Are You Babysitting?

No. I'm her father.

When I was younger, I let things bother me more. Now that I’m older, I’m more forgiving. More patient.

I probably let my kids get under my skin too much. And I’m sure they wonder why I’m so much easier on their children.

There are a dozen answers to that, but it really comes down to two:

1. I don’t have to be the disciplinarian.

2. I get to be fun Papa.

After I wind the grandkids up, I hand them back. Their parents can deal with the consequences of my bad influence.

Parenting is hard work. It’s frustrating. But most of the things that made me uptight as a young father? They didn’t matter in the long run. I did it too—I got overwhelmed. So I understand when young parents need to vent.

Still… one thing used to bother me more than it should have.

I’d be out with my daughter when she was a toddler, and some stranger—or even a friend—would always say:

“Oh, so you’re babysitting today?”

That drove me nuts. No—I wasn’t babysitting.

This is my daughter.

My child.

My blood.

I wasn’t holding the fort till her mom got back.

I was holding her life.

I know people meant well. It probably sounded casual, maybe even whimsical.

But to me? It was offensive.

• Since when do you babysit your own child?

• Since when are fathers relegated to part-time parents?

• Since when is dad just the backup plan?

I loved my time alone with my kids. I wish I’d had even more of it.

Now, I’ll admit—mothers are better with babies. I was always a little envious of that sixth sense they seem to have. My wife could tell what the baby needed without even thinking. I admired that.

Me? I’d just stare at this crying bundle and say, “I don’t know… is it hungry? Tired? Bored? Sad about the fall of Rome?”

So sure, dads can feel out of their depth sometimes—but that doesn’t mean we aren’t giving it everything we have.

People talk about the terrible twos, but I found that age terrific.

Finally, they spoke English.

I didn’t need maternal intuition—I just needed to listen.

They could ask “Why?” a thousand times, and I never tired of answering.

I loved taking my daughter to pick out a stuffed animal or sneak an ice cream cone as our little secret (and cleaning her up so Mom wouldn’t find out).

I loved when I’d carry her at night from the car to the house and she’d point up at the sky and say:

“Emy’s tars! Daddy’s tars! Mumma’s tars!”

Like she had her own sense of which of us owned which portion of the skies.

I loved when she threw a book across the room at age four and fumed, “I can’t read!” And I’d go get the book, sit down with her, and work through it together.

But I wasn’t babysitting.

I was living and loving the life of being a father—It’s a full-time role.

And that’s a very different thing.

My challenge to you is to not use this term when a father is with his children. He is not babysitting. He’s being a father. It deserves respect.

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