Somehow you just took every thought that's been swimming around in my head since I became a young parent and put it all down in writing. Some of the "lost" friends have been trying to get me to explain why having a child has changed me so much. I'll forward them on to this post.
Pick up a primer on Jacques Lacan. If you're not already familiar with this particular Obtuse French Dude, he's the one who did a lot of work on the process that kids go through to distinguish between "me" and "other." Interestingly, "me" can only be found in opposition to "other."
AND, if you read it to Gram, he's guaranteed to fall asleep!
while i look at my daughter's sweet 2-year-old face, i often fool myself that she will not at some point "hate me and resent everything i represent."
i was in athens at that time (actually, i lived there most of my life). i'll probably spend the rest of my day trying to figure out who your friend is. 
Dude, that's so right on. I simultaneously agonize over the parenting decisions I make and realize that in a lot of ways, it doesn't matter what I do. At least in the area of "will my child forever adore me?" At some point, in order for her to become herself and not what I "mold" her to be, she will have to throw off what I teach and guide her to become and make her own decisions (some of which will be mistakes she has to make herself to understand). She'll probably go through some time that she hates me. Being an introspective person, I held off on having kids because I didn't want to damage them with my screwed up self. Eventually I realized that nobody gets out of childhood without being "damaged." I hope that my variety of damage to her hurts less than others.
Keep bouncing. Eventually the crying subsides. Ours took about 4 months. It is crazy what thoughts go through the mind at that hour though.
I, too, wonder what it is that will scar my children... But, all in all, I think (hope) it will never be the pain experienced by children of absentee parents.
I am still haunted by that post you wrote a while back recalling the hard-driven lawyer you worked for who only missed work for a few hours one day because his wife (most inconveniently) was giving birth.
It made me think of girls I went to school with whose fathers (highpowered doctors and lawyers) were so shattered by not having their dads be a part of their lives. And the stress and anger the moms felt also seeped unconsciously onto the girls.
I think as adults we could forgive our parents for their human mistakes, but not so easily for their disinterest.
At 29, I'm the mom of a 5-month-old. I don't know a lot of other parents, which is one reason I read a lot of blogs, I guess.
We're all trying to articulate and share something about these ambiguous feelings we have toward our roles as parents, and you hit one of those notes so truly with this post, I just had to comment and say thanks.
I worry about damaging my son with my choices, with who I am or who I think he should become, but ultimately, I guess the best we can do is just our best and hope that the damage doesn't break them.
Beautiful. Keep it up, Dutch. You're like Reepicheep in his coracle, sailing happily and bravely off the edge of the world.
Of course they'll hate you for a while, or maybe just find you embarrassing, but they'll come around after they have their own kids, and eventually they'll probably even take care of you when you're old, and really dig your stories, so it's ok.
Lacan is definitely soporific in the extreme, but not as effective for cry-y (Is he colic-y?) babies as the running vacuum cleaner or hair dryer perched on the other shoulder. Overwhelming white noise always worked for me.
Thanks for this. Over the last week or so I've been struggling with the sense of failing at fatherhood. Reading this has made me feel better, somehow, perversely.
I clicked away and then back. Not able to stop thinking about your words. So honest and a little heartbreaking.
This weekend I watched a Sundance Channel show Iconoclasts(original air date sometime in 2005) of Michael Stipe and Mario Batali. At one point Stipe pops into a record store to buy music for Mario, trying, as he put it, to bridge the gap between The Grateful Dead and him (REM is what I assumed he meant, but it could have easily been him/his music tastes). He buys Neutral Milk Hotel, among others. I've been thinking of the album since.
I'm not sure if it's the Neutral Milk Hotel references, and the fact that I also spent hours puzzling over and reveling in the same lyrics, and the fact that you were actually in the sacred presence of Jeff Mangum, but I love this entry.
This is helpful. You're doing us all a favor for writing this post. Thanks.
Weird...that Neutral Milk Hotel was the only cd I wanted to listen to for weeks on end this pregnancy. Maybe because I could sing/whine with it and not feel so whiny while doing it. I sometimes lament my lost dreams of rock stardom and wonder if Jasper or newbaby (any day now) will want my guitars or should I really sell the bitching rivera amp collecting dust in the basement...not this week at least. I'm on to constant rotation of Belle and Sebastian now...Another Sunny Day makes me feel like spring might really come and we will all be dancing in the sun soon.
Best from Kalamazoo and wish me luck,
Tory
We are staring down the barrel of middle school, with a daughter on the brink of her teens. You summed it up best in thes two lines.
A parent must do everything in his power to protect a creature that must do everything in its own power to grow independent of him. You can't be The Man and still flip off The Man.
i love that album. i listened to it on repeat during my 3rd year of college when i decided that i should probably pass physics even though i was sort of absorbed in the man i was dating, who would become my husband a few years later. i love that album.
I've recently read that statistically, women have reported their lowest point in life, the time they are most apt to feel depressed, is shortly after the birth of their second child. I'm sure this also pertains to fathers. It is presumed due to lack of sleep, loss of freedom and the new, household chaos and demands that come along with having two young children. The upside is that the researchers found these feelings to be situational and temporary. Hang in there, it gets easier.
I assume that you already know about Record Time in Roseville?
I'm hoping that your words will touch the seemingly endless stream of people in their early 30s who "still tell me they're too young, too irresponsible, too unsettled to have kids." I don't have them, am experiencing an escalating sense of terror that the opportunity to do so is quickly passing me by, and wonder why and how more people my age aren't feeling the same way. I really people read your words and are as touched as I am. You're giving me hope.
That album was the first that was "ours" as a couple. Goofy, right? And Roo loved it as a baby, too. We've gone through 3 copies on supposedly indestructable CD...
thanks for reminding me!
Wow, this speaks to me on so many levels. I've been thinking a lot lately of who I was, even 2 years ago, sans baby, and who I am now. Thanks.
Thank you for writing this. We don't have children yet, and, while few of our friends have children, those closer in age to us do not (mid twenties).
And, while I feel the overwhelming need to start a family in the next year, I worry about becoming like the "lame" youngish people with kids that we know and pushing away the ones i really like but who are kidless.
I'm sure that last sentence makes no sense but I think my biggest fear in becoming a parent is losing my "coolness." As lame as that looks to actually type out.
the things about cool parents is that only your friends have them.
Oh, Jim, this killed me. Thank you.
great post, but that line about vic chestnutt's wheelchair sent me rolling on the floor.
Beautiful and melancholy. Thanks.
Athens IS great. Such a shock to read you writing about what I think of as my little college town in your own words, thank you!
Sounds to me like you are a great companion to your son. Bouncing him, soothing him with vinyl.
You can always take your son to a Vic Chestnutt's concert should you crave sleep and nostalgia. Went to see him at this place called in the Castro while I was 8 months pregnant. The concession table served peanut butter and jelly and cokes for one dollar each. To my friends surprise..no booze. They ended up buying a small bottle of whiskey to spike their dollar cokes. Our small corner of folding tables ended up getting pretty rowdy while I passed out in my chair all the while listening to Chestnutt harass us from his wheelchair.
Love that you still listen to vinyl. Keep up the good work Pops!
Of the many things I loved about this post, what I really loved is that you used two of my favorite disappearing words: "Side B." You can come hang out with us anytime.
It is a bittersweet realization, that some things by their very nature simply are not meant to last. However, you're heart will not accept resignation to the impending reality. I believe the most powerful thing we can do as human beings is to impact a child, love, nurture, give selflessly and watch as they grow into what THEY are not what we want them to be. I hope you preserve this blog so Graham can one day discover when he needs it the most, the special bond you share with him. Parenthood is a self deprecating tragedy, knowing that will prevent you from failing.
Ten years? Really? Wow.
"It still doesn't make much sense, but Mangum still sings as though it should." Yes, that's it exactly. Thanks for putting it into words.
how odd for me to read this after i've been spending the past few days/weeks soaking in the memories of college/post college days. there is just something about the days we are living in now that are teasing me with what-was. as much as i love and cherish what-is, it wears me down in a way that i never expected- my worst fear is not that i'll lose my coolness (when did i ever have that?) but that i'll morph into the old bitter lady that i never want to be.
i've often thought about all the ways we'll fail our kids- hopefully in ways different than our parents for us, never in ways that leave them permanently damaged, but enough to forge the characters in them that they deserve to be.
awesome post, jim. hang in there.
Wow. Once again your words put voice to so many emotions. Like other's have said this line: "You can't be The Man and still flip off The Man" is one of the hardest lessons of parenting. At least for me it is.
I also had to laugh because my daughter, too, preferred Johnny Cash as an infant. Something about that deep voice and rhythms.
Not to want to put on my smartypants, but the 'obtuse french dude' -- Jacques Lacan -- is really not obtuse, nor boring! And his text on the 'mirror stage' is at the base of post-modern criticism of capitalist culture, which we hipsters like to shun.
The original text is called
„Le stade du miroir comme formateur de la fonction du je telle qu’elle nous est révélée dans l’expérience psychanalytique“, in: Écrits I.
I believe it is simply called the mirror stage in english.
Okay, i am taking off the smartypants now.
Good luck with the newborn phase number two!
Young parent here. I understand. Having a kid is the best thing that could have happened to me, and saved me an empty existence of bars, shows, and disappointing friendships. I am grateful to my kid for unknowingly sparing me the existential nightmare of being in my middle years, questioning the validity of who I would have (presumably) become. Now I can be unapologetically lame, no excuses needed.
How strange it is to be anything at all--alll-ll-allll. Right?
Marguerite, je suis en accord. "Obtuse" was meant with the utmost affection. My partner and I talk Derrida more than diapers, so fear not, we be lovin' the Lacan, too.
But even our po-mo kids find it a bit dense...
not that you asked for any assvice but it sounds like gram has similar symptoms as my son from what turned out to be acid reflux. the good thing was that he grew out of it around three months. the doc tried to give him prescription pepcid and it didn't help- only bundling and propping him up on a boppy or on our shoulders helped soothe and put him to sleep. my boy was one spitting up, crying baby for quite a while but now he's fine.
last two paragraphs were genius. i think what you are saying is true on so many levels... we have to die in so many ways to give way for new life.
at least you are savoring the moments as they pass...
you said exactly what i've had on my mind lately but couldn't articulate well. I love hearing your thoughts - they give me some much needed fortitude to face life. I think this is what it means to grow up in the best sense of the word. I'm starting to see that it doesn't have to be such a bad thing to grow up... and our kids need us to do it.
There's lot of pointy bits to parenting but for me, the sharpest, the most unexpected and most hurtful has been slowly realising I don't quite recognise myself any more.
Having kids blotted our my self for a while, and I became A Mother, which was very confusing. I felt I had been dismantled. A million books on slings and breastfeeding and milestones and nothing on how to re-build my self.
My eldest girl just turned three and my partner and I are only just now getting a sense of who we are as people, rather than who we were or what we hope to be again.
And what younger self ever predicted they'd bounce shirt-less on a yoga ball for hours and days at a time? With no crazy sex involved at all??? It's a disconcerting position to find yourself in.
oh, wow.. that parent-child paradox? beautifully put.
At 17, I would have disagreed, but I would have been wrong: my parents were (are) perfect (for me). My childhood was too, and I ended up disgustingly well-adjusted. I make (mildly) interesting artwork and the writing with my real byline isn't too bad. So hoorah, I disagree about that point!
you know, i was thinking of this some more this afternoon, and i realized that the beauty of nostalgia is the blurring of the truly awful parts of the past being remembered. back then was as good and bad as it is now- no better, no worse.
i loved the years before the pnut, but what we're doing now is what we should be doing now- what we did then was right for then. and i'm ok with our friends who are still living that fun crazy hipster artsy single/childless life- maybe i'd trade an hour or an evening or a weekend to be in their shoes, but i'd never give up snuggling up with my sweet sweet family in the life we have now, and worked so very hard to create for ourselves.
hope little gram settles down soon and you guys get some good rest. for the love of god, you've earned it!!
Thank you for this. I'm almost 30 and still trying to understand my own father and see the mirror hes looking in and I find myself wanting more often than not. This helped. Your honesty is rare, beautiful, and always cathartic. Thanks again.
This might be the most important piece I've ever read about what it means to be a parent and subsequently, to grow up. Gorgeous, Dutch.
Reading this makes me realize once again that I need to get my head in order again so I can have coherent thoughts like this on my similar situation (two kids under 4). I salute you!
And now I must find this album-- I'm embarrassed to say I've never even heard of it or the band, though I was apparently 17 when it was released. What's the emoticon for shame?
One of my favorite things (in hindsight) about my boy's earliest days was singing softly along to whatever would put him to sleep at 3 in the a.m.(Belle & Sebastien was his favorite). He already seems to have grown out of that.
I'm a former Athenian myself and your post really brought back that wonderful little city. Michael Stipe used to buy a coffee from me almost every day he was in Athens. It was dreamy 
Nothing to add. Just thank you for this post. Thank you.
You make me nostalgic for those times you are going through. The sweetness in the moment of the struggles. Keep on loving, keep on hugging, keep on forgiving.....my son still needs them now at 21. I still need them at 54.
Brilliant. Not only for your views on growing up to be a dad, but your memories of Athens.
We lived in Athens for 7 years during the grad school days and miss it terribly now, especially this time of year when the dogwoods and wisteria are blooming. The Grit was our favorite restaurant and I dream about some of their dishes. I have the cookbook, but its just not the same.
You are right about the Athens "code" of leaving famous folks alone. Michael Stipe was around so much no one even noticed anymore. In fact, most people knew where his house was and still left him alone. We ran in to Beck wandering the streets drunk one night. Ah, college towns. I have heard that all of Athens has since gone non-smoking, which makes it even better. To go to the Manhattan or 40-Watt sans smoke would have been divine. Did you ever go into Junkman's Daughter's Brother? Also some great places for thrifting.
I so admire the fact that you guys are doing this a second time. We are done at one, as the little baby stage almost killed us, and I mean that as harsh as it sounds. If they came sleeping thru the night, I might think about it. Even at three, our son still wakes up at night due to talking in his sleep, lost covers, etc. Sigh.
My son is three months old and the trauma that constituted the early weeks of his life is just now fading and parenting him has taken me to a lot of dark places.
All babies cry. Some babies cry a lot sometimes and it does in the head. I am not proud of the feelings of rage and resentment I tended to feel between the hours of 3-6 am, but they were there all the same.
I remember punching a lot of cushions and wishing I was dead until my mother came to lend a hand and I experienced feelings of euphoria people attribute to religious conversion.
My son and i still argue. Sometimes he still annoys me and cries and cries and cries and I feel like I'm exhausted and have nothing left to give. During those occasions, when I have been depleted by the crying, sometimes I just let him get it out of his system. Lie down next to him, make sure he is safe, have a rest, recharge. On bad days I shout, I punch sofa cushions. But always, I get my shit together eventually and I apologise to him for yelling and I forgive him for being a clingy bastard and we hug and make up. We wipe clean each other's slate and start over. If I have to summarise this early parenting process I'd say it is a process of constant forgiveness, from both sides.
Having had a wildly dysfunctional family and a fairly harsh life, I feel comforted knowing that I came through it just fine and likely he will too.
His protest squeaks are annoying, but they are also wonderful because they speak about the fact he feels safe enough to emit them. I worked with abused children and often what they had in common was a terrible silence, a great withdrawing.
On the other hand I also know people with perfect families and perfect childhoods and they are a great blessing. I guess it depends on what people think of as perfect. My childhood friends were a brother and sister who lived in quite tough socio-economic conditions (the father didn't work, the mother's salary was apalling), gifts of money and clothes from family and friends was literally all that often stood between them and starvation. THey still live with their parents, they still share a bedroom even though they are now in their twenties - conditions that are not ideal but they make them seem like they are. They don't consider their lives anything less than wonderful. I have never heard them speak of their parents with anything but warmth and love and respect. They don't think they have been failed in any way and when I go into their home all I feel is the love and the warmth radiating out and welcoming us all. Having an imperfect life made into a perfect life is amazing and it is what has allowed all those people to face down some incredibly hard conditions and thrive and become some seriously delightful and cheery people.
On the other hand I remember being damaged by the fact that my mum's self-esttem was wrapped in being a good enough mother, which meant being perfect which means she cannot stand to have her decisions questioned because a suggestion that maybe she didn't do the best thing to her reads that she has failed. It's a lot more of a headfuck than conversations with my aunt who is more likely to say: "You're right I screwed up there. I didn't know any better at the time. Now let's move the fuck on and try not to make the same mistakes."
I think it's good to just do our best and not analyse too much. Likely our children will find a way to do just fine whether they regard the homes they were raised in as perfect or wildly dysfunctional.
Good luck with Gram. I hope the crying settles soon.
Sorry, I just felt compelled to comment again, to say that I think Nia's comment above was amazing and insightful on several fronts-- I was blown away.
To quote the Simpsons, "Your ideas intrigue me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter." Luckily, you do seem to have a blog! I shall be visiting.
Do you ever just lighten up?
I too really enjoyed you're comments Nia. I look forward to checking you're blog out.
For what it's worth, I never hated my parents. In my angsty teen years I felt they didn't understand me and the ways in which I'm different from them (turns out I was wrong) - but I can honestly say I never hated or resented them.
But of course, crazy thoughts will go through your head in those dark, cold, empty hours.
I am a parent to a 15 month old daughter, my first and only child, at least for now. She was an incredibly easy baby and a pretty easygoing toddler. I've become acquainted with a number of folks with children Echo's age and younger and I have a hypothesis. Boy babies are just crankier and cry more than girl babies. I don't know why, but so far as anyone I know with a baby boychild; it seems the babes are pretty high-maintenance. I'm scared to have a boy if I get to have another baby.
Karyn, I have to say that I've had the opposite experience-- everyone I've talked to says boys are much easier as babies though the tables turn in adolescence. So that's funny-- maybe we are each just talking to the wrong people?
Certainly in my case, my son seemingly raised himself without issue, and my daughter thus far (still just 1) has absolutely defined the term "high maintenance".
So don't be scared of having a boy for a second baby, just be scared to have a second baby period. It's worlds away from having only one, right from the get-go, and most people have told me that regardless of sex, the second baby is hard if the first was easy. So good luck either way!
wondering what obscurity jeff mangum fell into?
http://jeffmangum.wordpress.com/
is this him??
you give me hope that i'll be an ok parent one day, and that i'll love it. thanks.
I've been reading about your sweet family for a while but I never felt like I could personally relate to what you write about. Living in a city, the pictures of beautiful destruction, having children.. all foreign to me. Your parenting style, however, does remind me of what my musician, work-at-night father tried to do with me and my sister.
Until this morning when I read about Athens. My stomping grounds! My town! Dutch has heard of Athens, GA!
I like your description of Athens. There are so many different scenes going on there at once. You did experience some of what I consider the best parts, though. Athens symbolizes a transition or a fleeting era for many of the people that pass through. Quite an interesting place.
"I have to let him damage me, and weaken me, and destroy what I once was so I can be the kind of parent he actually needs me to be...And yet there is no small part of me that relishes the destruction."
God, is this generational wisdom or what? You've hit the nail on the head. And it's a sobering knowledge. Now if only I could embrace it and come to a peace about its truth.
I'm sitting in a stuffy office in Athens, GA while my 2 year old daughter attends an expensive church preschool downtown. Her playground is next to a secluded courtyard I used to "loiter" in at night during my late teens and early twenties. I walk her through that courtyard every morning.
I go to all those places you mentioned (flicker bar, the manhattan, the grit) with my husband on our "date nights" and we spend a lot of time talking about all the things we did in those establishments before we had a kid. Such sweet torture!
I think someone should publish a collection of Stipe-spotting stories. I have a great one where I got to explain to him what QVC and the Home Shopping Network are.
Anyway, thanks for such a lovely post about my home.
I just picked up that album not too long ago. I can't believe it slipped through my fingers ten years ago.
jesus! this is sweet and sad and pretty fucking spot-on. I think self-awareness if THE best thing you can have as a parent. It's an amzing gift. You don't have to be perfect (as if there's such a thing) just try and be honest about who you are. At least that's what I tell myself to keep from weeping.
I'm six weeks pregnant with my second child and secretly terrified of the arrival of a newborn in the home.
I'm going to print this out and highlight the last two paragraphs for those early days (and late nights).
I know that fear. I have that fear. So I do understand. I can't tell whether you mean to speak universally or not but: This parent-hating thing is not universal. My husband never hated, rejected, denied his father or rejected all he represented. His father had much of the saint in him. He spent his life doing good. My husband has some of that saintliness in him. His father passed his goodness on to my husband and so my husband, being good like his father, could only admire him.
It is an unusual thing, what they had as father and son. It's hard to reject such goodness, though. That rebellion is kind of an American bourgeois thing, not a universal thing.
great post.
I think the year was 1998. Jeff Magnum played a set just his guitar in our basement in Northampton Massachusetts, which briefly passed for a venue. He slept on our couch (I was in awe). He left his toothbrush on our sink (I kept it for years).
To this day it is one of the most magical (cool factor off the charts)evenings of my life. I don't think I spoke 40 words to him, I think he was dating a lady from Elf Power at the time.
wow- back to the real world. I have a date with a poopy diaper!
i know that this is 3 weeks later, but i gotta pipe in a small feeble thank you. parenting has been a struggle for me from the second it began. and with that struggle came a lot of guilt over not playing the role i was (supposedly) born to play as well as i had expected.
crap does that even make sense?
after torturing myself with these guilty feelings for the past couple years, i read this. and read it again. and read it again. THIS is truth like i've never read. THIS makes sense and comforts.
so i'm sorry for your hard nights with your new little one, but i gotta thank you for sharing your thoughts. i truly needed to hear them.
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