Laurie Nigro:
A lot of Fun Dad tempered by just enough Hardcore Dad makes the best dad of all

No one is born a good parent. There may be an innate instinct to keep your young alive (though there are days that instinct is stronger than others), but the rest is on us. Once they hand you that little bundle of joy, you’re the one responsible for pretty much all the things that will make your little person into a bigger person.

Often, moms have a bit of an advantage. Most of us spend about nine months literally connected to our baby. Then, they pop out (like how easy I make that sound?) and we have this massive hormonal surge that is specifically designed to help us bond with our new addition. Just holding our newborns causes a surge of oxytocin throughout our systems, increasing the connection with our baby.

So here we moms are, having a love-fest with our child, creating this amazing bond that will last several lifetimes, and there’s dad, still working through the emotional roller coaster he just experienced because he watched the mother of his child suffer ridiculous pain, her body opening up in a way that really should not be okay, and then BAM! It’s time to welcome this new life he helped create — one that contains half of his genes — into a big, scary world. And maybe he starts freaking out, worrying about all the bad things that can happen to his tiny baby. Or maybe he’s just wondering, “Which half of my genes? I mean, I hope she doesn’t get my receding hairline.”

And now he’s a dad. He has to figure out how to change diapers without knocking off the umbilical cord (or letting the baby roll off the changing table). He has to try and put socks on feet that are about the size of his thumb. And he will likely be both horrified and terrified to learn that newborn babies’ skulls have a soft spot that you can watch pulsate. He may also be both horrified and terrified to learn that infants have the ability to poop with enough force to shoot it up their backs and into their hair.

There will be days when he gets all the poop and the baby cleaned up, and even starts a load of laundry, allowing him to think he is King Dad, ruler of all other dads in the whole world. And other days, he’ll forget the diaper bag at home and have to dip that poop covered kid into the Long Island Sound, place them butt-naked into the car seat, and pray he makes it home before any other bodily fluids decide to escape.

So what makes a good dad? Which book has all the answers?

You didn’t really expect me to answer that, right? I am not a trained professional, nor do I intend to become one. Good dad qualities are as varied as the kids they spawned. The only thing I’ve figured out since we started down this insane, speedbump-filled, unpaved, parenting road is that good dads figure out what their kids need them to be, and they become that guy, even if it means missing playoff football to take their princess to the ballet.

I spend a lot of time telling my husband he’s a terrible father. Wait…hear me out. He’s obviously not a terrible father. Not even a sort-of bad father. In fact, he’s actually a pretty amazing father. But he’s taken his high school label of “class clown” to a whole other level and often says things that fathers definitely should not say to their kids. It usually a surprise to all of us, and my gut reaction is to blurt out, “You’re a terrible father.” I know it’s not nice, but it’s also not nice when he tells my son that selling drugs is a good way to make a lot of money in a short amount of time. Yes, of course, he’s kidding. Yes, it elicits a laugh from our bewildered child who desperately wants to buy things while he also desperately wants to avoid getting a job. But really, can you blame me?

It took a lot of years, but I eventually figured out that my kids needed a fun parent. I am the nurturer and the disciplinarian. I kissed all the boo-boos and also filled garbage bags full of crap they refused to clean up, while they followed me around the room, screaming for “favorite” toys that, once bagged, were never once remembered. I created a homeschool curriculum that stimulated the mind and then (much to everyone’s horror) sang lullabies as I tucked them in at night. I listened to the airing of grievances when it was a bad day and held them tight during tantrums when it was a really bad day. It is rewarding and fulfilling and has allowed me a strong and unique relationship with my kids. But it’s also freaking exhausting.

When 6 p.m. rolls around and I’m just starting dinner cleanup, I’ve got nothing left for trampolining with an eager child who has waited all day (plus, trampolines and moms are not the best combo. Unless you were a queen Kegel-er, bad things happen while jumping). Enter Fun Dad. Not only is he happy to jump on the trampoline, he will use his larger mass to send you flying higher than the protective safety net, eliciting glee-filled laughter from the children and near-hysterical requests from me to take it down a level.

Fun Dad takes you to the beach when mom just needs like, eight minutes to herself so her head doesn’t explode and fire doesn’t shoot from her neck. He buys you ice cream for dinner and egg sandys for breakfast (even though they’re filled with factory farmed meat and eggs and loaded with processed cheese on rolls that have been literally bleached of any and all nutritional value). Fun Dad’s reaction to your request for help on a math problem will be to put you in a headlock and ask, “Is this helping?” Fun Dad lets you have your own kayak way before he should. He pushes you outside your (or mom’s) comfort zone and shows you that you always had it inside you to be amazing.

And though they roll their eyes at Fun Dad, they know and respect that he is also Hardcore Dad. Where they may be able to tug on mom’s heart strings, knowing a well-placed sad-face will have me sighing in defeat, dad’s having none of it.

Me: “I should just switch the laundry. The basket of wet clothes may be too heavy for him to lift.”

Hardcore Dad: “He is bigger than you.”

Me: “Why do you say such hurtful things?”

Hardcore Dad: “He’s also bigger than me.”

Hardcore Dad lives by example and works harder than any human probably should. Instead of telling our kids they should do good, honest work, he actually does good, honest work. Then he teaches them how to do the same. Both kids learned to weld before they hit double digits (and when I was not home). They can build, sand, and stain a table. They can wash dishes, run a vacuum and care for all of the many, many pets. While I worried over splinters and burns, Hardcore Dad was showing them how to remove splinters and treat burns.

At some point, while I was busy trying to figure out how to be the mother my kids really want and need (I’ll let you know when I get that pinned down), my husband was doing the same. He may not be the dad I initially thought a “good dad” was supposed to be, but he is definitely the best dad for our kids. A good bit of badass and a whole lot of laughter seems to be just the right fit. Plus, it keeps them guessing. Is he going to throw you into a full nelson or show you how to change your oil? It could go either way.

If the full nelson breaks down into a full-blown wrestling match (which it will), and the old wood floors get into the fight by giving you a splinter, the American Academy of Dermatology has a few common sense tips for splinter removal, as well as advice on when you should get some professional help (for the splinter, anyway).

Here’s wishing a Happy Father’s Day to all the Fun Dads, Hardcore Dads, and everyone in between!