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Illustration by Drew Shannon
The moms are gathering, concerned, on the sidelines, as the kids on the field chase the ball like a swarm of bees. It’s my turn to bring the snacks to soccer that day. I catch them huddling up in a tight circle, motioning with their eyes and heads toward me standing on my own. They seem to all nod in unison. A decision. One mom makes her way over.
“Hey … um, we don’t know if you remembered,” she says awkwardly and in the nicest possible way she can. “But it’s your turn to do the snacks today, and if you didn’t know, it’s no problem, we could run to the store quickly for you and get you some popsicles and other snacks … Really, it’s no problem.”
It wouldn’t be that far-fetched to think I forgot. Really.
I was always a hands-on dad, but when my wife and I separated, I became the primary caregiver for my two girls, and there were many moments of forgetting or just not knowing. No snow pants for school for one, a missed birthday party for another. Mixing up their lunches or giving them a premade store-bought one on a dark day where I couldn’t fathom another lunch made. However, this time, I was on it.
“I remembered,” I say to the mom, and motioned to the cooler, hiding under my chair.
“Oh …! Okay … Of course you did,” and she sheepishly returned to the mom circle.
When the game ended, I pulled out individually wrapped snack bags each with a juice box, mandarin orange, cheese stick and a gummy snack. I could see the mom who came over feeling guilty.
“Look at this amazing snack,” she said.
My nephew stared at me curiously for a moment as he peeled his orange and popped a slice into his mouth. Chewing, he asked, “So, are you like the replacement for Snack Mom?”
I desperately wanted to make a snarky reply, but I just smiled and explained that there are snack dads, too. His dentist dad backed me up with a nod and a “Yeah.”
It wouldn’t be the first time there was doubt I could do this though.
When I offered to take my 16-year-old daughter and her friends to the cottage for a weekend, the calls started coming in almost immediately.
“Four teen girls, that’s a lot for one dad …”
“You’re taking them alone?”
“We could help …”
“Have you thought about rules for the weekend to keep them safe?”
When I finally convinced the other families that they would be just fine, the girls showed up with their luggage, and … fully prepared meals and snacks.
When we arrived at our cottage – a one hour drive away – the kids did video tours of our place to show their parents they are okay. By request, I wondered? Would a single mom have experienced the same?
I sent pictures every four hours to show how everyone was doing, because I felt like I had to go the extra mile to ease their worries. When you’re a dad on his own, every mistake is magnified. At least it felt that way in my head.
The girls talked, laughed and stayed up late. They went for walks together, played on the beach and sang the whole way back in the car. My daughter told me that I was cool, and other parents probably wouldn’t have been okay with the singing. The weekend was a success.
In fact, a lot of my daughters’ growing up has been a success. I bought their first tampons and taught them how to shave their legs. I’ve cried and laughed with them, and bandaged physical and emotional wounds more times than I can count. I’ve always supported their dreams and helped them work through any fears. They are kind-hearted, good kids who are also very honest with me. Frankly, the hardest moments have been when they told me I failed and had to learn how to do better for them.
They tell me I’m too sensitive. I know that I have unconscious biases and can jump to incorrect conclusions if I don’t slow down my thinking. My girls help slow me down, sometimes simply by questioning my actions or thoughts, and I can help myself more by doing the same.
Over the years, I have relied on the same soccer moms and their kindness and generosity for good camp suggestions, costume day reminders, playdates, school and lunch tips, and sport sign-ups. I’ve depended on the same parents to take care of my children when in their care. I was probably too sensitive at times.
However, if you ever see the soccer dad on his snack week and are wondering how he’ll fare, just know that he’s got this. Because I do.
Adam Rodin lives in Winnipeg.
