There are lots of things that I think are important to being a good Mother, and most of them are things that I see every day. I hear mothers pushing their child in a squeaking shopping cart. I watch mothers cut peanut butter jelly sandwiches the diagonal way, the half way, the baby squared way, and the circle way. I have gauged once or twice when I have walked by a mother changing her baby’s diaper. There seems to be a lot that a mother can do for her baby. Only after reading the articles for the past week did I realize that the most important thing a mother can do for her baby is who will be the father. Now I am not going to play dumb and imagine that every family works traditionally; I would hope that in our world a man and women can get married and raise their children together. Yet, I understand that is not always the case. While I was reading about the importance of fathers I really did not care about the biological father or adopted father, but the father of the child. The man most present in the home is the man who will instill the schema for the baby of how men should treat women, how men should treat children, how men should show love. For a mother the choice should be clear that no matter how much you personally show love by being warm, tender, and attentive to your child your baby can only develop a schema for men by observing a man. The type of men that I allow to interact with my child will determine my baby’s future.
I have always admired good fathers, but what I had not thought about was how fathers and mothers naturally interact differently with their children. My own father loves me very much, but I would like to focus this paper on my older brothers. The other day I was at my brother Swen’s house and he was playing monster with his two little girls. Reagn, his oldest daughter, ran around her dad stood on the couch, pointed her finger at him, and screamed, “attacking hair curler,” we all stared at the four year old standing on the coach cushions who believed that the ultimate weapon was an attacking hair curler. That was not her only weapon though, because pretty soon she started to squirt sticky-sticky-hairspray. My brother played along, and every time she squirted him with sticky-sticky-hairspray he moved slower and slower. Until my sister-in-law Kristy asked everyone to calm down and come and eat peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwiches. I watched my family for a few minutes and tried to imagine Swen holding a butter knife in one hand while Kristy wriggled on the floor covered in sticky-sticky-hairspray. Not only did I actually laugh out loud, but it got me thinking about how naturally fathers and mothers have different rolls because they are different.
My brother Andrew is also a great father. Andrew owns a landscaping company and he takes his children to work with him all of the time. There is a model swing set outside his front office, and I can only think of a few times when I have seen stopped by his work and his children are not there pushing each other in the swings or drawing on the order-form-white-board. He has pictures that his oldest son Ryan drew in his Kindergarten class plastered across the walls, Zack’s fishing pole, and princess slippers tucked under his desk for Eva. I understand that not all fathers can have their children come to work with them, but that is not what impresses me about my brother. I admire Andrew because he is not only a father when he comes home from work, but he is a father all of the time. He thinks about his children, makes time for their soccer games, goes to their pre-school performances, and makes sacrifices I know I will never be aware of for his children.
I have six older brothers, and all of them are good men. They are all married except for my one brother who is on a mission. Most of them have children of their own and all of them have great wives who love being mothers. I guess that I never thought so hard about the importance of a father because you cannot miss something you just assume you deserve. Like any younger sister I have always looked up to my brothers. It seems that when I was not trying to keep up with them I was thinking of ways that I could. Despite their teasing and roughhousing they were better than average brothers because I can never remember getting left behind. Now that I have grown up a little I expect nothing less for myself than the men my brothers are. I honestly believe that much of my personal schema for men and how they show love not only comes from my father but from my older brothers. Older brothers have a gift for expecting the best from you and expecting the best for you.
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