50,000 children in Canada will feel the pain of separation and divorce this year.
That's 50,000 children whose relationships to their mothers and fathers will change dramatically.
That's 50,000 children, perhaps 25,000 boys approximately, who will likely lose intimate contact with the primary male figure in their lives. For some of those boys the loss will be a blessing, yet for most it will be a curse.
I'm a big supporter of the Collaborative divorce process where both parties agree to waive their right to litigate to serve the higher purpose of creating a plan for the couple and the family which builds connection. Everyone wins in the Collaborative process and their are no sore losers. The roadmap created serves the best interests on everyone and all parties are supported through the logistics and the emotions of separation and divorce.
One of the more interesting emails I received was from Paul Clement, who sent along a poem entitled What Is A Dad, - with Paul's permission I'm publishing it here for all to enjoy and reflect.
WHAT IS A DAD?
By PAUL M. CLEMENTS
A Dad is the guy who held your mother’s hand, comforted and encouraged her, at the moment of your birth. Dad is the guy who cried with joy at the sound of YOUR first cry.
A Dad is a guy who nourishes your soul with a lullaby after mother nourishes your body with her milk.
A Dad is the guy who awakens at first sound of a frightened cry, to stroke your cheek and let you know it was only a bad dream.
A Dad is the guy who holds your hand and urges you to stand alone. He's the guy who picks you up when you fall, and urges you to try again.
A Dad is a guy who growls, and roars, and chases you around the house on his hands and knees like a lion, then tickles your tummy and tosses you up in the air, to catch you safely again in his strong arms.
A Dad is a guy who fixes your broken toys, puts your tricycle together, and teaches you how to build “Tinker Toys”.
A Dad is a guy who puts you to sleep with a bed time story and a good night kiss. He may get tired of reading the same story each night for a month, but he never gets tired of kissing you.
A Dad teaches you to throw a ball, and pretends it hurts his hand. He sings silly songs, and laughs at the ones you make up.
A Dad takes a second job so you can have your teeth straightened, take dance lessons, have a computer of your own to study on.
A Dad buys you a two-wheeled bike and teaches you to ride. He steadies you with a hand on the back of the seat, until he can see that you are ready to solo. Even then, he lies about holding on, until you gain the confidence you need. When you climb a tree, and your Mom is telling you to be careful and hold on tight, Dad is the guy who urges you to reach a little further and climb a little higher.
Dad is the guy who gives up his golf game to attend your Little League game, or your dance recital.
Dad is the guy who lets you borrow his tools, who teaches you to hammer a nail, saw a board, or make lines on the basement floor with a chalk line. He’s the guy who teaches you about cars, and lets you steer from the safety of his lap, while he secretly holds the wheel and rides the brake.
Dad is the guy who helps you with your arithmetic homework, and allows you to make a mess with science experiments. He the guy you turn to explain why rain falls and heat rises.
Dad is the guy who teaches you to stand up for your rights, to play fair, and to protect the weaker kids from the school bully. His relationship with your Mom teaches you how to relate to women, or conversely, how to relate to men.
Dad is the guy who takes you to the cemetery on Memorial Day, so you can trace the roots of your heritage, and learn that you are part of an extended family. He's the guy who explains death in practical, non-frightening terms, and teaches you that life must go on.
Dad is the guy who takes you to a science museum, or a museum of natural history, and explains all the exhibits to you.
Dad is the guy who teaches you love, selflessness, and service to others, by running to the corner store to fetch your mothers favorite flavor ice cream.
Dad is the guy who teaches you manly responsibility by rising at four AM to shovel snow off the driveway before going to work. He also teaches you stoicism by making light of how cold and red his hands are, or how much his muscles ache from all the shoveling.
Dad is the guy who acts as inquisitor to everyone his children might date, and who pretends to have fallen asleep watching TV to disguise the fact that he nervously waited up for you to return from a date.
Dad is the guy who teaches you to drive, even though he knows he will see you much less often after you get your license. He’s the guy who says, “Don’t wreck the car”, but means “don’t let yourself get hurt.”
Dad is the guy who drives you to college, or to the airport, and never sheds a tear. With manly reserve, he says goodbye with a handshake, maybe a hug; reserving his tears for the lonely ride home.
Dad is the guy who can speak eloquently on any subject, until it’s time to give his daughter away in marriage. Then, he finds that the simple answer to “Who Gives This Woman To Be Wed?” is the most difficult speech of his life.
Dad is the guy who buys a box of cigars for his son to give away when his first grandchild is born. Dad is the guy who plasters his lathe, his locker, his desk, or the cab of his truck with pictures of his grandchildren. Dad is the guy who disappears into the background, as soon as “Grand Dad” appears. But then...
Dad is the guy who is resurrected whenever the new parents need advice, a loan, or a favor of some sort. And Dad is the guy who gives it all willingly because he’s a Dad, and that’s what Dads do.
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