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

by Roger McEwan

  The best things in life may be free but we live in a society where little is given away. So, irrespective of your political leanings, you and your children need money. It may well be the root of all evil, but it’s usually the lack of money that causes the problems. Being a single parent has many challenges and money is certainly one of them, but the day you sort out equitable arrangements with your ex and educate your children about money is the day you remove a layer of stress from your life.

  Reflections

  Children’s costs grow as they do and they’re unavoidable.

  It doesn’t matter whether you’re separated or a couple, your children’s costs are a joint responsibility. Using your financial position as leverage is a tactic for bullies and cowards.

  The sooner you sort out equitable financial arrangements with your ex, the sooner life gets easier. Treat them as you would like to be treated.

  Trust is the key element when organising financial arrangements. You have to both trust and be trustworthy.

  Introducing children to how money operates is necessary. Getting them to be part of the decision making also helps their understanding and cuts down on their moaning and groaning.

  20. Friends

  If you have two friends in your lifetime, you’re lucky. If you have one good friend, you’re more than lucky.

  Susan Hinton (writer)

  I think Susan’s right and that’s because there’s a big difference between friends and acquaintances. The majority of people I know, those who float in and out of my life, are acquaintances. They’re people who are fun to be with, most of the time, but who aren’t friends in the sense referred to by Susan. The term ‘friend’ for her implies a relationship of considerable depth.

  The concept of friends has been hijacked by social media, most notably Facebook, and they have used the term in a way that’s meaningless. Friends for Facebook is a numbers game, a way of keeping score. It ‘likes’ – another hijacked concept – to keep you informed as to how many or how few you have. I better declare up front that I’m not a fan of Facebook. I use it to keep a wary eye on my children, to promote this book – which is hypocritical, I know – and to make sure I know how it works from personal experience so I can make up my own mind about its usefulness. When I last looked I had eighty-four friends, which is apparently modest. Well I don’t. Using Susan’s definition, on Facebook I have zero friends, some acquaintances and the rest I wouldn’t recognise if I tripped over them. I literally haven’t seen them in decades.

  If you share your news about your separation on social media by something as questionable as changing your relationship status, it will be just another chirp in the newsfeed of your social media acquaintances. Most will miss it and it will be quickly usurped by the regular addition of recipes, selfies and recycled, repeated, unoriginal advice. Real friends are there with you, they know what’s going on when someone gets caught up in the ripples of a separation. Separating doesn’t just cause a split in your immediate family – it causes a split in the social fabric that surrounds your family.

  From my experience there are two types of friend who emerge when a separation occurs. The first are those who are ready and available to help if needed but just as ready to give you space if required. They provide support for both sides without bias. When the dust settles these friendships have a good chance of enduring.

  The other type takes sides and I believe these friendships are doomed. Obviously the side abandoned will want little to do with them but even the friendship with the side that they’ve chosen is likely to be uncomfortable. Taking sides simply isn’t an adult action unless something objectionable has occurred such as the separation was caused by you sleeping with their spouse.

  The great news is you find out quickly who’s who. When I rang one mutual friend to find out what time we were teeing off in a golf tournament, he informed me that given the separation he wanted someone else in his team. I can’t know what he was thinking, but I suspect he was under instructions from his wife who had strongly taken sides. One thing is for sure, you can’t change what people want to think but it gives you a clear insight into who they are. I haven’t spoken to him since I put the phone down. In the case of my separation the vast majority of our friends were, thankfully, of the unbiased variety, and that begs the question: why have I managed to end up with so few of them?

  A SMALL CIRCLE

  This lack of friends was highlighted to me when Rog and Liv’s passports were due for renewal. Their applications had to be endorsed by someone other than a family member, who had a valid New Zealand passport and had known my children for at least a year. That isn’t onerous but I struggled to come up with many options. Most of my student colleagues were from overseas and in my working life, as a consultant, you don’t socialise closely with clients. Consequently most people who I could term work colleagues had never met my children. I did finally find an ex-colleague who met all the criteria who happily helped, but it was the fact I didn’t have dozens of options that alerted me to my small circle of friends. It was more a ring than a circle.

  My curiosity piqued, I did a stocktake of who had actually visited my house since I separated. Once I removed Cathy, my nannies and family members from the list it was sadly revealing. It was a fifty-fifty split between friends and tradespeople. The most frequent visitor was Eddie, the meter reader who I used to play cricket with. Stab your finger on the page and you’d as likely pick out the plumber as you would a couple over for a barbeque. The list was a little embarrassing, a bit sad and rather funny.

  More concerning was that Rog and Liv were equally quiet on this front. I could only recall three or four times when they’d had friends over during the past seven years. It wasn’t because each time the experience was terrible. On the contrary, I went out of my way to make sure time, space, activities and food were arranged. I may add that I even baked once. The visits all went off brilliantly. But their scarcity is because the majority of the children’s social events occur at Rose’s house – and I’ll get to why I believe that’s the case shortly.

  The absence of visitors also doesn’t mean that I’m friendless, although the majority are closer to acquaintances. I meet them down the pub on a Friday or for a coffee during the week but that’s often the limit to those relationships. The chance of one of them popping over unannounced is remote, in fact I can’t remember it happening. This can be a good thing as it means you don’t have to worry about being caught ‘a little worse for wear’ by an unexpected guest. On the flip side, it means there’s no reason not to get ‘a little worse for wear’ on a Friday or Saturday night. When I haven’t got the children, of course. I do have a couple of close friends whom I’ve known for years but we can go quite a while between visits. It’s a male thing.

  Reflecting on how I became like this – and I can’t speak on behalf of all single dads – I do feel that I might be typical. There are a few factors in play. First, and I know I’m generalising, females tend to be more outgoing and males prefer to be more insular. The majority of friends Rose and I had developed as a couple started as female friends of Rose and I subsequently developed a friendship with their male partners. After we separated, with little in common, these friendships quietly died a natural death. Like plants without water.

  The friendships I’ve personally developed through sport or work exist mainly within those settings. I still see many of these people today, and it’s always a friendly and warm exchange, but that’s it. Either of us may say ‘We must catch up’, but in the male world we count the time in years rather than weeks or months.

  That explains in part why my pre-separation circle of friends hasn’t been replenished by a swag of new friends. The other factor not helping was my long-distance relationship. It’s simply easier to socialise as a couple. A single, female friend lamented to me that it was ‘soooo’ much more relaxing going to dinner parties as a couple than alone. Due t
o this factor, by finding a convenient excuse I tend to decline more invitations than I accept, which means the invitations dry up. The answer is not as simple as pairing up with someone in the same boat because not wanting to be alone is hardly a good basis on which to found a relationship. It would, however, be nifty to pair up in a platonic fashion, though I imagine relationships of that nature would likely be fraught with the obvious complications.

  LABELS

  A more disheartening reason why I think the invitations become scarce involves image and insecurity. Society has a habit of labelling and stereotyping groups of people. Politicians, athletes, cougars, Asians, disabled people, single mums, terrorists, bureaucrats, the unemployed, etc. These labels are heavily associated with images, emotions and prejudices.

  Without doing the research I’m uncertain how society views those of us under the label ‘single dad’. I’m confident that we aren’t seen as heroic martyrs, sacrificing fame and fortune to ensure our children get the best start in life. I feel we’re probably closer to the absent dads I described previously: distant from our children who are being raised by their mothers while we injudiciously cavort our way through life. It‘s this view that I think creates unease in our erstwhile peers – hitched males who view us as potential foxes best kept well away from the chicken coop. In effect, I went from being a family man looked on as a fine, upstanding member of the community to a questionable individual, most likely an irresponsible and missing-in-action dad. It’s quite a reputational fall from grace considering it’s still me.

  Whether or not they’re accurate, labels and perceptions are powerful and trump logic and commonsense. I experienced a similar situation when I was made redundant. When it became known that I was for the chop, my interactions with colleagues changed. There was a stigma attached to me as though I’d been found discredited or dishonourable. A colleague and fellow casualty noticed it too and said he felt as if he had a communicable disease. Everyone was thinking it prudent to avoid being near his corporate corpse.

  It didn’t help that I was required to work out my last month but had literally nothing to do as my work had been reassigned. This left me in an office desperately wanting to appear busy and vital but figuratively with my feet on the desk. To lessen the tension I thought it best that I enjoy my last month gadding about in the company car before it was reclaimed. What did they expect me to do?

  My first experience with the single-dad label was when Sam, my soon-to-be nanny, informed her mum that she’d been offered a job nannying for a single dad. Sam didn’t see this as an issue and was keen for the job, but her mum had concerns and wanted me checked out. So Sam visited with her dad and we all had a nice chat. I didn’t mind, as I had nothing to hide, and I clearly passed the character check. Sam happily nannied for me for years.

  I’m not the only single dad to have had these experiences. A colleague related a story to me about when he was in Wellington in the 1980s and was a sole-charge single dad to three children under five. Circumstances saw him go from a high-flying businessman in the city to a stay-at-home dad almost overnight. Initially he was invited to morning teas and lunches by friends who were mainly married women with children. However, the invitations slowed and then abruptly stopped. The reason, he discovered, was that as a single dad, and despite being in a similar situation to his female counterparts, he was seen in the 1980s as being likely to display morally questionable behaviour. Disapproving husbands made it clear that having a single dad visiting when the man of the house was absent was the beginnings of a social scandal and couldn’t continue. In his words it made for eight lonely years until he met his future wife and returned to his career. Only then did he stop terrorising suburban Wellington. It would be nice to believe that thirty years later we live in more enlightened times, but I’m dubious.

  A more general factor is the perception that when it comes to looking after children dads are hopeless. I’m sure parents are more comfortable when their children visit with nuclear families or single-mum homes rather than with single dads. Cathy agreed and said she’d be considerably more apprehensive if her children attended an event, such as a sleepover, with a single dad in charge.

  Even though I have a major problem with the logic, as there’s a suggestion of something sinister, I’m more than happy to use it to my advantage to cheerfully avoid hosting children’s events such as parties and sleepovers. Looking after multiple children of any age overnight isn’t high on my bucket list, in fact, it’s below appearing on a reality TV programme. Consequently, parties and sleepovers occur at Rose’s house, where I can pop in and enjoy the evening’s festivities but miss the aftermath, including the lack of sleep and cleaning up.

  I naturally don’t share this concern about single dads. Liv once went to a sleepover and birthday party where Pete, a recent single dad whom I had known for years, was the host. Did I see him suddenly in a different light because he had separated? Absolutely not. I did think he was mad having a sleepover. He was probably nagged into submission by an ex-wife/daughter combination, which can be lethal.

  I am aware that as the children grow and become more self-assured my single-dad ‘Get out of jail free’ card will become invalid and I will be the welcoming host to teenage parties. My plan is to seek advice from some hardened campaigners. Hopefully everyone will have a good time, no one will get drunk and nothing will be spilled on the carpet. I can live in hope.

  My final word, maybe it’s a plea, is that when you hear the term ‘single dad’ think ‘hardworking, dedicated family man who loves his children’. Just like you do when you hear the term ‘dad’. In fact, just ignore the word single. You can invite us over without fear. We have been separated only from our former wives, not from our morals.

  Reflections

  Real friends are few and far between and are unlikely to be found among social media acquaintances.

  One benefit of separating is that it allows you to determine which friends are worth keeping.

  It’s easy as a single dad to become isolated and end up with a relatively small circle of friends. This is not necessarily a bad thing, it’s simply the way it is for now.

  Socialising as a single amongst couples is taxing. Try developing a platonic friendship so you can change this dynamic and let me know if it works out.

  Single dads may not be viewed very highly in our society and that’s wrong. In the meantime though, feel free to use it to your advantage to avoid hosting sleepovers and parties.

  The only difference between a single dad and a dad is the word ‘single’.

  21. Dating

  In its purest form, dating is auditioning for mating and auditioning means we may or may not get the part.

  Joy Browne (psychologist)

  Long-distance relationships are tough, full stop. Even living in a world shrunk by technology allowing Cathy and I to keep in touch for free 24/7, it’s not the same as being together. Video calls allow a level of intimacy unheard of a decade ago, but while this helps I believe it merely buys you time. We maintained the closest relationship possible, given the 19,000-odd kilometres between New Zealand and England, for over four years before our time ran out. Logistics became difficult, if not impossible, and it all culminated in a sudden, unexpected and terminal end.

  That’s enough about that. In the same way that this book isn’t about my separation, it equally isn’t about the demise of my relationship with Cathy. Given the time, effort, distance, joys and mistakes, I feel eminently qualified to write about long-distance relationships, but that’s for another time and place. I went in with my optimistic eyes open but sadly for all romantics, which includes me, sometimes love isn’t enough. Maybe it’s never enough.

  The demise of my relationship meant that for the first time in twenty years I was single. As I explained earlier, my relationship with Cathy had shielded me from the trials and tribulations of the dating scene which now beckoned. My pl
an B wasn’t to become a monk.

  I didn’t rush headlong into it and I took some time out to reflect and regroup. I spent the time working, studying, looking after my children, writing and drinking. It’s a popular view that writing and drinking go hand in hand, with writers commonly portrayed as being at their best when inebriated. But except in a few cases I doubt it’s true. If you think you’re more likely to write fluently and from the heart when under the influence, you’ll usually discover in the light of the next day that your output is closer to drivel than literature. So, incidentally, will be your emails, texts and blogs. Putting any writing into the public domain when you’re the worse for wear is simply a bad idea.

  IN THE MARKET

  What eventually rekindled my interest in dating was being approached by a work colleague. I’d had a meeting with, let’s call her Jennifer, on Friday morning and she sent a text through later that night to see ‘how I was’. I thought – hello. We swapped a few texts and the result was we agreed to meet up for a date. It was a bit of a shock, albeit an exciting one, and it forced me to take stock of myself as a date and all that might entail.

  On the positive side, although I’d turned forty-seven, which sounds old, I’ve always looked young for my age. When I was twenty I struggled to look fifteen which, unhelpful at the time, was something I was thankful for now. Also, given I’d been asked out, I must still have a measure of the ‘Cor, I’d do him’ look thanks to karate and the regular gym sessions.

  Through the accident that’s genetics, I still had my hair, which was another plus. I may have been the last to shave amongst my school friends, but some of their hairlines had been receding before they’d left school. Nature can be very cruel like that. I was also fortunate that the colour of my hair, mousey blonde, masked the grey well. Even then, current fashion dictates that grey hair on men is distinguished thanks to celebrities such as George Clooney, so I wasn’t under societal pressure to dye my hair. Finally – and I know it’s hard to judge your own personality – I don’t have trouble making conversation and friends though I’m closer to shy than outgoing. All in all, as a package, I figured I had a few things in my favour.