The slow economy has caused a big pinch for many families. The Steely Family is no different and since one of us is a stay-at-home dad (that’s yours truly) we are dependent on one income. Not to mention, that singular income is a self-employment arrangement that doesn’t provide the same security as a regular paycheck. If we don’t work, we don’t get paid.

So I’ve been scratching the ol’ noggin lately, trying to figure out a way I can make some extra dough to help contribute to the family’s bottom line. I’m not trading in my apron; I want to supplement so that I don’t have to, don’t dare say it, get a J-O-B!

So here’s a list of jobs I’m considering, occupations I feel are a good fit for my unique qualifications.

Here we go:

10. Life Coach: I still can’t figure out what the hell a life coach is, does or who hires them but I figure I’ve been living for 38 years and doing so adequately. It seems like any moron (just check out Twitter) can do this so why not me? Qualifications: I’m already on retainer as the life coach of two little kids so I’ve got plenty of experience.

9. Consultant: What would I consult? I could take your watch and tell you what time it is. That’s gotta be worth something. Qualifications: Are there any?

8. Porn Star: The pay is not great (in fact, it might be the only occupation in which the pay scale tilts in favor of the women) and there are some serious occupational hazards to consider. Nevertheless, the benefits are pretty awesome. Qualifications: Although I can’t recall the last time it happened, I know I’ve had sex at least two times in my life. I mean, how “hard” can it be?

7. Football Color Commentator: I love watching football and have been doing so since I was five and played it from Jr. Pee Wee Pop Warner to high school when it became evident that the UCLA Bruins didn’t need a 145-pound middle linebacker. Qualifications: My wife and mom say I always make insightful comments before the commentator does so that should qualify me.

6. Professional Gambler: All I need is a bank roll. If you’re interested in getting into the “Steely Dad” business, let me know. Qualifications: I’ve been to Vegas many times and have NEVER had to visit a pawn shop.

5. Actor: Contrary to what you might be thinking, this is NOT the same thing as Job #8. This one requires actual Thespian abilities. Qualifications: I was the lead in a sixth-grade play in which I played an actor playing the role of Oedipus Rex. Let the jokes begin.

4. Lactation Consultant: I love boobs and am a HUGE proponent for breast-feeding mothers everywhere. Qualifications: I’ve been to at least 104 breast-feeding support group meetings and this was before I even had a lactating wife.

3. Professional Wrestler: I used to watch the WWF religiously until about the sixth grade. Qualifications: Do I really need any more than that and a few cycles of roids? Oh, and some stretchy pants and granny panties.

2. Oprah’s Replacement: I’ve never been a big fan. In fact, I downright despise the woman and am happy I won’t have to see her mug any longer. Qualifications: I can talk and ask questions and I can also fake-cry and pretend I’m actually interested in what bullshit is spewing from your mouth. And I can also say, “You go girl!”

1. Cult Leader: I’ve always been fascinated by cult leaders. They seem like such losers yet they get so many people to pledge their lives, fortunes and sacred honor. The hours are long but the pay is great. The only problem with this one is that you usually end up dead. Qualifications: When I had long hair, people used to call me Jesus.

Well, that’s it. Send me your leads!

Two years ago today, Mommy was in the operating room and I, dressed in full operating scrubs, was sitting in a long, sterile corridor waiting for the doctor to summon me. The excitement of your arrival was a continuation from the day before, when we witnessed one of the best Super Bowls of all time, the NY Giants besting, until that point, the undefeated New England Patriots on an improbable last-minute drive. It was a harbinger of good things to come.

Although I had been guessing you were a girl from the day we found out Mommy was going to have a baby, as I waited, I had this incredibly clear vision that I was about to meet my baby princess. Suddenly, it dawned on me: what if you were a boy? And even though my gut feeling was undeniable, I had to be prepared. Of course, we could’ve abated our curiosity 20 weeks earlier at the ultrasound appointment but Mommy and Daddy wanted to torture themselves. In any case, it was well worth the wait.

Why were we in the O.R. instead of a nice, cozy birthing room? Good question. Being someone with a penchant for flair, you decided to flip yourself Week 38. Yup, you were in the homestretch and thought, I want to be sunny side up. Mommy was none too pleased.

The waiting was over. show time! I followed the doctor into the operating room where Mommy was waiting, scared to death, but patiently. Although I wanted to be “below the equator” to watch all the action, the doctors preferred I wait by Mommy’s head. Not to be deterred, I still took some peeks over the curtain.

Finally, after some manipulations and maneuvers, the doctor lifted up your tiny, beautiful body in all its glory. And although I knew it as soon as I saw you, Doctor B announced, “It’s a girl!” Involuntarily, my hands went to the top of my head and the tears flowed in a deluge of pure, overwhelming joy. I couldn’t believe I was blessed again, this time with a perfect baby girl. My princess.

So today we celebrate a truly special day, one that I will always cherish and remember for all of time. Happy birthday, Ivria Ruth, I love you forever and always.

PS Enjoy the homemade Foofa cake! Yo Gabba Gabba!

Normally I don’t follow too much celebrity gossip but I readily admit that the recent Tiger Woods headlines have caught and sustained my attention. So long ADD!

I respect Tiger Woods as an athlete. If there was one autograph I’d actually make an effort to obtain, it would be Tiger’s. As a golf enthusiast, I understand the true breadth and depth of his talent. But to marvel at Tiger’s talent is only half the story. What separates the World’s Best Golfer is his unbending work ethic. Tiger’s religious devotion to practice and training is well documented. Perhaps there are other tour players who possess more raw talent but none exist who compete with Tiger’s work regimen.

Tiger is also unique in that throughout his career he has enjoyed a high level of celebrity combined with a commensurate level of privacy. Before recent stories of infidelity, Tiger’s name was nary mentioned in tabloids. His image was squeaky clean and seemingly unimpeachable. It is this image, even more than his golfing acumen, that has afforded Tiger his life of luxury. Each year, on average, Tiger earns between $10-$12 million in golf winnings. Comparatively, he makes approximately $110 million in endorsements. Of all the incredible athletes to grace the field of play, Tiger will be the first to hit the billion dollar mark (if he hasn’t already). That’s how valuable Tiger is as a brand.

So the recent headlines are a concern for Tiger. However, in my opinion as a lowly stay-at-home dad who doesn’t have the capacity to understand the high-stakes game of athletic endorsements, it should be the least of Tiger’s concerns. Although he may lose some endorsements, they will eventually be replaced and his image and bank account healed. What may not be so easily repaired is the trust of his two little kids. I’m not sure how the man looks his kids in the eye. How does he go about repairing the relationship with his children? PR professionals and lawyers can’t help with this image crisis. Insofar as I know, press releases and spokespersons do not work all that well with kids. Winning more majors will ingratiate Tiger to golf fans but will do little in the way of rebuilding the trust his children so richly deserve. I think we as a society make the mistake of believing these kids will be fine because they live in a multi-million dollar mansion but kids are kids and they have feelings and emotions that need to be respected regardless of their lot in life.

Tiger Woods is an amazing athlete; as a daddy, he leaves much to be desired. The embarrassment and shame he has brought to his family are, on some level, irreparable. However, the cliché that men only think with their dicks and that this is typical of men is unfair to those of us who take the vow of fidelity seriously. Likewise, no self-respecting woman who married for love would want to be lumped in the “gold digger” category.  Articles on “How to Tell if Your Man is Cheating” should read “spouse,” as philandering is not the sole province of men.

But is it really all that surprising? No. What’s surprising is the time it’s taken for the veil to be lifted. I’ve followed Tiger’s career since before he became a professional and the fact that he seemed impervious to controversy for so many years only suggested that it was a matter of when not if some mud would soil his pristine image. It was difficult for me to believe that he was as saintly as his image suggested. Call me stupid but in my infinite naiveté I believe that everyone has flaws and weaknesses and it was only a matter of time before Tiger’s were revealed.

Am I disappointed? No. Why? Because unlike many, my heroes are not famous people. When I was younger, I had heroes who were athletes but they always fell short of my expectations. I learned that heroes are not superhuman; they’re people just like the rest of us but who you believe are somehow better than yourself. Eventually it occurred to me that belief in myself was the best policy. It seems to me that heroes do alright when others believe they are God; it’s when they start to believe it themselves that they fall from grace.

There has been much commented about Tiger’s right to privacy. Does Tiger have a right to privacy? Sure he does just as I have a right to all the amenities and privileges that Tiger enjoys. I’m not talking about money; I’m talking about access. Yet, even though I have a right to access and Tiger has a right to privacy, the reality is that it’s unlikely either one of us will come to enjoy these rights. You see privacy and fame come at a price. Tiger has to remember his fame affords him access to things we common folk covet, like court-side basketball tickets. With fame comes complimentary champagne, clothes and cars (and, in many cases, women). If Tiger desires privacy, then he must give up the seductive benefits of fame. I have privacy because I don’t have access; celebrities don’t have privacy because they do. Privacy and fame are valued commodities on different sides of the spectrum and unfortunately for Tiger, they are mutually exclusive. Tiger is now learning the simple truth that fame is not a resource that can be turned off when it’s inconvenient to be well known. Quite frankly it’s insulting when celebrities only pull the “privacy” card when the proverbial poop hits the fan. I’ve never seen a celebrity asking for privacy when walking down the red carpet or receiving an invitation to the White House.

To Tiger I say, you’re the best golfer in the world. Your job now is to become the best daddy. Understand that your place in golf history is secured; your place in the hearts of your children is not. You have a supposed crack team of consultants helping with your legal and public relations issues (even though I would say their advice has been bush league). These are the same individuals who remind you of your greatness, a gallery of sycophants who only tell you “yes.” But I’m here to tell you “no,” that what you’ve done to your kids is NOT cool. However, all is not lost. If you want solid advice on your paternal obligations, I have an entire database of quality men who elevate the title of “dad.” Give me a call and I’ll put you in touch.

This post is part of a Dad Bloggers Project over at Dad-Blogs.  Click on over to check out other dad’s perspectives on Tiger Woods.

At 9 PM Central on Thursday, Oct. 29, the Steely Family embarked on an ambitious adventure that most parents dare not even mention. What am I talking about? The Family Road Trip.

So far, the trip has been pretty eventful, complete with overnight stays in Wal-Mart parking lots and dances with crazy drivers. During one stretch through Kansas, we were greeted with a noisome odor. Being that we were in rural Kansas, I assumed it was produced by bovine manure. However, this particular scent had that distinctive “human” quality. I took a quick peek in the backseat at Steely Daughter and was stricken by absolute fear at the site of my beautiful daughter covered in poop after having a colossal blowout! She had it all over her hands so this emergency required swift, evasive and direct intervention. Needless to say, we will be one pair of pants short on our return trip.

This incident, along with some others, required me to take pause and ask the question: why do (sane) people go on road trips? More specifically, why do parents go on road trips with their kids? This trip has been different from all previous road trips. What happened to the romance of the road I recall, the road I knew intimately when Steely Wife and I camped across this great nation for our honeymoon (we subsequently enjoyed an Alaskan cruise but our camping adventure was our REAL honeymoon). The road I engage today is a distant relative of the one I once knew. The victim of an evolutionary defect that robbed it of its soul? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is me who had undergone the metamorphosis. Perhaps my psyche no longer requires the challenge of rugged survival on the road, but instead relishes in the creature comforts of the Four Seasons (or even the Sleazy 8, which is just as good as the Four Seasons after a sleepless night in a Wal-Mart parking lot).

The reason we go on road trips is for the opportunity such adventures provide for self-introspection and self-discovery. On the road, our souls are baptized by the wind and the endless stretch of asphalt that leads to the horizon of our dreams. Of course, at this stage in my life, I feel confident I can obtain the same soul-searching revelations with a warm bed and a plasma TV.

In any case, this stay-at-home dad wants to provide his loyal readers with a veritable “real time” experience of this unique adventure. Thus, I’m going to provide a kind of play-by-play narrative, including all the gory details, at Twitter (and maybe Facebook). So follow me: steely_dad for exclusive updates. Missed what’s already happened? You can read previous tweets on my Twitter homepage. And, in a Steely Dad first, I’m also going to attempt to provide ALL updates utilizing nothing more than my mobile communication device. Enjoy!

I have a favor to ask of you. Yes, I’m aware that it’s rather presumptuous of me to make any requests in light of my prolonged absence, but a favor I ask of you nonetheless.

You might be saying to yourself, “You schmuck! You abandon us, your faithful and loyal readers, for weeks on end and now you want to ask a favor? You’re a stay-at-home dad for cying out loud! You should have time to write a stupid blog at least once a week!” and you’re right. All I can say is mea culpa. For whatever reason, the inspiration hasn’t been there as of late and I don’t want to offend your fertile minds by simply writing drivel that’s worse than the usual drivel you’ve come to expect from Steely Dad. Yea, doing so might help with SEO and page ranks but I think it’s safe to say those elements hardly provide me motivation.

The favor I’d like to ask of you is to stop reading this post right now. WAIT! Before you do, because I know just how happy you are to oblige, please follow these very important instructions: GO HUG YOUR KID(S). I mean REALLY hug them.  Tell them how much you love them, how special they are to you. No, don’t lie. I want you to hug them and kiss them and hold them tight and let all that love in your heart spill forth. Don’t be afraid; you can’t spoil a kid with love. For those of us parents with younger kids, we don’t appreciate the brevity of these early years. Parents with older children are often cursed with the wisdom that kids just grow up way too quickly. Never again squander another opportunity to let your kids know how much you love and adore them.

I know this would be the message of Sophie and Tyler Crew, dear friends of the Steely Family, if they could speak to you right now.  I know they would love nothing more than to be able to hug their beautiful baby girl, 13-month old Emma, right this very moment. I know they would do anything to be able to hold her, to touch her, to smell her sweet and familiar scent that only they recognize. I know they would do anything to be able to hear Emma’s silly giggle and to tickle her to hear it over and over again. Even big sister Ava would love to share her toys with Emma. But they cannot, at least not right now, for their precious little Emma is in a crucial fight for her fragile life after being victimized in what doctors have described as a Shaken Baby Syndrome incident.

Sophie and Tyler are living a parent’s worst nightmare.  Sometime after dropping off Emma at daycare, they received a call from the facility that something happened to Emma. At that seminal moment, at that singular second in time, their comfortable world was eternally shattered. And even if all prayers are answered, even if the miracle of all miracles happens, nothing for the Crew Family will ever be the same again, not EVER.

After hearing this tragic story, I wondered how anyone could do something like this to a little baby, an innocent child who is not able to defend itself . How could someone turn into such a monster? It seems unfathomable, unimaginable and demonic. And you know what, it is all of these things but apparently it doesn’t take much to turn into such a monster. A brief yet uncontrollable fit of anger coupled with several violent shakes in a few seconds is all it takes to steal the life of a child. According to the National Center on Shaken Baby Syndrome, an estimated 1,200 to 1,400 children in the United States are injured or killed by being shaken each year.

No gun, no blunt instrument, no poison was used. In fact, the person probably started off with good intentions of trying to comfort a crying child. But when nothing they tried worked, the person transformed from caregiver to monster. Hands and an inability to control impulses and the law of physics that would leave adults unscathed but literally shakes the breath out of those much smaller than us were the only weapons used in this case. We’ve all been frustrated with our kids, when they don’t listen, when they cry incessantly and inconsolably for unending hours, and we’ve wished it to go away, quickly, so we can get back to sleep, get back to work or get back to whatever it was we were doing. The only thing the Crew Family wants to get back to is a normal life.

Sophie and Tyler sit vigil by Emma’s side, where they have remained since this nightmare took on a momentum that far exceeds their tolerance.  Three hundred and sixty hours have passed since the last time they saw their happy, healthy Emma. Think of all the hugs they would’ve shared had it not been for a person’s, a stranger’s, rage.

Mom and Dad, sitting on either side of Emma, read her favorite books, sing her favorite songs, looking, waiting, wishing, hoping for anything that resembles life. A sign, a twitch, a movement, a response, a sound, anything. How do you hold on to hope when doctors say to let go of it? How do you manage expectations when doctors tell you not to have any? I don’t know how but I do know that Sophie and Tyler and Ava have not given up on Emma, have not lost hope and have not abandoned expectations. Emma knows this too, and she can feel the love and support and she hears our prayers and she has responded by moving one of her arms and one of her legs. She has opened her eyes. These are small but meaningful signs that nuture the seed of hope. Remember, all mighty oaks start out as tiny acorns. Let me tell you, this little girl has more fight in her than any, save her family, knew she had in her heart. She’s not giving up and she wants to let us know not to give up on her, that she’s going to keep on fighting.

Emma doesn’t understand what losing this fight would mean to her parents, to her sister, to her grandparents. She doesn’t know the grief that would descend upon an entire community of people who love and adore her. Yet out of nothing more than sheer life instinct, the genetic code that resolves us to take another breath when doing so presents greater challenge than not taking one, this little girl fights on.

It’s easy to think something like this will never happen to us and when we don’t personally know the people struggling with a tragedy such as this, it’s even easier to take comfort in the emotional distance that frees us from any reminder of the grief being experienced by those hit hardest. But don’t forget; instead, think of little Emma struggling for the very existence we take for granted.

I’d like to make one last request. I am asking for everyone reading this story to pray for little Emma Crew. Organize prayer services at your church, synagogue or other place of worship. If you’re not comfortable with prayer, then please send your positive thoughts Emma’s way. If praying is fine and dandy but you feel moved to do something more “tangible” the family would be most grateful for any financial contributions. Obviously, both Sophie and Tyler have taken an indefinite leave of absence from their respective jobs (Sophie is a school teacher and Tyler works in construction) since Emma’s hospitalization. I know we’d all like to lessen the burden that was thrust upon this family by minimizing financial stresses in order that they may focus their energies on little baby Emma. Donations, in any amount, can be made at the Crew Family blog by clicking on the Donate button. I hope you will contribute out of a desire, rather than an obligation, to help.

If you’re a blogger, have a Facebook, Twitter or any other social media account, please feel free to post this wherever compassionate eyes may read it.

Thanking you in advance,

Todd (AKA Steely Dad)

This past week was a busy, but fun, one for the Steely Family. We went to the local carnival (for three days) and to keep the good times a-rollin’ we also threw in a Disney On Ice show for good measure. I realize this might give the false impression that being a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) is all fun and games, but really, being a stay-at-home dad can be tough work. No, really, it can be.  However, to be perfectly honest, when Steely Wife joins us, as she did for these events, I feel more like an unemployed dad than a SAHD.

I was struck with the most intense wave of nostalgia at the carnival. It seemed to me that all of the sparkly-cars-go-in-a-circle rides as well as the spinning-until-you-puke rides that I took my son on were the EXACT same rides that I rode when I was his age. No, I don’t mean similar; I mean the exact SAME! In fact, all of the toothless operators possessed an odd quality of reminiscence about them as well. I was my son’s age, eh hem, more than 30 years ago but could it be that these are, in fact, the same people and the same rides? I thought, perhaps, that dental photographs could corroborate my hypothesis but for some reason the “gentleman” operating the bumper cars took exception when I tried to photograph a close-up of his chompers. These carnival people can be quite testy.

Disney On Ice was, in a word, amazing. This was my second Disney show and it has yet to disappoint. Seriously, if you have not been, you should go. Your kids will think you’re a hero and you’ll find yourself cheering on all the famous characters who are doing stunts like back flips on ice skates and in full costume. The best part? As far as I could see, all of the performers had complete sets of teeth.

Since I’ve regaled you with my stories and rants for all these months, I thought it would be a fun experiment to turn over the Steely Dad Nation to the rightful heir, Steely Son, for his take on the carnival, the Disney On Ice show and anything else that pops into his head.

Here’s the exclusive interview:

Steely Dad: Thank you for agreeing to this interview.
Steely Son: OK
Steely Dad: So, did you like the carnival?
Steely Son: (In robot cadence) Yes-I-did-like-the-carnival.
Steely Dad:  What did you like most about the carnival?
Steely Son: Ummm, the Ferris wheel.
Steely Dad: Why?
Steely Son: Because, um (dramatic pause – unintelligible response).
Steely Dad: What?
Steely Son: (Sounding frustrated) BECAUSE, IT WENT UP AND DOWN!
Steely Dad: OK, chill dude. What other things did you like at the carnival?
Steely Son: Um, um, the MOTORCYCLES!
Steely Dad: Sweet. Anything else?
Steely Son: Um, eh, YEA! I liked the airplanes too!
Steely Dad: Nice. Anything else you want to tell us about the carnival?
Steely Son: Yea, the scary ghost ride!
Steely Dad: That wasn’t that scary.
Steely Son: Yea, it was! (Laughing)
Steely Dad: What was so scary about it?
Steely Son: Because the skeletons were popping out!
Steely Dad: Was Daddy scared?
Steely Son: Yes!
Steely Dad: No I wasn’t!
Steely Son: Yea, you were! Did you like it?
Steely Dad: Hey, I’m conducting the interview here.
Steely Son: No, I’m comucting the interview here.
Steely Dad: OK, moving on. How did you like the Disney On Ice show?
Steely Son: Good!
Steely Dad: What was your favorite part?
Steely Son: I don’t know.
Steely Dad: You did go to the show, right?
Steely Son: Yes.
Steely Dad: Then can’t you tell me your favorite part?
Steely Son: No.
Steely Dad: Why not?
Steely Son: Fine. Finding Nemo was my favorite.
Steely Dad: Hold on. I can’t type that fast.
Steely Son: FIIIINNNNDDDDING NEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOO.
Steely Dad: What else?
Steely Son: Nothing. I just liked Nemo.
Steely Dad: (Laughing)
Steely Son: What, Daddy, what?!?!
Steely Dad: OK, let’s be professional here.
Steely Son: What’s promessional here? Oy vey!
Steely Dad: So you didn’t like anything else about Disney? Come on. There must have been something else you liked.
Steely Son:  I just liked Finding Nemo.
Steely Dad: You didn’t like anything else?
Steely Son: NOTHING. I liked NOTHING else (waving his hands back and forth like an umpire signalling “Safe!”)
Steely Dad: You didn’t like Goofy?
Steely Son: Yes. I liked Goofy and Mickey Mouse.
Steely Dad: (Typing as fast as he can.)
Steely Son: Did you get that Daddy? I also liked Mickey Mouse.
Steely Dad: Hold on!
Steely Son: Daddy, what are you doing?
Steely Dad: Typing.
Steely Son: Oh, and I also liked the pirates.
Steely Dad: What pirates?
Steely Son: The Pirates ON THE Caribbean.
Steely Dad: When were those in the show?
Steely Son: When in the show? Huh? When in the show?
Steely Dad:  The pirates? When were they in the show? I don’t recall pirates.
Steely Son: Do you like them?
Steely Dad: Sure I do but I don’t remember them in the Disney On Ice show.
Steely Son: I remember.
Steely Dad: When?
Steely Son: Or maybe not.
Steely Dad: OK, final question.
Steely Son: Which final quesiton? What’s a final question?
Steely Dad: This final question. It’s the last question. OK here goes: who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy?
Steely Son: Goofy
Steely Dad: He doesn’t count. So who do you love more? Mommy or Daddy?
Steely Son: Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!!!
Steely Dad: OK, that concludes our interview.
Steely Son: (Big smile) OK!

Being that my son was expected to enter preschool this fall, my wife and I had to make the big decision as to which school would be his first.  So which school did we end up enrolling him in? It’s a fantastic facility called the “Steely Dad Homeschool.”

Confused?

We have decided to homeschool our kids. It was by no means a decision we arrived at easily as we researched extensively, having attended both homeschooling seminars and preschool open houses. We weighed pros and cons. Both options have their benefits and shortcomings, to be sure, but in the end, and for a variety of reasons, homeschooling made sense…to us.

Was that the sound of the sky falling?

Just so you don’t attempt to reconcile this non sequitur by relying on the vast and fruitful tapestry of homeschooling stereotypes, here are some facts to consider: my wife and I are not “bible thumpers” (in fact, being Jewish, we’re not Torah thumpers either); my wife does not wear a really long skirt and she’s not always pregnant; I don’t wear a wide-brimmed black hat or suspenders; we’re both world travelers and university-educated; we don’t have a litter of kids and the ones we do have don’t go around in bare feet; we don’t live on a farm; and we both went to public schools (my wife having the distinct privilege of attending the very same “amazing” schools we’ve decided to forgo).

I’ve discussed homeschooling since the topic of preschool started cropping up with other parents and, most frequently, in the Den of Yentas. (As new readers to my ModernMom blog, you have not yet had the opportunity to become acquainted with my favorite group of free-speaking moms. If you’d like to get a better understanding of the Den of Yentas, you can read this post.

The moment I first walked into the Den, the yentas were hammering me about which preschool I planned to enroll my kids. When I answered honestly (and in retrospect, mistakenly) that I was considering homeschooling, it literally launched a local war. Since revealing my dirty little secret, I’ve been yelled at, criticized and ridiculed. I became a pariah of the community. This vitriolic response continues to this day.

Why is it that parents who don’t homeschool get so off-the-chart offended when you tell them that you homeschool? Better yet, why do they believe they know what’s best for your kids as well as feel compelled and entitled to share with you that fact?

Oh, I failed to mention the supreme irony in all of this: oddly enough, most of these critics of my school choice would be staunchly supportive of me if I were a woman exercising a choice of a different matter entirely. You see, I live in a community that touts itself as very “liberal,” open-minded and accepting of different people and opinions. This privilege of acceptance, however, seems to extend exclusively to those who never leave the reservation. So long as you do everything that everyone else is doing, then you’re granted safe passage.

But get out of line and, well, you get the picture.

Let me share with you some of the more “educated” criticisms I’ve heard:

Yenta #1: (Sarcastic tone) Why would you home school for preschool when all they’re doing is playing?

Steely Dad: Why would you pay $1,200 a month if they’re only playing? Can’t you play at a park for free?

Yenta #2: Your kids are too smart and show too much promise. We’re not going to let you ruin them. (The Den erupted into laughter.)

Steely Dad: (I just shook my head incredulously that supposedly “educated” people could be so stupid.)

Yenta #3: Don’t you want your kids to be socialized?

Steely Dad: Of course. It’s just that I believe my kids deserve to be socialized by people who are actually socialized. Ever read Lord of the Flies?

Yenta #4: That’s stupid.

Steely Dad: Any chance you were traditionally educated? Because, seriously, you’re exceptionally articulate.

Yenta #4: (Expletives!)

Yenta #1: I could understand homeschooling if the schools here sucked but these are some of the best schools ANYWHERE! People move to this area and pay the insultingly-high taxes
just for the schools.

Steely Dad: Why are these schools so great?

Yenta #1: They have some of the highest test scores in the nation.

Steely Dad: And high test scores are a sign of a good education? Ever wonder why the test scores are so high?

Yenta #1: Huh?

Steely Dad: Never mind. If there are no further questions…

Do I labor under the illusion that homeschooling will be easy? No. But rarely in my life have I found the easy road to be the right road. All I can tell you is that we feel homeschooling is best for our kids at this particular stage in their lives. As we embark on this very exciting adventure, we will continue to monitor and evaluate and if we should decide that we need to change directions, it will be our choice to make.

So, to those parents who choose not to homeschool and think anyone who does is a moron: look, I homeschool; you don’t. However, unlike you, I could care less how you decide to educate your kids for I respect your right to choose. Why do you care how I decide to educate my kids? I realize your concern comes from a place of altruism, that you truly care about the welfare of my kids, apparently more so than I do, but please, don’t worry. We’re going to be just fine.

 

 

Although I’ve been writing my own blog for about six months now, this is my very first post for ModernMom. I’m very honored and privileged to have the opportunity to write for MM and hope you will read my posts on a regular basis. Feel free to leave comments and feedback as that’s how great discussions take place.

If you’ve ever visited my blog, a place I affectionately call the Steely Dad Nation (www.steelydad.com), you know that I’ve written many stories on my personal experiences as a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) but for whatever reason I’ve never actually explained why I decided to become a full-time SAHD. Since this is my first post with MM, I felt it appropriate to provide a bit of background so you can get to know me better. I promise not to always write “serious” stuff in future posts. Even a cursory look at my site will reveal that I’m not a serious kind of guy.

SAHDs are becoming a force with which to be reckoned. No, we’re not as ubiquitous as our stay-at-home mom (SAHM) counterparts but nonetheless we are growing and expanding (and not just with regard to our waist line). We have blogs and support groups, and yes, we even have our own conventions. The lobby that represents us is in the making and it won’t be long before we have our own talk-show. Watch out, Oprah!

Dudes become SAHDs for a variety of reasons. Some become SAHDs as a result of circumstances (perhaps they lost their job) or because they realize that going to work just to pay for daycare doesn’t make financial sense. Others, and I put myself in this category, make a conscious decision to become SAHDs for no other reason than they wish to have a closer relationship with their children. For me, I wanted to be an integral part of raising my kids.

Being a SAHD doesn’t make me a better dad than the guy who works 60 hours a week in order to provide for his children nor does it make me any less of a dad; it only indicates that our priorities are different. Although my early ideal of what it meant to be a good dad was more consistent with the “traditional” role of financial provider, that philosophy experienced a seismic shift. In order to understand my desire to be a SAHD one must understand my background.

When I was younger, I always envisioned myself as the next Trump. I’m sure most of my classmates and early friends would be surprised to find out that I’m not the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and downright shocked to find out I’m a SAHD. To be sure, I was on that professional path but after 9/11, I traded in the suit and tie for frayed jeans and a smock. With my then-girlfriend-now-wife, we opened a ceramics studio and taught kids how to make cool stuff out of clay.

That was the beginning of my transformation.

My childhood is a convoluted story that perhaps I’ll share someday but for now understand that my parents separated when I was eight and divorced when I was 12 years old. After remarrying, my mother moved to the East Coast and I lived with a father who was neglectful and essentially absent. He cared about his girlfriend and her kids more than he did his own son. I grew up with very little parental guidance and this painful experience perhaps jaded me as I never envisioned myself a daddy. “Why would I want to put a kid through something like this,” I always asked myself. It was a question whose answer was not conducive to fatherhood.

More than anything, I had an unabated fear that, should I become a dad, I would turn out to be the same type of dad as my father. You know the old saying, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. These powerful demons often haunted me and challenged my paternal instincts. I resolved that I’d rather not be a dad at all than be that kind of dad. I just wasn’t confident that I had what it took to be a good dad, to be selfless, supportive, understanding, unconditionally loving, strong and sensitive. Unfortunately, fatherhood is not a toe-dipping experience: you have to jump in with both feet and I wasn’t sure I was ready to take that leap of faith.

Through therapy and the support of a loving wife and wonderful in-laws, I was able to take control of my fears by acknowledging and accepting my childhood, adolescent and young adult experiences. I began to realize that my unchartered path of fatherhood stood ready for ME to blaze, that the biological influence was only as great as I allowed it to be.

So when my son was born, I wanted to be the absolute best daddy that I could be. It had been a mantra of mine that, should I become a dad, I would want to provide for my kids everything I didn’t have. Early on this meant a big house, fancy cars, new clothes, ski trips, motorcycles, all the things that my friends had growing up. I think most dads feel similarly. However, those “things” I wanted to provide took on a different hue. No longer was I committed to providing material possessions for my kids. It seemed to me I had little control over how much stuff I could provide my kids (a capricious boss could simply decide to fire me one day or the economy could tank, for example) but I did have control over how much support, love, affection, time and stability I provided my kids. I felt that I brought him (and subsequently my daughter) into the world and therefore I had an obligation to guide them through it to the best of my ability. For me, that meant being a SAHD.

So, there you have it, my story of becoming a SAHD. You probably assume I think I’m the best dad in the world, that I’m something special because I’m a SAHD. Far from it. But if my kids think so then that’s all that truly matters.