A tribute to a different kind of Father's Day

• Feast countdown = 36
• Current craving = Nothing.  I gave myself a stomach ache earlier with too much Lucky Charms.
• Current craving distraction = My stomach ache

My brain is mush tonight and my stomach is angry, so this post will be short and sweet.  My oldest sister Beth sent me to NPR's Speaking of Faith blog yesterday, where they wrote about Swedish parental leave for fathers.  Beth has two kids under the age of 3, so you can see why this would be pretty interesting for her.

It also piggybacks on a post I wrote a while ago on men breastfeeding.  Yes, the controversial one :)  Even if I don't agree with everything in Sweden's policy, I do love the idea of mothers and fathers deciding together on the amount of leave they will each take.  It empowers and encourages fathers so much more in the process.  See what you think...

http://blog.speakingoffaith.org/post/707695427/swedens-daddy-leave

Sweden’s “Daddy Leave”

Nancy Rosenbaum, associate producer

“Now men can have it all — a successful career and being a responsible daddy.” 
—Birgitta Ohlsson, Sweden’s Minister of EU-Affairs and a mother-to-be

In Sweden, state financial incentives are changing the face of modern fatherhood. According to the International Herald Tribune, Swedish families receive 13 months of government-subsidized parental leave. Dads get two months and so do moms. Parents can divide up the remainder however they choose. But here’s the kicker: if fathers don’t avail themselves of their “daddy leave,” then the family loses out on a month of paid subsidy.

Apparently in Sweden, daddy day care is the new normal. It’s an interesting example of social policy influencing human behavior and perceptions of masculinity. According to data from the Swedish Social Security office, Swedish fathers whose children were born in 2002 used an average of 84 days of paid paternity leave. That’s an increase from 57 days taken in 1999.

How does Sweden’s policies compare to other countries around the globe? For one perspective, check out these global parental leave maps created with Wikipedia data by an American dad/blogger living in Sweden (while on his daddy leave no less).

As I observe so many of my friends and colleagues grappling with work-life balance, it’s interesting to learn how other countries and cultures are approaching these parenting challenges, and how notions of what it means to be a man are shifting in the process. I’m also reminded of a story about what gets lost when fathers stay at the sidelines of child rearing from our show with Rabbi Sandy Sasso:

“I remember a father telling me that he doesn’t usually read to his children at night, that his wife did, the mother did. But one night, he read, and he decided to read this book. And he decided to leave out the questions, because he felt that would take too long and it would be too long a bedtime ritual…And the child stopped him in the middle and said, ‘No, Dad, ask the questions. Ask the questions. I want to talk.’ What she wanted to do is have a conversation in this quiet time when nothing else was intruding on their lives.”

In the image above, Swedish weightlifter Hoa-Hoa Dahlgren featured in a 1970s ad produced by Försäkringskassan — the Swedish Social Insurance Agency — to encourage fathers to participate in paid paternity leave. (photo: Reio Rüster)

Forever tied together

• Feast countdown = 37
• Sunday's cravings = Break-and-bake chocolate chip cookies
• Sunday's craving distractions = Fundraising

"...for that moment of hesitation I did not trust myself, and looked back upon the past as something precious about to be snatched away from us and was afraid of the future.  I had not understood then what I think I have now come to understand: that we can keep the past only by having the future, for they are forever tied together.  Therefore, I lacked some essential confidence in the world and in myself."

-Robert Penn Warren, All the King's Men


These words leapt off the page as I was reading last week, enough to make me pause and put the book down to make room for my thoughts.  It was one of those rare moments when the writer exposed me -- my idiosyncrasies and inner rumblings -- right there on the page, and he turned something that's seemingly obvious into a new mini revelation: Living fully and confidently in the present hinges on my ability to embrace, all at once, things past and yet to pass.

Unfortunately, I'm not great about embracing either, especially not at the same time.  I look back with regret on lost opportunities or friendships during school.  Or, I turn to worrying when confronted with big looming questions about my career or long-term goals.  Both cause me to question who I am at present.

I just love this line -- "we can keep the past only by having the future, for they are forever tied together".  It's a simple and dizzying concept all at once...  To go forward with confidence, living boldly, so that you have a chance at extending what you love about the past.  And for the regretful part in me, I would add that we can only "have the future" if we make peace with the past.

Ultimately, I picture myself in the middle of Past and Present Me, straining to hold the two entities together and working to balance their pull on either side.  I believe that my ability to live without fear, doubt, and insecurity largely depends on striking that balance.

The forgotten ones

• Feast countdown = 38
• Cravings for the past 3 Sundays = Blizzards at DQ
• Craving distractions = Work^3, along with good company

Poverty looks very different in rural Missouri than it does in metro Atlanta.  That probably sounds fairly obvious to anyone, but I still find myself surprised that some of the neediest people tend to fade into the background here.  In the cities, it is exactly the opposite – the concentration of people naturally brings about a visible and frequent contrast between the haves and have-nots, oftentimes in the most heavily trafficked areas.  Every time I ran in Piedmont Park, I expected to pass a series of homeless people curled up on park benches.  Or I expected to smell the stench of urine when I walked to work on the downtown streets.

Out here, it seems easier to hide and ignore.  Just the other day, I asked one of my teammates from this area about homelessness -- mostly because I hadn't seen it -- and he paused for a moment before answering that it isn’t the best metric for neediness here.  Some of the poorest people scrape by in an old car or abandoned trailer, because they are afforded the vast space and limited oversight to tuck themselves away in the hills.  They may have a home, but they are just as needy as the street corner dwellers.

The reason this strikes me is that I live in one of the poorest Congressional districts in the U.S. – 428 out of 435 for median income in 2008 – and yet I don’t bump into this harsh reality as frequently as I thought I would.  It’s much more subtle.  I’ve caught myself several times admiring a pristine stretch of pastures and pastoral landscape as I drive by, only glimpsing at the rusty trailer in its midst as an afterthought.  "Wait, somebody lives there...", I remind myself.  While no one is approaching my car for money or gazing at me from the curb as I walk, poverty still hides in the periphery and shrinks from the public eye.

I hate the thought of children growing up in an environment that feels forgotten.  As areas like these hemorrhage jobs and young talent, the next generation of rural America is left with little resources, or ambition, to turn things around.  These children place their future in failing school systems and dying factories, not to mention a way of life that isn’t sustainable in the long run.  Many of their parents’ careers are no longer there for the taking, or they are nothing like what they used to be. 

I have to remind myself of the "veil of ignorance" mindset: If raised in similar conditions myself, I don’t know if I would be a strong enough person to fight my way to a better life.  

Unfortunately, I don’t have any brilliant solutions to offer yet -- just my observations and musings for the time being.  The realist in me resigns to the fact that rural America will probably shrivel up for many years as we continue expanding into the global economy.  The idealist, however, looks to education and visionary public leadership as the vehicles for change.  I want to believe that people can innovate and adapt when pressed into it.  Time will tell, but I can only hope that I’m helping to bring about that tide of change for a slice of Missouri.