This First Person column is the experience of Peter Boychuk, who lives in Vancouver. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
We expect shockingly little from dads. I remember changing my son’s diaper in the men’s room at a park in Vancouver a few years ago when an older gentleman came up to me and said: “Wow, dads really do everything these days.”
I just stared at him in disbelief, soiled wet wipe in hand. You need to change a baby’s diaper every few hours — there aren’t many more basic acts as a new parent.
And yet, if you do the bare minimum as a father, you are generally considered to be a “good dad.” And it was even more so when I was born in 1979. I have friends whose fathers never even made it to the birth of their children. My dad had to fight to be allowed into the delivery room. But he was always an outlier.
Even as our family’s primary breadwinner, Dad cooked meals, did laundry, helped clean the house, took us skiing, volunteered on the school council, coached soccer, taught me how to chop wood and do that thing with a pneumatic nailer where you peel the safety back so you can shoot nails like it’s a gun. You know, valuable life skills.
One of my cherished memories is travelling with him to the tiny northern community of Ross River, where I tried out for the Yukon Arctic Sports team. I got absolutely crushed in every event I tried out for — the one-foot high kick, the kneel jump, the arm pull — but it’s still a favourite memory because it was just me and Dad, playing stick games at the celebratory potlatch until way past my bedtime.
I grew up in Whitehorse, and there are clay cliffs overlooking Schwatka Lake where we once played this game of tag that got so out of control we were both leaping over chasms and clinging to rock faces for fear of plummeting to our deaths. On the walk home, Dad said in a soft voice, “Please don’t tell your mother about this.”
Some of my friends have formal relationships with their fathers, but my dad hugged me before bed every night and wasn’t shy about saying “I love you.”
When Mom died suddenly when I was in my early 20s, he was thrust into the role of single parent to me, my older brother and my younger sister. Even though I know he was devastated, he tried to fill the void in our lives as best as he could.
He’s a wonderful grandparent to all my nephews and because of his amazing example, I was excited when my wife got pregnant. I was sure I was going to be a great dad, too. But almost right from the start, I struggled.
When my son Alex was born, my wife took to parenting right away. Joanie was so loving and endlessly patient whereas I would get easily frustrated.
When Alex was three, we visited my in-laws in Calgary and I took him sledding for the first time. Having grown up where it snows for nine months out of the year, I loved sledding and assumed Alex would, too. I vividly remember standing at the top of the hill, tears running down my toddler’s face as I yelled at him to get on the sled and start having fun, dammit!
At the bottom of the hill, my father-in-law was doubled over laughing. As a seasoned parent, he recognized the situation all too well, but all I felt was a burning shame. I was sure my relationship with Alex was doomed.
I tried to share in the parenting. I did the 3 a.m. feedings and as Alex got older, I’d make meals and take him to playgrounds to give my wife a break. But every time I’d offer to do bedtime and Alex would ask for Mommy instead, it would break my heart. It felt like proof that I was failing.
I’m not sure when things changed. In the end, I took a page out of Dad’s book. He’d always get my siblings and me involved in the things he did, whether it was stacking firewood for our wood-burning heater or helping in the shop.
So, in addition to doing things that Alex likes such as playing with toy cars, we build Lego together and I’ve introduced him to a few of my favourite video games. And I found that by doing things that gave me joy, I was more fun to be around. I became my own kind of parent, and it brought Alex and me closer together.
Dad and I still take trips together. In the past decade, we’ve been to New York City, the Okanagan and Seattle and we are planning a trip to the Maritimes. I hope my son and I will go on trips together when he is 44. But if we don’t, that’s OK, too. We have a different relationship, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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