When I left my career as a fundraiser to assume the role of full-time caregiver for an infant daughter, I naively believed I was prepared for the challenge. I had read a good bit about parenting, watched numerous episodes of T. Berry Brazelton’s What Every Baby Knows and spent more than two decades dealing with children on a personal level.

I looked forward to being a “daddy,” but my wife and I learned we were an infertile couple. After a sometimes circuitous, often frustrating and emotionally drain-ing adoption process finally brought a captivating baby girl into our home, our employer generously let each of us work half-time for four months so we could share in the experience of tending a newborn. At the end of our self-described probation period, we decided that one of us should “retire” and assume the role of homemaker/child-care provider.

My job was somewhat more tenuous than my wife’s, and I had not only survived but actually flourished during my on-the-job training. Diapering with Velcro-clasp diaper wraps was a breeze, giving our baby a bottle was nothing less than wonderful (even at 3am), and I even had free time to write during her naps. So I became unemployed.

The remainder of the first year passed quickly. Each smile and the increasing signs of understanding proved wonderfully satisfying. Because of my nonstop conversations with her, our daughter began to speak sooner than most children, another positive reinforcement for Daddy. But when, at 18 months, she decided she no longer needed a nap and I had no respite from 8am until 5:30pm, I began to realize how very isolating it is to be home alone with a child.

Then I discovered playgroup. Sponsored by Children’s Play Room (now ParentWorks), the weekly two-and-a-half-hour session included playtime, a special activity, bathroom time, a snack, a craft, reading and a time to sit in a circle and sing songs. I was pleased that our daughter was meeting other children, but the high point for me was the one-hour parent discussion, which provided meaningful adult interaction. Topics ranged from summer safety and nutrition to potty training and discipline. But despite our common bond as parents, I immediately realized I was different.

For one thing, I was a new parent, whereas several of the women had older children. But more importantly, they were all women. Being the only male in a seven-person discussion group was initially daunting, yet in the course of just a few weeks, I realized that perhaps one’s sex was not the most important factor in successful child care. Unlike me, however, the women at playgroup had been groomed by their mothers and society to be caregivers. Males my age had not.

As playgroup became an increasingly important part of my life, my interaction with the “mommies” became more rewarding. It wasn’t long before we were getting together at each others’ houses regularly, ostensibly to let the kids play together, but in reality to commiserate, eat and occasionally vent about spouses. Although I was ever vigilant for unfounded male-bashing, I found myself more and more often echoing my friends’ sentiments and sometimes chiding them for not being assertive about the importance of having their husbands play a more active role in parenting.

In the course of several months, I learned a great deal not only about parenting but also about topics foreign to most men — like PMS, hysterectomies and the importance of listening sympathetically without offering solutions. Our discussions were sometimes lighthearted but almost always rooted in the fact that as parents we were all in the same boat.

This became crystal clear during a discussion on fidelity when, with tongue in cheek, I scoffed at the idea of having an affair and lamented that I barely had enough time to have sex with my wife. To my surprise, I was immediately overwhelmed with detailed suggestions on how to improve my love life. Though slightly embarrassed, I accepted these comments as advice from friends who were concerned about my welfare.

After the arrival of our newly adopted son, playgroup grew even more important — an island of serenity in the sometimes choppy waters of parenthood. And ever so subtly, my status in the group began to change. The usual parenthetical comments during our discussions (“No offense, Dan, but men ...”) became less frequent, and I was able to share more easily in the jocularity.

A new challenge arose when one mother needed to breastfeed during playgroup. I went out of my way to avoid her at these private moments but felt a twinge of regret that she was removing herself because of me. As the weeks passed, however, she seemed less concerned about my presence and ultimately felt comfortable enough to nurse the baby while I was nearby. Before long, we even carried on conversations as she was breastfeeding. Clearly, things had changed.

That change was revealed most dramatically at Jane’s. Though we had known each other for barely six months, Jane and I had become fast friends, initially because of our common bond as white parents of adopted biracial children, but later because of our shared perspectives on many issues. As we discussed the plight of a mutual acquaintance — an unmarried 23-year-old with four children under age 6 — Jane was quite skeptical about the young woman’s prospects with a new beau.

“Oh, come on,” Jane said, “do you really think he’s going to marry her? He just wants to sleep with her. If you were a man, would you want to marry her?” She paused, realizing what she had said, then added sheepishly, “What am I saying — you are a man!”

I thanked her for restoring my masculinity and shared the incident with the others, who were suitably amused. Yet secretly, I was deeply pleased with how my life had changed. I had given up a financially rewarding job in favor of one that provided me with little more than hugs, kisses and loving smiles. Instead of searching for sources of funds, I spent my days searching for matching socks or a favorite doll. Rather than trying to persuade others to part with their money, I tried to cajole two active children to tolerate diaper changes or share toys.

I had undertaken a challenge I was unprepared for — as all new parents do — and had survived, perhaps even prospered. And I had shed the stereotypes I had been saddled with for nearly four decades, so well that I had become an honorary woman.

I have no illusions about the future. Someday I will don my crisply pressed shirt, put on a tie and return to the work force — older and no doubt wiser than when I left it. But no matter what I accomplish, I can’t help but feel it will pale in comparison to the time I spent at home nurturing my children and hanging out with the girls.

 

 

Sam looked at me pityingly. “It’s really too bad that you don’t live around here anymore,” he said. “The Red Sox have won two World Series in four years, the Patriots have won three Super Bowls in the last five, and now the Celtics are winning. You’re really missing something.”

“What am I missing, Sam?”

“Well, not being here means that you can’t enjoy things with all us Boston fans.”

“You’re right,” I said, “There aren’t many Boston fans in Central PA. Which is great.”

“What do you mean, great?”

“Sam, if I were still living here, I’d be just one of several million fans all screaming for the Sox and Patriots and congratulating each other, but being a Red Sox and Patriots fan living in Harrisburg is unique. When I walk around wearing a Sox or Patriots cap—well, I’m sort of special.”

To be able to make that statement was, to say the least, an unexpected development.

Fourteen years ago, when my wife and I moved from the Boston area, I wondered if I could remain an avid fan. There would be limited TV coverage of the Red Sox and Patriots, and I would have to travel back to the Boston area, or to Baltimore, Washington, Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, to see them play. At the same time, with no major league baseball or football teams of their own, I wondered what the favorite teams of sports fans in the Harrisburg area were. Phillies? Orioles? Eagles? Steelers?

During the early years in Harrisburg I remained an enthusiastic fan, but the performance of my teams left me frustrated and isolated. Friends here knew me as a loyal fan, but the only people I talked to about the Sox and Patriots were back in Boston.

Then things changed.

During the last six years, a time of great success for both teams, I began to see an increasing number of people wearing Red Sox and Patriots caps and shirts at theaters, malls and supermarkets. Recognizing a common bond, we would exchange anecdotes, and often I would ask why someone living in Central PA was a Red Sox or Patriots fan. Most were people who once lived in or went to school in the Boston area. One man told me that when he was 10, a Red Sox player was the only one who signed his scorecard when the Sox played in Baltimore. Another became a Patriots fan when she saw them introduced as a team rather than individuals at the first Super Bowl after 9/11. But my conversations weren’t limited to these fans.

One day, standing in a supermarket checkout line after a Patriots’ Super Bowl victory, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a large man wearing a Steelers’ game shirt. “Congratulations,” he said with a smirk. “But we’re only letting you borrow it.”

Having established that there was a cadre of Sox and Patriots fans within greater Harrisburg, I again wondered which professional teams are the most popular in the area. Unable to find any published data, I interviewed friends and acquaintances, the local sports media and people working at sporting goods stores.

The first two groups were in general agreement, maintaining that about half of the local football fans favor the Eagles, a third the Steelers and the remainder other teams, including the Ravens. The sports-store workers had the teams reversed, with almost 60% following the Steelers and about 30% the Eagles.

Friends and the media believed that about a third of the baseball fans are for the Phillies, with the Orioles at 20% and the Pirates at 10%. The response from the sporting goods people, perhaps influenced by sales, was more provocative. Surprisingly, the Red Sox and Yankees, at a combined 50%, were judged first in popularity. The appeal of the Phillies has suffered because of their continual close-but-no-cigar performance. With multiple losing seasons, the popularity of the Orioles and Pirates has diminished even more. On the other hand, the Yankees remain perennial fan favorites, and the recent success of the Red Sox has gained them many local followers, particularly among younger fans.

I continue to be a strong Red Sox and Patriots fan, but I’ve learned that without close and frequent contact, it’s hard to be a fervent fan when your team is not successful. Though local sports fans must follow their choices from afar, the good news is that they have multiple choices. The bad news is that it’s difficult to remain zealous when your team isn’t winning, so selections are often fragmented and changeable.

But when they have a team with which to identify, the sports fans of Central PA are as loyal as any in the country. Consider their eternal through-thick-or-thin allegiance to Penn State.

And consider that I also now root for the Nittany Lions.