Why I read dad blogs and have dad friends.

I just realized something while I was reading Brett Nordquist's blog.  It's so obvious, though, that now you're going to question your previous opinion of me being a genius.

I don't like mommy blogs all that much.  I read some of them.  The ones I read tend to be from moms who don't talk about their kids 95% of the time or they are friends of mine whose children I care enough about to listen to what would otherwise be boring stories about them.

I am around kids enough.  I know their ways.  I am past the period in my mothering when I need comfort and encouragement everyday because it's just so dang hard.  I'm past the period when I want to vent everyday.  I don't like to read blogs that are just vent after vent about mothering.

I spend all day with kids and I don't want to read about kids in my down time. And the dad blogs I read don't talk about kids quite as much as a lot of mom blogs.

A few days ago, my friend JQ expressed surprise to me on the phone over my male blog friends.  She didn't say much about it, just sort of implied. She said that she got rid of her male friends when she got married.

My friend Shelley also seemed surprised when I made a passing comment about a male blog reader's comment.  Like, MEN read my blog?! And comment?  And then I read theirs?

Yes?

It never occurred to me that there might be something odd about this until Shelley raised an eyebrow.  And I was a little surprised later when JQ expressed surprise.

I think this is the concern some might have:  Blogs are generally online journals and they can get personal.  As such, the comments we leave on blogs we read can be personal and so we end up having somewhat personal conversations this way.  And in the LDS church we are often counseled to not spend time alone with the opposite sex.  Nevermind avoiding the appearance of an affair, it makes an affair all that much less likely.  Having conversations this way can build intimacy and start off an emotional affair.  It happens.

But for the most part, my conversations with men online are public.  Twitter is public. Anyone can see what I write on there.  Anyone can read my blog comments.  Jude reads them.  Jude reads Mike's blog and sometimes tells me things to ask Mike.  I see it as comparable to talking to a friend's husband when I run into them in the grocery store, or in the hallway at church.  I talk to everyone.  I don't hang out alone with any men other than my husband.

I don't see a problem with this.

As for why I like having male friends:

1. Men are not as insecure as women, generally.  Women are often wondering, "What did she mean by that?"  Men say what they mean.   Communication between women is like a dance.  Men don't know the dance and that's why they listen when their wives and girlfriends say, "Oh, you don't have to get me anything for Valentine's Day.  It's just a silly manufactured day."  And you know what happens then, right?  Women think that if you really know them and love them, you'll read their minds.  It's so annoying.  Women ask questions of women not to hear the answer, but to hear the inflection in the voice.  Of course their friends will say, "No, it doesn't make you look fat."  But women don't ask because they think there's a chance their friends will answer honestly.  They ask because they can tell by the inflection and non-verbal communication if they DO, in fact, look fat.  And what's worse, they will be glad that their friends didn't answer honestly. 
   
   I argued this at length with a Mormon ex-friend of mine who said that women don't want to know the truth and that it's okay to lie sometimes.  She even started this mini-business setting up romantic escapades for which married men would take credit and woo their wives, who would be deceived thinking their husbands had planned it.  She thought that women were better off being ignorant.  She didn't see a problem with the salvation of their marriages being based on lies.  She didn't understand that the wives were unhappy not because their husbands didn't buy more presents.  They were unhappy because their husbands didn't WANT to buy more presents, because they didn't make their efforts a priority.  And it's no surprise that this ex-friend of mine is one of the most hurtfully passive aggressive people I've ever known.  She could have choreographed the Communication Dance of Women herself.
   
   So, I hate that.  Men aren't like this at all and because of that, they make easier friends.
   
2. Men don't talk about shopping and gossip.  My female friends don't either but I sort of lucked out with them.  But some women are like that.
   
3. The biggest reason I gravitate to men, the reason that occurred to me as I was reading Brett's blog, is that I didn't have a dad for most of my childhood and when I did, he just didn't know how to be a dad.  And the deep hurt and need he left me has me gravitating towards men.
   
   I still remember my dad telling me at age three that, because I was jumping on the bed with my sister Kim, even though he told us to stop, I was going back to my mom's and he never wanted to see me again.
   
   And I didn't see him again-- until I was six.  Our town was small and my dad was visiting a friend of his who lived in the same apartment building in which my mom and I lived.  My mom spotted him sitting in his bright orange truck.  I remember her saying, "Hey, want to meet your dad?  He's in that orange truck.  Why don't you go say hi?"  So, I did.  He sat there with his sunglasses on, and stared straight forward, smoking and taking a swig from his bottle of beer, as I tried to get his attention.  At that point in history, he may have been high on cocaine.  "Hi, Daddy!  How are you?  How's Kim?  How come you don't want to see me?"  He completely ignored me and I ran to my mom crying.
   
   I met him again when I was nine.  It was Christmastime.  He had agreed to meet me again.  I wore my best outfit, sure he'd say how pretty it was:  red stirrup pants and white shirt that had a floral design on the front and red satin faux suspenders that came from the shoulder seam to the bottom of the shirt where they buttoned stuck.  My uncle, who was a distant friend of my dad's, dropped me off.  My dad came up from the basement with a cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke, said hi, and then went back downstairs to be with his friends and Kim's mom.  When I left, after playing with Kim and her friend Amanda, he said bye.
   
   And we didn't get too much closer after that, even though I lived with him from ages 12-14.  When I graduated high school, he couldn't be bothered to come.  When Jude and I flew out to Ontario with baby Montana, at Christmas, to meet my family for the first time, he wasn't going to drive five measly hours to where I was to meet Jude and Montana.  The only reason he eventually came was because I berated him harshly and said that if he didn't come, he wouldn't ever hear from me again.
   
   He would not call for two years and then all of a sudden phone me all chummy, calling me "kiddo".  And you know how I don't like feigned intimacy by way of nick names.  This cycle happened twice.  After not hearing from him in many months, if not years, his girlfriend EMAILED ME to tell me he had a heart attack.  In the email, she made reference to those she had already phoned.  His only blood daughter was not important enough to warrant an actual phone call.  One conversation led to another and I snapped.  I just couldn't stand this fake relationship I felt pressured to continue with a stranger who didn't love me but only wished he did so that he could feel like a decent human being and a real father.  After praying and consulting my church leaders, I cut him out of my life forever.
   
   My father is not the only bad dad out there.  Jerry Springer and Maury Povich could testify to that.  My extended family contains a few bad dads.  It's harder to find a good dad than a good mom, in general.
   
   When I see a good dad, one who isn't just there but who's actively engaged, who goes to his children's school to volunteer to man the bike rodeo (Jude) or help carve pumpkins (Brett), it warms my heart and gives me hope.  It adds to the healing I need.  Even if I'm not the recipient of the good fathering, it helps me to know that someone is.  It improves my image of men, something I could really use.
   
   Brett said, "I could listen to her talk for hours. I wish I could make time stand still. But moments like these come in unexpected short bursts. One can’t force them. That’s what makes them special.

   I took the glasses off her face and wiped away the salty residue left over from the earlier tears. I placed them back on her cute face and gave her a kiss on the cheek."
   
   I cried when I read that.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Izzy the puppy has pooped four times outside today.
2. Izzy the puppy only cried in her crate about 20 non-consecutive minutes last night.  Everyone, including the breeder, said she'd cry all night.
3. Izzy the puppy is not a hyper hypo like everyone told me she'd be.  She's super mellow.
4. The weather is so warm for November. No snow.  I can take Izzy out without a coat or shoes on.
5. Our music director in our church primary class is so, so good at what she does.  I'm so glad it's not me having to do that job.  Also, I have adorable kids in my 6-year old Primary Sunday School class.