I have come to the brutal truth that I love my family more than anything in the world, more than my life, more than the Detroit Lions or Red Wings, more than beer, more than fishing, more anything that you can think of…98% of the time. The flip side to this is, damnit, I just can’t stand them 2% of the time. I would rather be anywhere in the world but right next to them 2% of the time. I say this mostly in jest, but with an heir of simple truth that when you live with people, no matter whether they are your offspring, the love of your life, or your best friends, sometimes it just plain old sucks to be around them. This has been one of those pieces of information that I pass on to soon-to-be dads as they prepare for the wild transition into fatherhood. I tell them, “it’s okay to hate your family 2% of the time. Don’t feel guilty about it. Don’t try to lie or hide it. It is the simple truth. You are going to hate them 2% of the time.”
This all comes from a discussion I had with a co-worker right before my transition to fatherhood. He kept teasing me and trying to scare me by telling about all the difficult things that I should be preparing for in early fatherhood. “You are never going to sleep again, and when you do sleep, it’ll be for a short nap at best. When you wake up, you’ll probably need to itch the inside of your nose and after it’s too late you’ll realize that you didn’t wash your hands well enough after that last poopsplosion that ran right up the baby’s back. You’ll lose all feeling in your arms at multiple points during the day and night from holding, rocking, burping, and feeding the baby. And when you go to complain about these new responsibilities to your wife, she’ll look at you and tell you to suck it up. You weren’t up 5 times feeding the baby last night!” You’ll have no one to turn to for sympathy and that feeling of “get me out of here, I don’t care about these people!” will creep in ever so slightly.
The hard part is that it doesn’t really get any easier as the kids get older. They start to learn how to talk back, throw things, punch you in the nuts, break your stuff, whine (Oh god, the whining!! MAKE IT STOP!) and generally do everything they can to test you. You’ll bicker with your wife about dumb little stuff like who changed the baby last, or who took out the dog, or what you are having for supper that night. You argue about money, vacation time, weekend excursions, and who is going to pick the kids up from daycare. These things happen ad nauseam, wash+rinse+repeat until you just want to run out in front of a bus.
Until…
You are sitting there one night peacefully eating a pizza and laughing hysterically America’s Funniest Home Videos after a long vacation visiting Grammie and Gramps, and you realize (not for the first time, but yet again) that no matter how awful that 2% can be, these people are what make you who you are. They provide all the meaningful joy in your life (unless the Wings win the Cup, or the Lions actually ever win the Super Bowl) and will continue to do so for as long as you are alive. They provide the small victories and the major accomplishments. They make you laugh, be childish, play on the floor, build snow forts, wrestle on the hardwood floors even though your knees hurt, catch bigger fish than you, and give the best hugs after a long day. They look up to you and validate who you are as a man. They expect your best and because of that you are a better person.
It can be real difficult during those 2% moments, hard enough to test your patience, temper, and even your love. But the highs are way higher than the lows are low. Fatherhood is a series of ups and downs, but the love that comes from that goofy bunch that shares your last name will be there forever as long as you give them your best.