How Becoming a Father Made Me Proud to Be a Man

There’s an episode of the kids’ show “Bluey” that felt like a knife in the gut. 

In “The Pool,” anthropomorphic dog Bandit brings his kids to swim, but leaves behind all the “boring” things — snacks, sunscreen, goggles, sandals — that their mom would’ve usually packed. At first, his daughters celebrate him as the fun parent, able to go to the pool without all the prep and waiting and planning that their mom would do. But their day quickly unravels without the planning and supplies he’d deemed a hindrance. Fuck, I thought halfway through the episode, watching this animated dog flounder as his children laid bare his carefree fun as a lack of parental executive function. That’s me. 

In the episode, the kids are miserable, screaming for their snacks and restricted to the rapidly shrinking shady area of the pool until their mom shows up with the bag of supplies. The equivalent has happened to me more times than I’d like to admit, my wife coming to the rescue and making the fun parts possible. 

But how did I get here, thinking of myself as a hero but actually acting like a useless bro?

I’ve considered myself to the left of progressive since at least middle school. It was easy to reject the aggressive cult of masculinity I’d been sold — one that limits what you can enjoy to certain activities and interests, justifies military conquest, reduces you to a select few emotions, and that’s defined in opposition to femininity and rooted, I think, in a hatred of women. 

Before having kids, it felt simple to point over there — at a society that refuses to prosecute anyone in the Epstein files, rife with the jackboots of fascism ranting about “high value” men and losers afraid to drink a cocktail out of certain glassware — and say here’s the problem, and I’m against it.

The truth, as always, is something more complex—and oddly, something it took a “Bluey” episode to make me realize. Outwardly bucking traditional masculinity didn’t stop me from falling back on it, siloing my wife and me into the kind of gendered roles that I promised myself I wouldn’t. And now, thanks to that anthropomorphic dog (but mainly thanks to my wife and my kids) I’m making a change that the non-parent, masculinity-rejecting previous version of me couldn’t have imagined: I’m manning up. 

Having kids, I knew my wife and I would grapple with gender. It started immediately with deciding what color I’d paint the nursery and influenced the books we bought about trailblazing women even before my daughter was born. We discussed how to protect her from a culture we knew would so often tear down her self-worth and threaten her safety. (The irony of writing those words for Playboy is not lost on me.) I started watching more women’s sports and mused about someday enrolling her in taekwondo. Three years later with my son on the way, we quickly turned to discussing how to raise a good man — one that wouldn’t seek to control or demean.

At the same time, having two kids blew up everything about our practical approach to parenting. The patterns we’d settled into — like who did the kids’ laundry and who took out the trash, who took care of household repairs and who strategized the grocery list — were immediately rendered untenable. The recurring, daily tasks and mental Jenga of planning doubled. The traditionally masculine responsibilities like pressure washing I’d gravitated to did not.

I told myself that I was in the trenches changing just as many diapers, cooking most meals, spending just as much time with the kids. I went to doctor’s appointments, read parenting books, loaded the dishwasher, and took the lead on getting the kids down to sleep. Older relatives and strangers alike remarked on my involvement, which easily outpaced dads of previous generations.

And yet I’d let so many things fall to my wife, often unable to even see everything that went into keeping our household humming. I’d grabbed a bunch of highly visible tasks of parenthood and — as my wife rightly pointed out once mid-argument — I assumed in the absence of being told specific additional responsibilities to own, that my checklist was done. Hers never seemed to be.

It hasn’t been easy for me to admit that what I’m doing — which as a working dad of two already feels like a herculean amount — isn’t enough. But the confluence of our gendered parenting dynamic and the arrival of our son last year made me realize that my ideas of what it means to be a “good man” need more internal reflection than I’d anticipated.

I need a clearer vision of healthy masculinity to work toward for myself, and to model for my kids.

To me, healthy masculinity looks like working to control your own emotions instead of other people. It means being safe, trustworthy, and vulnerable. It looks like measuring strength not in how much you can deadlift (though that’s fine too) but in your ability to be honest, accountable, and be committed to growth.

And so, I’m embarking on the process of manning up — of being the kind of guy who actually lifts his weight, not just in the visible ways. 

Instead of performing a hollow toughness for other men, I’ve sought out friendships with local dads who are on the same journey. Instead of ascribing to a headstrong, go-it-alone individualist mentality, I found a therapist. Where before I patted myself on the back for having no interest in manosphere dipshits, I now fill the void with thoughtful dad influencers like Alex Trippier and Dad Equals.  

I’m trying to be less defensive and honest about my room for growth with my wife. I’m trying to model a more expansive definition of masculinity, one that includes space for my daughter to draw on my face with her makeup set and that shows my son that crying is normal. I am trying to build a different, better world for my kids, and that starts right here in our home.

Fatherhood is full of contradictions. Sometimes you pray for your kids to fall asleep, and then immediately rewatch videos on your phone of the cutest things they did that day. It has exposed my shortcomings, and it’s also made me more patient, empathetic, and unselfish. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and by far the most joyful, affirming, purposeful, and fulfilling. 

I always wanted to be the best possible version of myself, but becoming a parent made that task more urgent. It drove me to finally listen to my dental hygienist and buy an electric toothbrush and to become the person who knows the chia seeds are hidden in the produce section at my grocery store. When a tiny human is watching your every move and catching every inflection in your voice, you feel the gravity.

What a privilege that is.