Submitted by wonkitime on September 22, 2008 - 8:02pm.
By Philip Stott
Watching and reading recent news stories about the contamination of Chinese baby formula, I realized how much I've changed in the 9 short months since becoming a father. First, there's the fact that I paid attention to the story at all. I have vague memories of contaminated kids toys coming in from China before my daughter was born, but those were when my wife was pregnant, and the prospect of a baby was at least on the horizon. Prior to that, though-before the apple of my eye had even become a cheeky twinkle in it-I seem to have no recollection of any health or product scares to do with children whatsoever.
The main thing that's changed, though, isn't what news items I focus on-it's how I react to them. Hearing about babies dying from contaminated formula half a world away struck an emotional chord with me that simply didn't exist-or if it did, I didn't recognize it-before my daughter came along. I'm not saying I was some sort of heartless creep that didn't care about the misfortunes of others; of course I did. It's just that, having the knowledge of how fragile and delicate your child's life-all life-is , and how hard you work to make sure nothing gets in the way of that life flourishing, well, that's a powerful thing, and it becomes that much easier to empathize with others who are going through it.
At the risk of drawing a gross generalization, I think that ability to empathize is one of the major differences between parents, and those without children. And, given that we're from Mars, it's arguably something that's more prevalent in men than it is from the Venusians who end up carrying our babies. I know plenty of members of the female species who have no problem with the empathy/emotional connection thing, even before babies of their own enter the picture. Whether that's down to some nurturing instinct or societal conditioning is a question for another day (and quite possibly another writer).
What I really wanted to do, though, is to point out that the phenomenon is just one tiny aspect of how fatherhood changes us, and how it provides just another little piece of the puzzle when considering how different relationships with friends and family have become. You know what I'm talking about, right? The buddies who no longer call to see if you want to go to a bar or watch the game? The family members who no longer see you as an individual or ask about your day/week, only your kids?
All of that, to my mind, is a symptom. A reflection of the fact that fatherhood indelibly changes us. While we may want to be the same carefree guy underneath, the reality is that we've stepped onto a whole different emotional plane, and the people who know us best pick up on that. So while our friends still like us, they also realize that we're less likely to be able to operate as a competent wing-man if we're going to go emoting all over the place. It also becomes that much harder to have a conversation with someone who hasn't changed while you have-there's a feeling like you've moved on, and have all these new experiences and concerns, but no one in the old circle who understands them.
The good news, though, is that it works both ways. Suddenly, I find I've got more in common with people I know with kids, and that the things that I once struggled to understand or found boring about them (discussing, say, the dangers of lead paint instead of sports), I now get.
That, by extension, means there's even more room for hope: if such a change can come over me, it's possible that it can come over my friends as well. All they need, it would appear, is a baby, and we can start texting about the latest crib recalls, or how baby-related sleep-deprivation is so much different from feeling tired after a late night on the town. Should be a pretty easy sell, right?
