T-M-I from T-I-M

Dear Evan Hansen Trailer & my 2019 Experience Seeing it Live

I just watched the phenomenal trailer for the Dear Evan Hansen movie and it's ALL the feels.  I have great hope for the movie.  

It reminded me of the experience seeing the play in 2019 that I've never posted on my blog that I thought I'd share.

I went to see Dear Evan Hansen the other night in NYC and I didn’t know what it was about but saw it got a bunch of awards. I figured out why I saw it.

The topics covered included:

Teen suicide

How families shape and reshape as they deal with suicide

Longing for connection creating a fake life

Feeling like you are alone

A young teenage daughter trying to find her way named.....Zoe

Social media and it’s seductive destructive reality

Teenager trying to make sense of a broken marriage

Really unhealthy family dynamics and dishonesty around it

The challenges of raising a teenager

The “everything is ok” when it’s not mentality

And a number of other topics set to mostly soulful sometimes fun music (so strange!).

The seats at the theater are designed like torture chambers for 6 foot 3 inch folks of generous proportions like me.

As the show was about to start this Indian dude who was about as tall as I am but weighed like 110 pounds (but healthy) sat next to me. He seemingly could fold himself like a deck chair next to me so he gave me some room.

In act 1 I of course cried early on and soon after I was crying he was. It was like we gave each other approval to really feel it.

As Act 2 started it got even more emotional. I was seeing so many dynamics in my life play out in front of me with the pain and confusion on stage.

As the tears flowed the thought occurred to me I had thrown my napkins away from Act 1. No more than like 30 seconds later his hand canoe into view on front of me to offer me a paper towel he had gotten at the break.

I was so grateful. I felt connected to this man. I blew my nose loudly and kept crying feeling more free now that I had the paper towel. He kept crying too.

When the lights came on there was this shared energy between us. I swear I wanted to just hug him with all my soul and share each other’s story each other’s pain.

But I couldn’t...I didn’t. All I could mutter was thank you for the paper towel and he looked at me with bright understanding eyes and just said you’re welcome.

That was it the interaction ended but the experience hasn’t. I’ll never see him again but I’ll never forget him.

From the comfort of feel to the chaos of feelings

The power of the letter “s”

 

I was thinking this morning how a simple word with a few augmentations goes from acceptable to “oh my GAWD’s”-ville quite quickly.

 

Consider the word feel.

 

It’s widely acceptable.

 

I’ve got a feel for the game…this job….the situation…etc.

 

You feel me???

 

Now add the suffix “ing” and somehow it gets a little more tenuous but we can still roll with it.

 

I’ve got a feeling this is going to be tricky…the game is in doubt….(or even) that tonight’s going to be a good night!!!

 

Feeling….yeah it’s ok.

 

Oh but add the “s” a the end and things start to churn.

 

Feelings????

 

OH…MY…..GAWD!!!!!!

 

Suddenly so many of us act as if we are in episode of The Walking Dead but it’s not zombies chasing us, it’s feelings.

 

Those emotions want to eat our brains, our logic whatever guides us to ordinary often linear thinking.

 

I’ve been putting a lot of attention to the reality that the preponderance of men I speak to grew up thinking that as men we were supposed to hide our feelings.

 

There’s no crying in baseball. Work is not the place for feelings. Real men don’t cry.

 

It’s mostly garbage.

 

And guess what? Because we buy into blocking feelings many of the women we love and daughters we raise adjust to that reality.

 

And EVERYBODY pays for it.

 

My personal experience is I’m more (not less) of a man when I step into the awkward and often confusing world of feelings.

 

My suggestion today?

 

Welcome the “ing” and embrace the “s”.

 

Feelings aren’t zombies, but stuffing them gives us an undead life.

The Father Daughter Dance podcast is launched!

IT'S HERE!!!!

Today The Father Daughter Dance podcast launched with 3 episodes of 3 awesome Dads Chris Yeh, Martin Oji and Spencer DeWoody

A few items:

THE LINKS:

Apple: Apple pod here!

Spotify: Spotify pod here!

FREE MONEY!!!:

That’s right, in each of the podcast I’m giving away 5 $10 gift certificates of your choice if you email or message me the “not so secret phrase”.

Email: thefatherdaughterdancepod@gmail.com

I’m also going to match every gift card at the end of the season and donate to an organization that supports Dads and Daughters.

THE POD:

It starts with a brief intro and I talk for a few minutes about a related subject. One of the stories you’ll certainly recognize.

The rest of it is devoted to the Dads talking about their daughters.

THE DADS:

Chris, Martin and Spencer all have slightly different stories and revealing takes on bringing up their daughters shown in the incredible pics below.

THE TRUTH:

I’m nervous about all this. I’m going to learn and get better. I have reasonable expectations about reach and strong hopes about impact for those I do reach.

I’m sure I’ll make some mistakes and that’s all part of it.

Please subscribe and rate.

Ideas on Dads you might know are welcome. Feedback encouraged but not always followed!

The first time this Dad bought Feminine Care Products for his daughter

I was reminiscing in the grocery store on the first time I bought my daughter feminine care products and thought I'd share the story.

Enjoy:

The idea of being the perfect Dad is exactly what holds me back from being the best Dad I can be. Showing up as the flawed and full-hearted man I want to be reminds me of a story.

I remember the very first time I went to the store buy my daughter pads many years ago.

As a starter, I did not know the difference between pads and tampons.

If I unknowingly rolled into the aisle that carries all of the products that I did a hairpin 180 back around with all the urgency of how I used to change the radio channel from a gospel or Spanish speaking radio station back in the day.

I didn't belong there.

I shopped for every item I might have needed before going to the aisle with feminine care products.

I checked every avocado twice, bought an extra lavender candle or two looking at things I’d NEVER buy even (hmmm, should I try the beef flavor ramen?).

The moment arrived.

It was almost as if my cart wasn’t willing to make that turn. But really, it was me. I was scared, I had no idea what I was doing. But I knew my daughter had her first period and I know I’m a single dad of a daughter.

I know my daughter was going to spending time at my home and when she’s on her period, she needs to have the right supplies at my house, and I refuse to make her bring it over.

And yet I’m a Dad who grew up with 4 brothers and I only knew pads as someone’s place. Growing up I thought Tampon was a city in Florida.

I breathed deep and turned my cart into the aisle.

Everything was neatly stacked. Lots of colors and solutions for different types of issues that I had no clue what they were.

I had hoped that when I turned into the aisle they would be organized like cards at hallmark.

When I shop for a birthday card, graduation gift, sympathy card, etc. it’s a snap. Everything is clearly and easily categorized.

There was not a clear section called “These are the things that a Dad who has never done this before should buy for his teenage daughter.”

Unfortunately, in this case its all the colors of the rainbow stacked up past eye level. There’s extra strength, super absorbent, very active, etc.

As I stood there with the bright lights from the grocery store with my cart stuffed with fruit roll up’s, dino chicken bites and pop tarts (for me) and vegetables and fruit (for her) I suddenly could hear every sound in the grocery store.

The song Muskrat Love was playing overhead.

My wobbly cart front wheel banged like a jackhammer as I nervously bobbed through the aisle.

Before I knew it was outside of the aisle, with nothing new in my cart. I steeled myself because I was NOT going to let this happen. I love my daughter and I’m going to do this.

I said a silent prayer and turned on my heels and thought to myself “YOU’VE GOT THIS!” as the song “What a Feeling” from Flashdance played, so perfect.

I have GOT this. I rolled back into the aisle ready for round two.

This time I slowed down and picked up a few packages. They felt tight and soft at the same time.

How is that?

Ok I think she said orange ones. But there’s multiple orange ones.

Wait did she say tampon or pad?

I looked around, there was one that was called “Always”. Ok, so does that mean there’s such a thing as “Sometimes” in this unfamiliar world.

But there were many versions of Always from the same company, which confused me wouldn’t that by definition mean that Always works sometimes?

There were pictures of women leaping seemingly tall buildings. Then there were ones with sports pictures on it. Then there were big bulky packages too.

As the sweat started to bead down my forehead I felt myself almost ready to give up.

At that moment, a kindly older woman rolled into my aisle. I looked at her in a way almost as if I was a teller being held up and a cop happens to walk in and I tried to silently signal her that I needed help.

She rolled her cart over to me and I sheepishly just asked her. “What do I buy for my daughter who just had her first period?”

There was an ever so slight moment of sweetness between us where she knew I was trying. Followed by a series of questions nearly all answered by “I don’t know”.

Each slightly more demoralizing than the last.

I was too scared to text my beautiful daughter and ask her what she wanted. I can’t explain why I felt that way I just know that I did.

I had made a commitment to her then and still do now that there is no subject matter that she can’t talk about with me. I can’t guarantee her that I’ll know what she’s talking about or even what to say but that she can bring it to me.

I honestly was so confounded that I wanted to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible because I was so lost.

And if I’m being truthful, I would have looked this wonderful woman in the eyes and just said to her “Hold me”.

She left me on my own again with unheeded advice and I felt as if I would ultimately become Jack Nicholson in the Shining at the end lost in the maze frozen to death.

She gave me useful feedback that would help someone who had a reasonable idea of anything. Unfortunately, it was the equivalent of trying to explain the concept of well-played pick and roll basketball to a basset hound.

And I panicked.

I started putting things in my cart like I was on one of those shopping spree shows. I just put products in with the hope that one would hit.

I rolled up to the cashier and emptied my cart. I wasn’t ashamed of the products themselves, it just didn’t bother me.

What bothered me was my complete ineptitude and confusion. The YEARS I spent never having to worry about this. Or put more accurately the years I spent in relationships shopping and never considering buying the products that the HOUSEHOLD needed not just me.

When she came over I sifted through the stuff and put it all out to evaluate. I didn’t know how to properly present it to my daughter. I was somehow equally ashamed of my likely 1 for 10 performance as I was PROUD that I had tried.

I do recall vaguely my daughter’s equal confusion and legit pride that I had tried. Years later, I repeatedly tell her today that I’ll happily shop for whatever she needs it’s not uncommon that she just grabs the reins and gets it done.

Today I roll through that aisle when necessary like a freakin’ boss. I’m like Neo at the end of the Matrix, totally in control.

The feminine care aisle just is not so scary anymore.

And admittedly, whenever I roll by I look for a wide-eyed Dad to roll to and tell him “It’s going to be ok, we’ll get through this”.

The time hasn’t come yet, but when I’m called, I’ll be ready. I’ve earned it.

Sgt. Tim McCarthy, a treasure of Notre Dame Football

I grew up in South Bend, Indiana and a huge part of my life was going to Notre Dame football games with my family and friends.  At these home games, big or small, winning or getting crushed, I fondly remember a particular part of the game.

Late in the game, a man named Sgt. Tim McCarthy would come over the loudspeaker and say:

““May I have your attention please? This is Tim McCarthy with the Indiana State Police.”

As a young child I remember the loud, overwhelming roar of the old Notre Dame football stadium.  The collective passion for the team and, usually, good natured dislike of the opponent (except maybe USC?) would either rise us to heights or drop us to depths.

The sadness or joy was always accompanied by a Spinal Tap type “loud” experience.

And then a moment would draw near when Sgt. McCarthy was meant to come on.  Those of us who came to games somewhat regularly, could feel it coming in spite of the noise.

And the MOMENT this man would announce himself, the ENTIRE stadium would go silent.  Somehow even the visitors understood it or were gently encouraged to listen in.  ALL of our attention turned to him.

Sgt. McCarthy would then go on to tell about a 45 second story encouraging safety around driving and often drinking (well before drinking and driving was a thing to point out).  Although that wasn’t the reason everyone was silent.

He regularly ended the announcement with a cheesy joke.  Including gems such as:

“Remember, the reason we hammer about safety is to keep you from getting nailed!”

“The automobile replaced the horse, but the driver should stay on the wagon!”

And the silence was replaced by audible laughter from probably 50% of the crowd. 

I recall the number of times my Dad would explain the joke to me.  I honestly don’t recall if he used some of the same lines every time and it actually didn’t matter. 

It was like he was the first stand-up comic I ever heard perform.  It was a sweet, connective, fun moment.

I’m convinced that an adult talking about safety was a big part of how I found security when I was so young and couldn’t always feel safe.  It was clarity.

Now I spent most of my younger years at Notre Dame football games sitting in Row 60-ish.  I generally went to the Armed Services games or the other blowouts and every game felt special.  Into my teenage years I ended up going to almost all of them.

And Sgt. McCarthy would come on and make a joke no matter the size, scope, score of the game. 

I took my daughter to the ND/Georgia game a couple years ago compliments of my dear friend Mike, the whole experience was magical.

And the moment came for him to make the announcement.  The stadium has changed, modernized and is beautiful, but different.  I had actually forgotten about that moment.

And instead of Sgt. McCarthy, I heard Muffet McGraw make the announcement.  Now I think the world of her, she was an incredible coach. 

And I felt robbed.  I don’t even know if he had relinquished the role or not at that point, but I really wanted my daughter to hear it.

Alas, that didn’t’ happen.

Sgt. McCarthy was a humble guy who was amazed at his popularity and the announcement’s. 

Now nobody else will hear him again.  Yet there is a group of my dearest, longest term friends who can still feel and hear his voice.

We can still remember the near reverent stadium wide silence. 

We can access the feeling of enjoying his silly jokes.

To me it feels innocent, it feels safe.  It felt real.  

I hope that somehow I can take what he so freely gave us and remember to bring that to people in my life today.

Article on Sgt. Tim McCarthy

Dear God...a letter about taking my daughter to school Year 2

Dear God,

Thank you for the experience of taking my daughter up to school yesterday. 

Thank you for having her DJ in the car because even though I didn’t know most of the music, the conversation with no headphones was magical.

Thank you for the patience to know when to be quiet beyond when I normally would and when to ask questions.

Thank you for the humility to know when she’s teaching me.

Thank you for the laughter about the dumb things we always laugh about.

Thank you for the bagel shop that we ate bagels in front of so I could get the feel of what will be a big part of her life now.

Thank you for the experience of walking up and down the stairs with her stuff to fill her bedroom.

Thank you for the experience of sitting in her own room, which she’s never had, so I could breathe in the place where she will find solitude, rest and most likely some version of you God. 

Thank you for the willingness to put some of her furniture together in spite of my proven career of ineptitude with such things.

Thank you for keeping us safe as we drove home.

Thank you for a daughter who repeatedly told me how grateful she was for my help, even though I wasn’t perfect.

Thank you for helping me see and celebrate where I did things right.

Thank you for the calm to be gentle on myself where I did things wrong.

Thank you for the long, heartfelt hug that we shared when I dropped her off. 

Thank you for the incredible young woman who I held in my arms as it’s becoming so clear that she is maturing into an adult.

Thank you for the free-flowing tears this morning as I miss my little girl.

Thank you God.

Love, Tim

My heart is STILL in San Francisco

I have been reading so much about how there's a flight from SF and the state of our city that I thought I'd share a few things.

I moved here in 1991 from the Midwest. I visited the city shortly before with my family, I arrived in the morning. That afternoon I turned to my parents and told them I wanted to spend the rest of my life here.

There was an unmistakable feel I got from walking around It got to my heart to walk around and see so many different people, so many different neighborhoods, so many different "feels" in one city.

I made nothing when I moved here and make a bit more than that now. I've been in the same apartment for nearly 20 years and while we have rent control my friends from other cities gasp when I tell them the rent for my 1 bedroom.

I get that it's nearly beyond affordable for many people today and that does stink. And I could save a TON of money living elsewhere and I am clear why I pay that premium. I know I'm lucky.

When I walked this morning down by Marina Green the smoke and fog made it so I couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge. And that seemed like the perfect metaphor.

The beauty of this beloved city is always there, even when obscured by the clouds and smoke of the difficulties. I love that I can still take that walk and see 100 people over the course of it most everyone who looks different (even in the Marina!).

Whenever I see one run by I think that they are living some kind of interesting life where they face the challenges and pay the premium to open their door and walk out into SF and not a different city.

I don't much care for the outdoors beyond what I can access in the city so it doesn't appeal to me to get space. I do everything I can to support workers at Peet's, Jon at Union Garage, Valentino's Market anyone else in and out of my neighborhood.

I realize that as this goes on there will be more businesses closed and people who just can't afford it or just can't stand it and have to leave. While I can't predict the future, I do know that I'm not going to be one of them.

I still love this city. Do we have problems that seem insurmountable and divisive? Yes we do.

Yet this city still has a heart that connects to my heart. And even if there's a big commercial and residential drain, I'm absolutely convinced that we will fill back up.

The lineage of this incredible city may feel like it's disappearing.

I think if anything, at some point we will all re-connect with what makes this city so incredible. And from that point we will all find the heart that got me here and will keep me here.

The smoke and fog will clear and we will see how magnificent this all is.

Dear Dads of Daughters--Buy the Pads or Tampons

Dear Dads of Daughters,

 

If you're embarrassed to buy pads or tampons for your daughter, get over it, I did.

 

It may not be easy I get it, and it's a big win.

 

The first time I did, I was literally lost. I'm sure I looked like I had fallen into the Upside Down World from Stranger Things as I walked around.

 

I vividly recall an incredibly sweet woman who helped me figure it out.

 

She was so happy to do it, even as I asked secretly as if I was trying to sell her some hot audio equipment out of the back of a white van out front.

 

If you are comfortable doing it, you know why it's worth it. It hits my cart now with the same mentality as the ice cream or toothpaste. It's a thing to check off the list.

 

And I'm a better man because of it.

 

Love,

 

Tim

Dear Dads of Daughters--The new way to relate to our daughters and partners

Dear Dads of Daughters,

A great path for some men to learn how to get comfortable talking about and listening to feelings lies in our relationship with our daughters.

 

There's an inherent imperative for men like us to show up for our daughters in ways that are often exactly the opposite of what we believe is the way to go.

 

The truth is I completely changed the way I related to women right around the time my daughter turned 9 years old. At that age I discovered many of the ways I parented would no longer work.

 

So when she was much younger and cried she needed food or a change of diapers or a band aid, etc. She had a problem, I solved it.

That changed around 9 years old. Thank God I learned it and keep learning it.

 

I suspect there are a lot of dads of daughters out there like me who would willingly throw themselves all the way in to trying new ways to connect to their daughters as they grow up.

 

I'm also certain that when men like me find their hearts and minds open and engaged to relate to their daughters, we find ways to reflect that back to our partners we meet in intimate relationships.

 

It takes work. I see you and love you so much Dads with daughters

 

Love,

Tim

Dear Dads of Daughters--A great gift idea

Dear Dads of Daughters,

I have a really easy birthday suggestion for you. In the interest of limiting the time I walked in a haze around Forever 21, Vicki's Secret or god help us all Claire's while munching on an Auntie Anne's, consider this.

My daughter and I made a pact to each other around age 7.

Every year, for both of our birthdays, we wrote each other a letter.

It's remarkably connecting and super easy to do. The year's events are easy to recall and write about. And I guarantee there's plenty to write about how they change each year.

It also gave me an opportunity to remind her that I love, love, love her and share a bunch of other feelings. (and even if that's the ONLY feeling you share, it's worth it)

In the younger years, my daugther's notes to me were one or two pages with maybe 60-70 words. Now they are longer and magnificent.

It's NEVER too late to start this. Thank God we do it every year.

I see and love all you Dads of daughters.