I was one of several dads featured in an article called “Fathers who are good at mothering” in the May 1982 issue of RedBook Magazine. RedBook had a circulation of about 2.3 million per month back then. 

The issue was published in late April. However, a couple of weeks later on May 13, 1982, when Maria was born, the article was still on the bulletin board in the maternity ward.  Pro tip: When your spouse is in hard labor, focus on her and not the conversation with the nurse about the article. Just saying.

I ended up in RedBook because the family psychologist who was the instructor at a fathering class was contacted by RedBook for a recommendation of someone they should interview. He suggested they contact me. 

When Betsy, Maria’s older sister by two years, was a couple of weeks old, Betsy and I attended a Fathering Class in the big first-floor meeting room in St Joseph’s hospital. We and about 18 other fathers/infant teams met on Saturday mornings for three weeks.  During the third class, the instructor said his kid was getting too old to be considered an infant so he asked for a volunteer to help demonstrate stuff for the next session. I volunteered. Betsy was only about 2-months old and didn’t seem to mind.

We, Betsy and I, assisted for about six or seven sessions (three classes per session). A couple of weeks after Maria was born, she replaced Betsy as the demonstration baby.  Maria and I did about five sessions of three classes each. 

As I write this post, the “Hop! Hop! Hop!” song we sang at the Fathering Class has been running on a loop in my head. We held the baby facing us, making sure we supported the baby’s head.  We would gently bounce and quietly sing this song in our normal tone:

Hop! hop! hop!

Hop my pony hop.

Though the road is rough and stony

Hop-along my little pony

Nibble as a top

Hop and never stop

I probably sang this to Betsy and Maria hundreds of times and was always rewarded with a smile.  

It was wonderful being present for the birth of both girls. I remember how focused and worried we were about the birth itself.  The delivery is intense, but when it is over, I am their dad for the rest of my life.  

The class was to help dads be more comfortable with their new infant.  Back then, family dynamics were changing. Unlike our parents’ generation, in my generation, both mom and dad often had a job. We dads needed to be much more involved in the day-to-day care of our kids than our fathers were.  This class was there to help us dads learn to be fathers who were good at mothering. 

A primary requirement for the fathering class was that the dads bring their babies to the class by themselves.  The first time I had Betsy alone outside the house was when I took her to that class by myself. It was sort of scary.  But Betsy and I got along pretty well.  

I was shocked when I got to that first class. Most of the moms had accompanied the dad.  The instructor brandished the moms from the room. Then he closed the curtains because the moms were gathered at the windows. These moms had never been separated from their babies. Both mom and dad needed to know, dad could be trusted with the baby. 

By the time Maria was helping in the Fathering Class, most of the dads came to class that first day alone.  Expectations changed. Doctors, nurses, and recent parents with young kids began to encourage new parents to give each other a break by taking care of the infant alone. The parents were learning to trust each other’s ability to care for the baby. 

I don’t remember how it was arranged.  The day after Maria was born, an exhausted me was interviewed in the hospital cafeteria by the author of the article and another lady for about an hour.  As far as I know, the follow-up article was not written. I was also contacted by the producer of one of the local talk shows but there were no dates that worked for me to be on a show. 

Please know, I was not some super dad.  I think I was a good dad but not even in the same class of good that I see many dads are today.  I think my generation bumped up the bar on what it means to be a more nurturing dad. But this current generation has taken being a nurturing dad to a whole new level of good.   

Here are the few paragraphs about me from RedBook Magazine May 1982: 

 ….. ”I can’t imagine how I could have had the same kind of attachment to my child without having changed her diapers or got up for her in the middle of the night.”  says Paul Leegard, 29, of St Paul, Minnesota. He recalls: “I had heard so much about bonding at the moment of birth that I absolutely had to be there. It was a wonderful moment.  I’ve talked to fathers who were in the waiting room while their wives were delivering, and when they went to the nursery they said, “I wonder which one is mine.” When you’re there for their birth, there is no doubt which one is yours.  Our baby was alert and I was elated.”

Paul, a personnel manager for White Farm Equipment Company in St. Paul, is one of the new breed of fathers who attended Lamaze classes and the delivery of his daughter Betsy more than two years ago.  He considers himself an equal parent, although he is quick to admit that his parenting time has been limited by the demands of his full-time job. His wife Linda, 28, who shares a secretarial job with another woman and spends the rest of the time at home with Betsy, by necessity she does more of the housework and child care.

Nevertheless, Paul says he does not shy away from getting up at 3 A.M. when the baby cries.   “Betsy woke up at three the other morning and I couldn’t get her back to sleep till six,” he recalls.  “I was annoyed at the time, but in the long run, sharing responsibility is neat.”

Paul travels around the country recruiting personnel for his company and reports that he hasn’t met a man under 35 who’s not interested in helping with the children.  “I want to say, I helped bring up my child.” Paul says, “If she turns out rotten, I’ll share the blame, but if she turns out good, I’ll share the credit. And I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll share the credit. “

 

The closer you look the more you see.

www.scaleandperception.com

 

In the fourth or fifth grade, as a geography lesson, we drew flags from the countries of our nationality.  I drew Swedish and Norwegian flags. Mom’s side, Swedish. Dad’s side, Norweigan. Over the years, my guess is I have been asked my nationality hundreds of times.  Maybe thousands of times.  

As an adult, I was often questioned about what nationality the name Leegard was from. I would respond back in the day, there were so many Legaards in Webster, South Dakota that the postal service asked if some would change their name to make it easier to deliver the mail.  So some of the residents, including my grandparents on my dad’s side, added an “e” and removed an “a” to make it easier for the postmaster.  

We all have ancestors and those ancestors all lived somewhere else.  None of us choose our ancestors. It always surprises me when people seem overly interested in the nationality of other people’s ancestors.  I have been asked hundreds of times about my nationality. Most often it seems to be an attempt at getting to know me. However, my best friend in high school was of Japanese descent. Some inquiries about his nationality were not innocent. 

I do wonder if I have any unique Scandinavian characteristics. Admittedly, I don’t really know what a unique Scandinavian characteristic would look like.  The best I can come up with is the Scandinavian stereotype of blonde, stoic and likes to eat bland food. Before I went grey, I had dark hair and my complexion has always been on the dark side, not pale.  I don’t think of myself as being stoic. I like pizza and tacos.

Legally, ancestry is supposed to be irrelevant.  As an American, discriminating against me for being Swedish or Norwegian is against the law.  I believe it would also be morally wrong to discriminate against me because my relatives were from Sweden, Norway or wherever. Do onto others and all that. 

I don’t introduce myself to others by saying, “Hi, I am a Swedish and Norweigan person named Paul Leegard.  Being Swedish and Norweigan is part of my identity but not so much of how I think of myself. I think of myself as a good looking genius adventurer who is an excellent writer and whose presence makes everyone around me better.  Just kidding, I am not that adventurous.  

All kidding aside, nationality actually refers to the country a person lives in.  I am an American citizen and thus I am American. Full stop. My ancestors maybe lived in Sweden or Norway but no matter where my ancestors are from, since I live here, here is my nationality.  The correct answer to my nationality is I am an American. 

Heritage, unlike nationality, is about traditions handed down or traits inherited.  Heritage also can refer to inheriting things like property. I did not inherit any Swedish or Norweigan property.  My DNA includes DNA from people who once lived in Sweden or Norway.  As for traditions, I attended two Lutheran church basement lutefisk dinners. Lutefisk is bad but I like Swedish meatballs.  

We had no choice in who are our parents or where they lived.  We had no choice in the generations who preceded our parents either.  The only thing we can control is how we handle ourselves today, and how we treat others around us.   

Feeling connected to the past is reassuring.  We feel part of something bigger than ourselves.  When I think about places to which we might want to travel.  Going to Sweden and Norway comes to mind because that is where my relatives were from.  But if I am honest I could justify dozens of other places for equally good reasons.  

We should never treat another person poorly because of the nationality of their ancestors. Sure sometimes it takes me a while to warm up to others.  However even if that was a characteristic of some Scandinavians, it would be wrong to ask me if I am Scandivaian when you first met me and then assume I would not be worth the effort to get to know. 

The world is now far more interconnected than it was in my youth. With each passing generation, Swedes marry Norwegians and their kids marry others from god knows where.  The nationality of our forefathers is often a list, not a single country.

I recently read a very interesting observation.  Almost everyone who has their DNA analyzed to determine their ancestry discovers their ancestors are from multiple regions of the world. More than that, most often they were unaware of at least some of those regions prior to the results. 

I fully understand the curiosity about from whence we came. Being connected to our past is reassuring and important.  However, we need to remember, where someone’s relatives are from should never be a factor in how we treat them. 

My mom said I drew the flags very well.  I doubt she was an objective observer. Just saying.  

 

The closer we look the more we see.

www.scaleandperception.com

 

Let us pretend a kid wants me to play trucks. I probably would politely say no because crawling around in the sand takes a bigger commitment at my age than I am willing to commit to.  I can make engine noises and push a truck with the best of them. However, crawling around in the sand actually would be tough. 

However, I was not asked by a kid to play trucks.  In reality, my 9-year-old granddaughter borrowed my phone and soon started asking “would I rather questions”.  Would I rather go skiing or to a water park? Would I rather be a famous inventor or a famous singer? With each question comes a brief discussion.  We have a fun time and exchanged ideas on lots of topics. I was surprised by some of our answers. It was great fun.

Sure some kids still play trucks but not as much as we used to.  In today’s world is more about apps, electronic games and the like.  As a kid, I played with trucks, kids games are different now. The world has changed 

The games we played 60+ years ago somehow feels less relevant to the world our grandkids are growing up in.  My formative years were spent learning to do stuff relevant to those times. But here we are, the world changed.  Almost every day, someone I know posts something on Facebook about how the world is worse for all the change. I understand their point but that ship has sailed.  The world changed and we, seniors, just like everyone, live in the world as it is now.

As a senior citizen, I use tech but not nearly as well as the kids do.  It is not my fault or their fault. It is just one of the truths about being my age. The world is very different from the world I grew up in. 

Statistically, over 85% of people in the United States of America are younger than I am.  It is a fact. I am older than most people. At 67, I am old enough to be proud I made it this far.  

Many of the people I interact with are close to my age.  Even most of the younger people with whom I interact do not seem to treat me differently because of my age. To me, my age feels like a very normal age to be.  I do not feel special or weird being 67, it is just the age I am. 

Obviously, age is not just a number. I currently have one kidney, dentures, glasses, hearing aids, orthotics in my shoes, thyroid meds, blood pressure meds, allergy meds, and the list goes on.  I can attest to the reality that people my age are somewhat forgetful.  

My balance is good but not as good as it used to be.  My stamina is good but not as good as it used to be. My hair is gray.  My joints are often sore from a lifetime of use and abuse. I never was very flexible but I am less flexible than I used to be.  I think I am as intelligent as I ever. However, I am not as quick-witted as I used to be. It feels like it takes me a beat longer to process than it used to.   

What I did not realize about getting older is that getting older is not about what I am unable to do.  No matter what I am unable to do, there is always more to do than there is time in the day. Which is not to say I try to cram all of the activities possible into every waking hour.  Sometimes the activity I choose to do is take an afternoon nap. 

Yes, I know I am a person of a certain age. I am not old because I am too old to do certain things.  No matter our age there are always things we are unable to do. I am old because most other people are younger. 

I think now that I reached a certain age, I finally understand what being a person of a certain age actually means.  I think it means my formative years were spent prior to the proliferation of tech in the world. I try to learn tech.  I embrace the use of tech. However, my formative years were not spent playing tech games and the like. When I was a kid I played trucks in the sand.  

I do my best to adapt to this new world but I understand those who grow up in this new age are of this age.  I will always be from a different, older age. I sincerely appreciate all of you younger people who tolerate and help those of us who really did grow up in a different time. 

The good old days are a nice place to visit once in a while however today is where I live.  I was fortunate enough to be born at a time when it was possible to grow up in the industrial age and then be present for the start of the information age. That makes me old, I guess, but I can say for certain that a 67-year-old grandpa is very capable of enjoying today’s kids’ games with their granddaughter.  

I would choose the water park because it is warmer and more relaxing than skiing. Also because there is less chance I would get hurt.   Being a famous singer would be cool but a famous Inventor might invent something which could change the course of the world.

 

The closer you look the more you see

www.Scaleandperception.com