You’re Still a Good Dad

Have you ever had a day in which nothing went wrong, you participated in fun activities and associated with people you love, and watched a show you’ve been waiting to release for a long time, and yet had one of the worst days ever?

Hi. Today was that day for me. 

I knew in my head that it was a good day. I knew we were having fun—and I didhave fun—and that it was a day in which I could relax and enjoy some free time with my family. Despite knowing that, I couldn’t force the fun all day. During our daytime activity with the kids—swimming—I shut down after an hour or so and had no desire to swim any longer. Before that, I was laughing and playing with my kids. Then, suddenly, the good feelings left and I was left a hollow shell. There was no warning, no indication that the darkness of depression was about to once again consume me. And so, despite knowing there was nothing to keep me from having a good time, I sat around and watched my family have fun. I told my wife I was tired (which I was), but she knew just as well as I did that it was a lame excuse. 

The morning had been fine, too. Just some routine household chores to prepare for Sunday. But I was quiet and sullen while cleaning, despite the soundtrack to The Force Awakens playing on Alexa, courtesy of my four-year-old. 

After swimming, I remained in my rut. I made a yummy dinner for us all, bathed the kids, and plopped them in front of the iPad while my wife and I watched another episode of season three of Stranger Things. I enjoyed the episode—I knew I did, somewhere deep inside the dark recesses of my mind—but I hardly felt it. 

Then my wife went shopping while I wrestled the kids into bed. Voices were raised. Tears were shed. In fact, I think I may have shed the most. I had so thoroughly had it that after I yelled at my two young boys to be quite and lay down, I instantly felt remorse. I sank down on the floor and apologized. They said it was ok. They’re sweet like that. And, through tears, I said, “I just want to be a good dad.”

My four-year-old, in his innocent wisdom, replied by saying, “You’re still a good dad. We just want you to stay.” 

They don’t like it when I leave the room before they’re asleep (the two boys share a room). He said it scares them when I leave, because they don’t know where I am. That’s actually kind of sweet.

But what struck me the most was his soft, innocent voice, telling me that I’m still a good dad. And you know what? Maybe I am. 

Maybe I am a good dad. Maybe, despite my no good, very bad day, I still did right by my kids (besides yelling at them, of course). I felt that they truly did love me, despite my shortcomings. Still, the hollowness inside me took over, and I had to leave their room before I broke down into a blob of tears. I told him I had to do something and would come back afterward. Then I kissed his forehead, and he said, with surprise in his voice, “That was nice!”

The next time I saw him he was fast asleep. 

I hope he remembers the kiss on the forehead and forgets about me yelling at him. I hope he remembers my apology and doesn’t have bitter feelings about my inability to control my angry emotions.

But most of all, I hope he really meant it when he said that I was still a good dad. 

I try so hard to be a good dad, but I constantly feel beaten down and insignificant. I feel weak and powerless. I feel like a jerk when I discipline and a pushover when I let them have their way. When it comes to being a dad, I’m far from perfect, and it drags me down.

But when it comes to being a good dad—a dad thy tries his best and tried to do better each day—perhaps I’m not all that bad after all.