It was summer 2010, a warm breeze drifted over the Nashville streets and the sky was clear and hopeful, I was in New York so I experienced none of that. Instead it was hot. The kind of hot where you don’t know whether or not to wear an undershirt. On the one hand, the undershirt will absorb all the sweat so you don’t walk around looking like a southern baptist preacher. On the other hand, the undershirt increases your internal temperature ten degrees.
I decided to wear the undershirt.
Now, our daughter Anna was already a year old. I was working for an advertising agency, and my wife for the NYC Department of Education teaching sixth grade. Therefore, our one year old daughter, Anna spent most of her time with her nanny Shawna.
As nice and fun as Shawna was, we both began to feel guilty and agreed that one of us should be home with our little girl. In a perfect world, Sarah would’ve gotten to quit her job and be the quintessential housewife, while I the man go and bring home the bacon.
There were some problems with that. Sarah had the higher salary, better medical benefits, more job security and she was vested in her pension. Plus, between our two jobs, I was more likely to be able to drum up graphic and web design freelance work from home. All we needed was to invest in a better computer and some design software and it would work! So I quit my job and used the connections I already had to obtain a more flexible freelance schedule.
So me and my undershirt went to work and I explained the plan to my then current boss. Not only did he understand, but he later hired me as a freelancer and we worked together another two years. He was very supportive and it worked out perfectly.
There was still one problem. My pride turned out to be a little bit of an issue.
I didn’t like being a stay at home dad at first. The part where I got to see my kids all the time was great. The challenge was being at parties with other men because what’s the first thing men ask other men at a party?
“How’s work?”
A question to which, in the beginning, I was embarrassed to answer. So, it was at these parties that I learned I had more in common with the women then I did with the men! I had nothing to say about bossy supervisors or retooling infrastructure. However, I was very well-versed in the current prices of baby foods, the best sales on diapers and some really funny “poop” stories, all of which seemed inappropriate over beers and burgers or brandies and bourbons or anything that starts with the letter “b”.
I was so depressed, I’d be tempted to cry into the burp cloth resting upon my shoulder, but then I’d get ahold of myself because that’s pretty gross.
Eventually it was pointed out to me that I define myself by the job I have. But I thought, “Well yeah, doesn’t everybody?”
“No, only emotionally unhealthy people.”
In actuality, this is pretty unhealthy behavior, no matter who you are. We have to define ourselves by our actions really, not our jobs. The very essence of our character resides in our passions and what motivates us, not a title on a door or a desk.
So who was I now that all these titles were stripped away?
I was a man willing to go above and beyond forthe three of the most important people in the world: my wife, daughter and son.
I spent ten years as a freelancing father and I can honestly say, I am so grateful for ever minute of that time. I probably learned more about leading and training as a stay at home dad then I ever did or would have in the nine to five rat race.
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