Wayne, my son-in-law, is learning about being a daddy. Upon discovering that Jennifer, my daughter, would be going to work during a time that he would be at home, Wayne asks, “What are we going to do with Bobby?” (that’s my 6-month-old grandson). Boy did that bring back some memories!

I, too, had to learn the lesson he’s now learning . . . but I had to learn it the hard way. Debbie and I were reminiscing just the other day about when Jennifer was a newborn. I tried to be good dad and a supportive husband. When it was time for those 3 a.m. feedings, I got up too. (Even though there was nothing for me to do during the actual feeding—I was supportively awake, and there was usually a dirty diaper waiting for me at the end of the feeding.)

Six weeks passed with Debbie doing her mom-thing and me doing my dad-thing. She took primary responsibility for the nurture and care of baby Jennifer. And I helped. I kept the house clean and picked-up (at least to my standards), I cooked meals, washed dishes, and occasionally changed a diaper, rocked the baby, or some other sundry baby-care duty. Things were “hunky-dorey” in babyland.

It was time for Debbie’s six-week check-up, and she was going to the doctor’s office . . . alone.

“So, you want me to babysit?” I asked innocently.

“Babysit?!?” she questioned, her tone rising a bit. “What do you mean, babysit?!? Aren’t you the baby’s father?” she demanded.

My sharp mind quickly formed a calm, if not intelligent, response. “Uhhh . . . yeah, I think so,” I quipped.

“Father’s do not babysit their own children! They just take responsibility for them!”

Apparently, something was amiss in babyland. (And I thought I had been doing so well.) It seems there is a subtle difference between helping and taking responsibility. And it was time for me to venture over to the taking responsibility side.

Although I was a pretty good helper, I can’t honestly say I was very good at being responsible. I don’t remember how well we (Jennifer and I) made it through that doctor’s appointment day. Nor many of the daddy-days that followed. I didn’t feel very comfortable or confident being in charge. Over time, I grew into it, I suppose, and one day I just sorta realized I didn’t feel so overwhelmed, anymore. It seemed more like a daddy and his daughter hanging out together.

By the way, Wayne and Bobby did just great by themselves. I guess he’s a quicker study that I was.