shared time becomes something you actually look forward to. Those fantasies of future time morph into future realities of what time will look like with the whole family involved. Who knows, maybe the time you actually sit down to watch Jurassic World, the kids will be grown enough so that you can watch it together. Together being the operative word.
If you look toward that future thing with a sense of eagerness and hope versus angst and impatience, then the waiting part is a lot more enjoyable.
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That’s the concept that made sense to Alex. Together. As he heads down the wedding aisle soon, he’s already halfway there. He’s learning to share his time with his fiancée, and how to make certain he still has time for himself. He might still be working on the idea that waiting is a large part of the equation.
I once had a teacher whose favorite saying was “Anticipation is half the fun.” The mere thought of something you can’t have right now will motivate you, and if you look toward that future thing with a sense of eagerness and hope versus angst and impatience, then the waiting part is a lot more enjoyable.
I’m getting much better at expectation as a father. Expect too much too soon, and you’ll get nothing. Expect little with no restraints on the clock, and you’ll be rewarded in more ways than you realize. This is part of being a guy; men being the creatures who typically relish in instant gratification. It’s up to us to savor each bite and not rush toward dessert. Slow time down and really watch that movie preview. It might be all you get for a while, and all you’ll really need.
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Photo credit: Robert Couse-Baker.