The Single Dad's Guide to the Galaxy: Parenting in the real world

by Roger McEwan

  As it dawned on me that I had painted myself neatly into a corner, I also realised that I had little choice of action as the children were due in three days. I was going to have to buy everything at some stage, and as I’d worked hard on maintaining a decent credit history I rushed out armed with plastic. I hired a refrigerator, washing machine, dryer and lounge suite based on the logic that I had no idea what any future house might need in terms of size and style. I then went on a credit card shopping spree to turn the rental house into a home. I appreciate that this option isn’t available to everyone and so you may need to think creatively and beg, borrow but please don’t steal.

  STARTING OVER

  As I ploughed through all the tasks needed to establish our new home, Cathy and I kept in regular contact. She had been through a similar divorce experience and had some of her own hard-earned lessons to share. While I had a fifty-fifty shared-care arrangement, she had something closer to a ninety-five to five split. Although most lessons are available only in hindsight, before you consider having a family, or even agreeing to devote yourself to someone for the rest of your life, ask yourself this question: if our relationship turns to custard what involvement would this person want to have in their children’s future? If you think the answer is less than 30 per cent I would give them elbow, tout de suite.

  The twelve-hour time difference between England and New Zealand meant we spoke either first thing in the morning or late in the evening. Although I was physically alone, it meant that I did have someone in my corner with whom I could chat, get advice and bounce issues and ideas. This made the post-separation trials and tribulations a little bit easier. There aren’t many pluses to a long-distance relationship, but in the early days it gave me emotional support without having to complicate the children’s lives further with a potential replacement mother figure.

  After a few weeks in the new house, the children and I started to settle into the new routine, at least on the surface. If I take myself back to those days, I remember that they were tense and strained, and goodness knows what the children were thinking. On reflection, we were all coping while we waited for the new normal to arrive. I’d like to think now that this came quickly but I know it’s easy to reinterpret the past based on the outcome of an event rather than on the event itself. We’re fine now so we must have been fine then too.

  Rose and I decided that it would be easiest for everyone if the children swapped houses on Sundays at 6pm. That, incidentally, sounds like a pleasant exchange over a cup of tea rather than the awkward email exchange it was in reality. But the decision made perfect sense and meant that the children would not have their school week or weekend disrupted. The parent ‘on duty’ would be aware of all the school and after-school events that needed to be organised and could pass the information over with the children and all their belongings.

  The logistics of this new arrangement worked well and the children and their associated paraphernalia were swapped at 6pm, usually on the dot. When Rog and Liv were dropped off at my house we quickly put away clothes and toys and then, if it was nice evening, we would pop over to the park and play or, if it was wet, play a game or watch a DVD. What didn’t work so well – and probably to be expected – was the communication. I would often find out that the coming week contained an event, such as a fancy-dress day, with minimal notice. ‘I want to be a fairy princess,’ Liv would inform me and Rog would apparently ‘need to be a robot’. No pressure.

  As a parent you just want your child to blend in at school, and so you move mountains to achieve the fairy princess and robot look, cursing under your breath the entire time. Rose and I get on famously now but it wasn’t always so convivial, and situations like this tested our restraint. It went both ways. I was left in no doubt when my actions had annoyed Rose. Accidentally of course.

  Two houses meant two home environments, and Rose and I carried on parenting as we saw fit. In the main, as we had been together for sixteen years we weren’t poles apart and the children got much the same treatment at both houses. They basically got a dad flavour and a mum flavour.

  VERTIGO

  When the children were with me, I had everything under control the majority of the time, but there was the odd anxiety-inducing obstacle that appeared mountainous. For example, I remember worrying that getting the children to different sports in the weekend was going to be a logistical impossibility, but usually it was resolved simply. Personally I don’t like calling on favours from friends, maybe it’s a male trait, but every now and again I needed to. Gradually things became easier, and being able to debrief with Cathy and get her perspective was invaluable. The children appeared to be settling well into this new world and seemed to be showing no signs of adjustment issues. And that goes to prove we often see what we want to see.

  I was playing a game with Liv. This was not long after the separation, so she was six. I can’t remember what game we were playing, as we had loads of board games, but she wanted to play again. I explained to her that I needed to get dinner ready and so I went into the kitchen and she wandered off to her room.

  It was unlike her not to follow me into the kitchen – she has always been my shadow – and so a few minutes later I poked my nose into her room to see what she was doing. She wasn’t in her room. I checked the toilet and then the other rooms (there weren’t that many), but there was no sign of her.

  Ice snaked through my veins.

  With no sign of her in the house I double-timed outside and performed a hasty lap of the house. Nothing. I visually searched the playground but it was empty, meaning that at least she hadn’t crossed what was a busy street by herself. Back in the house I was struggling to make sense of the situation. It was as if I’d closed my eyes and seconds later when I’d reopened them the world had changed colour.

  With blood pounding in my ears, I rechecked her room and that was when I heard soft sobs coming from the wardrobe. I opened the door and there she was, sitting in the dark crying.

  I felt a wave of relief and then a more powerful wave of guilt. Now it could have been that Liv was simply being a brat when she didn’t get her way. Maybe. In fact on reflection that’s pretty plausible, but on that 2008 spring evening I certainly didn’t see it that way. It felt like evidence of damage – inflicted by me.

  The children had been coping on the surface, but clearly all was not well. I recalled that Liv had said a few days earlier in a sad tone ‘Mum and Dad don’t live together any more’, but I had just hugged her, thinking it was a momentary thought. I had been focusing on the activities of our new life and not on life itself. I realised that a lot of effort would be needed if the children were going to blossom in this new foreign environment.

  I cuddled her, and when she stopped crying I piggy-backed her out to the lounge and popped her on the couch. I wrapped her in a blanket with her favourite teddy bears and put on a DVD while I returned to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

  That’s when the world really lurched and the kitchen walls started closing in on me. On reflection, I’m certain I was experiencing the closest thing I have ever had – and ever hope to have – to a panic attack. A feral feeling of desperation came over me. This time I had to fight hard against a strong desire for flight. I took long, slow, deep breaths but still felt breathless, so I rustled the children off to the playground, displaying what I hoped would be seen as excitement. This helped lighten Liv’s mood which, in turn, made me start to feel better.

  At the playground I got the air, space and time I needed. The world stopped reeling so violently, but I was left with the pounding thought that I couldn’t do this. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t be a single dad.

  As I sat there watching Rog and Liv yahooing around the playground, I completely and irrationally doubted my ability to cope. It was a powerful feeling that had a stark clarity to it. Rose would have to look after the children and I would become a weekend dad as was more traditional. If that al
so meant becoming a fat alcoholic womaniser, so be it.

  I can’t recollect much about that night’s dinner, but I must have fed the children, supervised teeth brushing and tucked them into bed as normal. Later I was able to talk to Cathy and found myself dumping the story on her. She was, as always, wonderfully calm, and it rubbed off. I felt I was heading back to something like my usual optimistic, happy, confident self, albeit slightly dented. I found the simple process of saying things out loud hugely beneficial.

  REGGIE

  As I drove the children to school the next day that old saying ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ popped into my head. I sure wasn’t dead, and I’d achieved insight into where my effort needed to go. Not into the logistics, but into the children and into myself.

  Then I did what I often do in these situations – I sought out information about what was really happening. I went to the public library and found a couple of useful-looking books as well as locating some informative websites. New Zealand websites such as Man Alive are excellent and informative but be careful when searching as when you type in ‘single dad’, Google assumes you’re looking to date.

  What I found from the books and online – and this is what I often find – is that what I was going through was entirely normal. My experiences and feelings were typical and there were, apparently, loads of people throughout the world at different places on the same road. Phew! That alone was enormously reassuring. There’s a real comfort in knowing you are not alone.

  By way of analogy, I once noticed that my calf muscles were twitching and that they appeared to be housing something snake-like. I was moderately concerned, but I freaked Liv out when I showed her while we were watching Doctor Who. I Googled ‘twitching calf muscles’ and, sure enough, there are a bunch of us with that as well. Laying off alcohol seemed to be the common recommendation. I hate that advice.

  I returned home with my books and spent the morning reading about separation and its effects on children and what I could/should be doing. As it was nearing lunchtime I decided to work from home for the rest of the day, which is usually a euphemism I use for bunking off. But that gave me the opportunity to meet Regina, who literally floated into my life and became part of my journey.

  I was in the lounge, cross-legged on the floor (which doubled as my desk at the time), checking emails. I was unshaven and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, looking every inch unemployed and nothing like a business consultant. For background noise I had a TV music channel playing. I love working to music. Classical for when I have to think hard or I’m trying to be creative (like now), and rock and pop for tasks I can do in my sleep. A song came on that captured my attention for two reasons: it was catchy and I recognised the tune from a TV ad. It was, I discovered, Regina Spektor (Reggie) singing ‘Fidelity’, which contained the very catchy piece that had been used in the ad. It’s impossible for me to communicate how it sounds without singing it and you have been spared this fate by the fact that this is a book. However, I’m keen to make this into an audio book, in which case I will have the opportunity to sing. I hope I do it justice, but history suggests I won’t. In the interim you can find the song easily on the internet if you feel inclined.

  When you find music you love there’s a tendency to think everyone will love it as well. I tried to share this love and pushed Reggie too hard and too often on my children. They liked her initially, but now they cry out in pain if I put her music on in the car (which they still do today. Sorry, Reggie).

  With Reggie singing in the background, the children and I meandered onwards and, as it turned out, upwards. I have heard that children can still hold on to the hope that their parents will get back together long after it’s obvious they won’t, sometimes well into adulthood. My children never asked me that tough question; maybe it was obvious that we wouldn’t. But becoming aware of information like this helped me develop a much larger and fuller picture of my situation. Being aware of what was happening gave me a fighting chance of seeing the issues and acting earlier to avoid larger issues and crises.

  The major lesson for me was that I couldn’t any more be a dad who was focused only on a part of the children’s world. When the children were with me I needed to be both a dad and a sort of mum, providing the full range of parenting and not just getting the logistics right. I had been, I considered, a great dad – but now what was required was learning to be a great dad and a great parent.

  Reflections

  When you are dividing up your possessions, think through how you can value them so each partner is treated fairly. It isn’t a game you are trying to win – adults act fairly.

  Set up your new house so your children feel at home. You’re going to spend the money anyway and so, if you can, try to get as much done up front as possible.

  Try to maintain the same, or similar, routines for your children in both homes. In this way they won’t equate change-overs with upheaval.

  Don’t forget your children’s emotional needs as you battle through all the logistical changes.

  If you are going to operate a fifty-fifty arrangement, a 6pm handover on Sundays may work well for everyone.

  Getting information about what you are going through will help you regain control. The library, internet and single parents are great sources of information and support.

  Having a confidant who has your best interests at heart is priceless.

  Finding the right soundtrack for this part of your life can help through the turbulent times. Give Regina Spektor a try.

  4. Our House

  Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.

  Oscar Wilde (playwright, novelist and poet, 1854-1900)

  The hire company that I used to equip the house with whiteware had a special deal: for one dollar a month I hired a white, trendy-in-the-60s vinyl couch. I was delighted with the deal but Cathy, when I emailed through a photo, pronounced it perfectly hideous. Still, looks aside it was the only place in the house, apart from the bedroom, where you could lie down. For that reason I loved it, even though my feet dangled over the edge.

  One evening when I was without the children, feeling absolutely knackered after karate and reflective about the world in general, I was sprawled on my one-dollar-a-month couch. Karate is a hobby that you can become addicted to. The sweat, the intensity, the focus and discipline either send you packing after one or two sessions or entice you to return week after week. At the time I was a devotee.

  I discovered karate after the children started training at a local club when they were seven and eight. I loved watching them during the hour-long lesson because it was pure entertainment, like a scene from a martial arts comedy: cute little boys and girls bouncing around like miniature Bruce Lees. To generate spirit and intensity when they kick or punch the children are encouraged to kiai (pronounced key I), which translates roughly ‘to shout’. In their shy, high-pitched voices they usually whisper kiai, meaning they actually whisper the word ‘shout’. They were very cute but not very scary.

  My children enjoyed karate at first but it was intense and they lost interest after six months – Rog in general and Liv after she received a kick to her solar plexus during a tournament which had her in tears. I swept my six-year-old up in my arms and she was quickly restored to health through the miraculous healing properties of ice cream.

  The karate instructor, a former New Zealand champ, was an old school friend. He was happy for me to attend the adult session and, in his words, ‘give it a thrash’. I did and I loved it. I found that when you’re practising karate your problems and worries and your current world fade from focus. You become fully engaged coping with the physical requirements of maintaining technique and not getting smacked in the ear. The only people in your world are you, the instructor and anyone standing directly in front of you. If your mind wanders you can be snapped back to the present by blocking a blow with
your head – which isn’t recommended.

  Back to me on the couch, knackered and reflective.

  It’s stating the obvious but an advantage of being with someone, as opposed to being in a long-distance relationship, is that you can see them. I’m confident if Cathy had seen me that night she would have left me in peace. The phone, our way of keeping in touch, doesn’t allow that luxury and I must have sounded exactly like I felt, tired and unenthusiastic. The topic we were discussing was my lack of progress towards buying a house. Given my attitude, Cathy determined the corrective action required was a decent kick up the backside. So to accompany the actual kicking from karate, I got an equally solid virtual kicking. In hindsight I probably did need a rev up, just not that night.

  The separation and financial settlement meant that I had money in the bank. But, as many lottery winners can attest, it can evaporate quickly. I mumbled a few assurances about getting onto it, the best I could do at the time, but my lack of enthusiasm obviously shone through. Cathy’s tone and sentences became clipped and teacher-esque. I was left in no doubt that we would be revisiting the subject sooner than later. But in my case a good night’s sleep is often all that separates apathy from action and the next day I felt ready to spring into action.

  HOUSE HUNTING

  Rose and I didn’t alter our decision to switch the children’s school despite the separation intervening. Therefore if one of us wasn’t living in the new school zone, and Rose was miles from the boundary, we would be added to the notoriously large group labelled ‘outside of zone’. Then we would need luck to be allocated a place. Relying on the school being under-subscribed was a big risk. I thought the fact that my brother and I were both ‘old boys’ would be taken into account, but it was pointed out to me – by both Rose and Cathy – that the application form had no place in which to record this information. It was a clear oversight on the school’s part, in my opinion, but that didn’t help our situation. Therefore house hunting began in earnest.