Bring Back Big Families

Boys are a mess. There’s no way around that. I have four of them. They’re all a mess in their own ways. My girl is, too, but in completely different ways. But that’s not really the point here. I’ll get there eventually.

Recently, my wife and daughter went to a mother-daughter tea party at our local convent hosted by the nuns. They were gone for a few hours having some much needed boy-free time, since they’re normally outnumbered almost three to one. And I know they enjoyed themselves and their carefree time away from all of us.

While they were away, I had the four messy boys all to myself, some father-sons time while mother-daughter were away. Only a few hours, but what a few hours they were.

Some of the afternoon was spent napping, but the rest of it, the first part of our time together, was spent in the backyard. While we were there, we played baseball and football, pushed each other on the swings, went down the slide together, played with monster trucks, bounced on the trampoline, and just generally roughhoused as boys are known to do.

While we were outside, I don’t know why I did it as I had no real reason to, but I built a small fire in our chimenea by the back porch. The older three were all fascinated by the fire, of course (the little one, thankfully, had no interest in it).

Boys and fire go way back. As we stood around it watching the embers popping together and glowing inside the chimenea (admittedly, they only stayed a few moments intermittently as they all had other things to do), I couldn’t hold back feelings of the men of old gathered around a fire sharing stories and lessons and memories and desires. It was a primal feeling for me in a lot of ways. Just me and my boys. For whatever reason, gathered their with them in the great outdoors known as my backyard smack dab in the middle of the city, it just felt right.

I began to think of all the things I want to do with my boys as they get older. I want to take them on a big fishing trip. I want to take them hiking in a national park. I want to take them camping there, too. I want to teach them how to build a fire the right way. I want to teach them how to change the oil on a car and how to change a flat tire. I want to teach them how to build things with their hands. I want to teach them how to fix things instead of throwing them out and buying new ones. I want to teach them how to cut down a tree or trim its limbs when they’re rubbing the roof. I want to teach them how to drive a car safely. I want to teach them how to tie a bow tie.

Mostly, I just want to teach them how to be proper men.

This is not to say that I don’t want to take my daughter fishing and camping and hiking and teach her how to change the oil in her car and all of that because I do. But what breaks my heart about her is that I’m already noticing that she, at eleven, is no longer interested in some of the things she used to be when she was smaller. She’s starting notice boys now and is thinking about cheerleading and sometimes doesn’t even want to go outside anymore when we go to play.

So, with her, I know my chances to go fishing and play outside and all the things my boys want to do with me are dwindling. I know I need to make a concerted effort to include her on those things and maybe even do them with her alone now while she still wants to because I know the day will come sooner rather than later when she doesn’t want to anymore.

It’s natural, I guess. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.

But my boys, I think they will always want to do those things with me because these are the kinds of things I would still love to do with my own father (he’s still around, but he’s not very outgoing, so those things I wish I could do with him will likely always remain a wish. But that’s getting off topic).

Time is a funny thing with kids. When they are little, you think you have all the time in the world to do everything you want with them. Then they start growing up, and you start realizing you haven’t been able to do most of what you wanted to with them. Money is always a factor, obviously (teacher salaries, man), as doing anything truly remarkable in life usually takes money. But at its core, it usually boils down to time. I know I have to make time to cherish the moments we do get together standing around the chimenea, even if only for a few fleeting moments. Parents have to make time to do those things with their kids. It takes selflessness, but anything worth doing (especially raising kids) requires selflessness.

We parents are wizards in our own ways when it comes to making time. There’s never enough of it to go around, yet we always find a way to make time for what’s most important. It’s hard, but it is something that absolutely has to be done (here’s how we do at least some of it: Date Nights With Kids).

I wish I could say with some certainty that I can do all, or even most, of the things I want to do with my kids before they get older, but I know I can’t. All I can do, all any of us parents can do, especially those of us with a lot of kids, is cherish whatever moments present themselves. We have to cling to what appears in front of us and make the most of those moments, taking them as they come.

Maybe we haven’t been to Yellowstone and built a campfire from wood we found in the woods there. Maybe we never will. But maybe, just maybe, that small fire built in our backyard chimenea is as important to them as our (so far imaginary) trip to Yellowstone will be.

Maybe it’s not about how grand the experience is. Maybe it’s just the experience itself that we have to cling to.

Those hours flew by, naps and all. It’s not glamorous—half the time I’m just keeping them from breaking each other—but these messy, loud moments? They’re the ones I’ll miss when they’re gone. Raising a girl and lots of boys means finding the gold in the chaos, one swing push at a time.