While I was rehearsing my little rant, I realized that I've never actually posted the "sermon" that I presented last summer at BUUF. It's a spiritual journey piece that basically serves as a tell-all regarding my experiences as a stay-at-homer and my discovery of the UU fellowship. So I figure I'll post it here, so you can understand how I became this way. Here goes ---
“FINDING SPIRITUALITY WHILE CHANGING DIAPERS”
By David M. Ward
Sound about right?
For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Dave and I am indeed a Unitarian Universalist stay-at-home dad. The real deal. A genuine specimen standing before you in the flesh. It goes without saying that in our great state of Idaho, the land of pickup trucks, cold beer and rifles, I stand out amongst the crowd like Bigfoot in an opera house. Not only am I a “stay-at-homer,” I am also a “UUer.” Basically an unemployed liberal who doesn’t follow the bible or the Republican Party.
Other than that, I fit right in.
Strangers greet the news with looks of bewilderment and confusion. Close friends, many of whom I’ve known since childhood, are equally baffled. Most people tackle the “stay-at-home” puzzle with a predictable, “Getting out of work, eh? Smart man.” This is typically followed by a few hearty laughs, and then awkward silence. The “UU” angle is another story entirely. The typical response resembles, “Unitarian Universalist, what’s that?” Or, “Isn’t that the gay church?” I usually dive into my elevator speech about supporting many paths to the holy and universal acceptance, but it hardly ever matters. To them I am still a furry behemoth snarling my way toward the orchestra pit.
What are ya gonna do?
As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I haven’t always been a stay-at-home dad. Or a UU, for that matter. You see, I used to be just like you. I used to get up everyday, sit in rush-hour traffic and toil in front of a computer for eight to nine hours. I worked as a sports reporter for several different newspapers in both Idaho and Arizona, covering everything from high school golf to NFL football. I carved out a nice little niche for myself, producing sunny feature stories along with tales of heroics under the Friday night lights. I even won the occasional award. But I digress. Nobody wants to hear me blabber on about chasing high school coaches around.
I’m just saying it was a nice little career. Translation – I wasn’t an alcoholic bum who couldn’t get a job. I went to college and everything. There was only one problem. I was completely miserable. The combinations of long hours, deadline stress, low pay and zero respect left me battling depression and searching for something more.
I celebrated my 26th birthday on a sunny Arizona day in April, 2004 with seemingly everything a man could want. I had a good job, a beautiful wife and all of the modern luxuries our society holds in such high esteem (cars, a house, a swimming pool, etc.) Yet I felt something was missing. I never felt whole.
What followed was a three-year odyssey that saw me move across the country and completely change everything about my life. I returned to my home state of Idaho, quit my job, and had a son. I even, gasp, joined a church. This after spending the first 26 years of my existence railing about the “evils” of organized religion. I have emerged from this whirlwind tour of emotions a little dazed, a little confused and feeling fulfilled for the first time in my life.
This journey I’m describing began precisely during the early morning hours of July 23, 2004. Michael Patrick Ward entered this crazy world kicking and screaming at approximately 11:45 in the morning. As every parent will attest, my life has never been the same since the first time I laid eyes on that tiny creature huddled snugly in the nurse’s hand, covered in blood and wailing like a banshee. He arrived a month early, and I was far from ready. The nurse handed him to me, and I just stood there dumbfounded. Nature’s ultimate magic trick left me numb. In a matter of seconds a living, breathing creature materialized before my very eyes.
Now all I had to do was keep it alive!
I worked evenings during that time, so I watched Michael in the morning and took him to daycare in the afternoon. This sounds perfectly logical, but logic knows nothing of the human heart. In reality the task of dropping off my newborn son at daycare was a gut-wrenching experience. I may as well have dropped him off at a Nazi war camp. I spent all of my hours at work daydreaming about little Michael. I cut corners at work. I went home early. In short, I became the world’s worst employee.
A few months after Michael was born, I began to experience the worst bought of homesickness I have ever felt. My family all resides here in the Treasure Valley, so moving to Phoenix was hard enough to begin with. Once I had a child of my own, it was unbearable. My wife, April, managed to obtain a job in Boise fairly quickly, and we left the desert in a flash.
Moving back to Idaho cured my homesick blues, and also provided me with a fresh start. This was my chance to get out of the journalism rat race, and try something new. I would just stay home with Michael for a few months, you see, until something came up. Well, two years later, I’m still staying home with Michael. I have fully transitioned from a dad staying home with his kid, to a bonefide stay-at-home dad. The reason for this is simple.
It just makes sense for our family.
There is an old saying that behind every great man there is a great woman. Well, I believe the opposite is also true. I have a saying of my own: “You always defer to the talent.” If you’ve ever met April you know she is a true “talent.” I’ve known this since the day I met her back at Capital High School many moons ago. Straight-A student, beautiful, funny, and charming, she was always on a fast track toward success. While I toiled through my writing career, earning a salary far too embarrassing to admit here, April quickly climbed to the top of her profession. Her salary easily tripled mine. More importantly, she loves her job in a way that I never could. I am her biggest fan in the world, and I would never offer anything but love and support. Social norms, be damned.
So, I slowly entered the undiscovered valley of the stay-at-home father. I entered nearly two years ago, and have resided there ever since. As you might guess, the life of a stay-at-home dad is nothing like the stereotype. It is an isolated existence, that you might even call glamorous. As long as you consider washing dishes, folding laundry and taking endless trips to the park and the doctor’s office “glamorous.” There is a song you will hear in a few minutes entitled “Mr. Mom,” that April jokingly refers to as my theme song. And in many ways it is just that. In the song, a man finds himself out of work and pondering life as a stay-at-homer. His head fills with visions of relaxing and taking naps. Going from “a hardworking Dad, to being Mr. Mom,” is the exact quote.
For those of you who share in this fantasy, allow me a moment for rebuttal. Yes, it is true that a stay-at-home parent does not have a paying job, but that does not mean they are not working. You may work hard for nine hours a day, but your boss does not follow you home crying and demanding food. Your boss also does not sleep in the next room, and wake up two to three times per night crying and, you guessed it, demanding food. He or she also does not have an uncanny knack for grabbing your arm and screaming whenever you answer the phone or the door. They do not throw things at you when you have the audacity to give him/her milk instead of juice, spit up or throw up on your shirt, or (drumroll please) demand that you, ahem, change his/her diaper.
If your boss does demand any of these things, I beg you to find a new job.
Of course the flip side is the love and happiness the little ones’ provide. You just can’t get that with a “job”. I have to admit my heart melts every time Michael smiles at me out of the blue and says, “I love you Daddy.” Or when he gazes up with those big brown eyes and asks, “Are you having fun, Daddy?”
“Working” as a stay-at-home dad has brought out the full compliment of emotions. Everything from frustration to joy, usually occurring within a five-minute span. I still recall the time we were in line at the bank, and Michael began chanting “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” at the top of his lungs. The first 15 seconds were utter bliss. The final 5 minutes and 45 seconds were utter embarrassment. Or there was the time when I was carrying Michael out of the grocery store, and the little guy decided to yell “Help! Help me! Help!” all the way out the door. I was never arrested, so I guess the shoppers called his bluff.
Memories such as these sit like a box of chocolates in my mind, waiting to be enjoyed at a moment’s notice. The worst fear I’ve ever experienced happened the day Michael wandered out of our front door while I was vacuuming. I can still picture running from room to empty room, and never finding him. The pit in my stomach that formed upon realizing that he wasn’t in the house. The panic as I burst through the front door and ran down the street. The absolute relief I felt as I saw a strange woman walking up toward me with little Michael in her arms. His face the picture of innocence. And finally, the complete shame I felt as she unleashed a lecture for the ages. It’s all funny now, but you can bet your life that all doors are locked in the Ward household when it’s time to vacuum.
It would be easy to withhold information and act like these two years have all been easy. Act like I’ve been the perfect father, and staying home has been a natural transition for me. This is simply not true. During the first two years of his life, Michael screamed constantly. He screamed during the day. He screamed at night. Horrific screams surpassing normal infant crying and venturing toward torture. Inhuman sounds resembling a little boy actually being stabbed in the stomach. Doctors merely shrugged it off, using the trendy phrase of “colic.” Saying it was a “phase” that he would “grow out of.” Well, he never did. We finally discovered, however, that Michael suffers from severe food allergies. A complete overhaul of his diet managed to cure the screaming and reveal a wonderfully happy child.
I’m ashamed to say that I did not handle this challenge well. A combination of sleep deprivation and frustration transformed me into a monster that I will never recognize. Although I did not hurt Michael physically, I did lose my temper. There was plenty of yelling and swearing during the middle of the night. A nightmare I cannot erase and it nearly cost me everything. My marriage. My life. My little boy that I love so dearly. I have no excuses for my actions. I can only express my deepest regret and seek forgiveness each and every day.
This is where the Unitarian Universalist portion of my story comes into play. Shortly after our move, April talked me into attending a summer service at BUUF. I was hesitant to attend any “church,” but April explained that this church was different. This church celebrated all forms of religion and embraced diversity. I have to admit I was curious. So, reluctantly I entered this fabled sanctuary two summers ago. I still remember the lively service. The choir took center stage, performing songs from all over the world. Everyone was singing, laughing and, if you can believe it, happy to be there. It was an entirely new “religious” experience for me. We came back a few weeks later and a few weeks after that. Before long we were coming regularly, and we haven’t stopped coming since.
During January of that year I gathered enough courage to attend the New UU class taught by Steve Thomas. This was a huge decision for me. Remember that I spent most of my life railing against organized religion. So to even consider becoming a “member” of a church was life-altering stuff. Turns out it ranks among the best decisions of my life. I attended newcomer classes at the Catholic Church years before, and left after a short time disappointed by the experience. Lets just say the church and I didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye. Attending the New UU classes at BUUF was nothing like that. I found I actually enjoyed being there. I also found the more I researched the history of the church, the more I liked it. I really bonded with all of the people in the class, and Steve was, well, Steve. Which is to say a wonderful person who I’m sure you all miss as much as I do.
The class flew by, and before I realized it, I was standing in front of the BUUF fellowship accepting my pin and pledging membership. I didn’t feel nervous, or apprehensive. To borrow a line that Mitchell Bethel used during his spiritual journey speech last fall, I just felt “I was home.”
My journey at BUUF simply took off from there. Several members of the new UU class decided to keep meeting, and eventually we morphed into a group of friends rivaling any friendships I have ever known. We meet twice per month, and I look forward to their companionship and support. We call ourselves the “Optimystics” and without them, I wouldn’t have survived my late-night challenges with Michael. They helped me through the hard times, and ushered me out of a deep depression. I am eternally grateful to each and every one of them. As I am equally grateful to each and every one of you at BUUF. Coming here each week, I finally feel part of a community where I can be myself fully. I feel support. I feel love. For the first time in my pessimistic life, I feel hope for the future. If places like this do in fact exist, then this crazy world we live in has a fighting chance, don’t you think?
Recently it has been my great pleasure to watch my UU and stay-at-home-parenting journeys merge right here at BUUF. Michael has become a fixture in the nursery; making “pretend pizza” and wheeling his little shopping cart all around the sanctuary during coffee hour. I’m sure most of you have experienced a small bundle of curls ramming into your ankle with a miniature plastic cart. Sorry about that. My excitement grows when I think about Michael entering the wonderful religious education classes here at BUUF, and the amazing opportunities he has coming his way. A chance to learn about the world and all of its diverse beauty.
This journey has been both life-altering and life-enhancing. Some might argue that my experiences as a stay-at-home parent and a new UU are unrelated. I disagree. Both occurred at roughly the same time. Both brought clarity and meaning to my life. And both are endless adventures that promise fulfillment for the rest of my days here on Earth and beyond. It’s easy to get sentimental when tackling issues such as life, death and parenting, but I’ll leave you with some toddler wisdom. “Are you having fun, Daddy? Are you having fun?”
Yes. Yes I am.
- Dave
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