Diary of a Laid-Off Dad: Episode 13
Today was different for me.
Today, I took my youngest son to see a developmental pediatrician.
My past few posts have focused on my job search and how it has impacted or contextualized my role as a father, from recollections on dad guilt to lessons learned to moments of appreciation (more on the latter point in a moment). Today, all those obsessions and issues were out the window. I had one job today: to be a father.
(For context, my youngest son has shown some delays in his expressive speech. That per se is not concerning but add to that a family with a history of neurodiversity (i.e. autism, ADD, ADHD) and it was only natural that my wife and I wanted to get a professional opinion about his development.)
The drop-off at school went without a hitch. As did my morning doing chores and applying for jobs. With the early afternoon approaching, I returned to our sons’ elementary school to pick up my youngest for his doctor’s appointment. Signing him out took a little longer than usual, which grounded my nerves as my wife and I were on a year-long waiting list to see this particular doctor. (“The best make the rest of us wait.” But in all seriousness, this doctor is esteemed and well-worth it.) Traffic was also more on the heavy side as well. Add to that the fact that the doctor’s office computers were down, and you have a recipe for making an overthinker like me stew in their own head.
Still, the check-in process allowed me to appreciate the fact that the day we had waited for — an evaluation by a respected doctor — had come. By the time the doctor saw us, my angst had melted away and the attentive father in me was, well, present.
And it’s a good thing he showed up, because the doctor had a lot of questions — for me. I had expected the evaluation to focus more on my kid, for that’s what I thought had happened with my oldest son when he was diagnosed with autism a few years ago. In truth, what had changed was not the evaluation process but our family dynamics. Since the time when my oldest was evaluated, my wife returned to work, both my boys had enrolled in elementary school, and I lost my job. With my wife newly employed, I was tasked with taking our youngest to the doctor. It’s something I’ve done many times when working, though in the past, it involved much more logistics on my part: I’d have to clear my work schedule, set up my out-of-office reminders, tell my boss, and glance at my phone for any emergencies from work. Without those distractions, I finally found myself free from splitting my focus between family and work. So now I’ve been giving more energy to processes and moments that once had to share real estate with my career.
As the questions came, I revisited everything which had happened to my youngest since birth. We discussed his milestones like walking, first words, and his schooling. I went over how he acts at home and at school, highlighting anything unusual while also speaking about the more frequent behaviors he has exhibited. With the questions and conversations came some funny parts too, and some laughs, some at my expense. By the end of her questioning, and her examination of my boy, I was spent — in a good way. An hour-long trip down memory lane, even for medical reasons, had been better than I had hoped. It wasn’t that his diagnosis was better than expected — though it was — rather, it brought into focus all the steps we had taken as a family to support our youngest member. Our worries and anxieties lost their strength when I was forced to step back and see the bigger picture, and my role in it. Fatherhood, at least for a brief period of time, seemed less daunting, more forgiving, and more like the calling I’d been craving it to be.
Yes, I’ve gotten it wrong. I’ve overworked and overthought. I’ve beat myself up. Though in looking back, I’ve also shown up, more than I give myself credit for. I missed less than I believed I did, because I was there, being present for the easy and hard moments, even if I lost myself in thought after the fact.
My uninterrupted stretch of fatherhood — of just me and my youngest son — continued after the doctor’s office. He was hungry for a late lunch, having missed it at school. So I took him for a bite. On our way back home, I expressed my pride at how well he did at the doctor’s office — no complaints, no tears, no misery (because that’s my job — sorry not sorry for the bad dad joke).
“You did great, kid,” I told him while stopped at a traffic light.
“You did great too, Dad,” he replied.
Wait, what?! Yes, it was one of those Hollywood too-good-to-be-true moments worthy of Lifetime, Hallmark or anywhere else you can find a cheesy family scene.
Seriously, I was kind of in shock.
“What was that, buddy?” I asked, in disbelief.
“You did great too.”
Apart from easing my concerns about his expressive speech delay, I leaned back into my seat, grinning. I won’t gush over the obvious, only to end by saying that moment will carry me . . . For years and years to come.
