Family Issues Archives

Big Boys Don’t Cry:
On the Outside That Is
By Robert Naseef, Ph.D.

Ted had been talking freely about himself and his child, and then he stopped and looked up at the ceiling. The ten other men in the room, seated in a circle along with me as the leader, all waited patiently and curiously for him to continue. We had gathered to discuss the challenges for fathers of children with disabilities. Before long, the waiting became uneasy, so I asked if there was anything else he wanted to share. Still looking at the ceiling, he answered hesitantly, "There's so much I want to say, but if I say any more, I'll cry... and I don't think I'll be able to stop."

It became obvious that he was looking up in order to keep the tears in his eyes from overflowing. As he slowly lowered his head and faced the other men, a tear rolled slowly down his left cheek. What an awkward but tender expression of male emotion. The man who was sitting on Ted's right reached over and put his arm around his comrade. This incident was the catalyst for the other men to open up, and many did so with tears in their eyes and deep feeling in their voices.

One man’s reluctant openness released the other men from the taboo against expressing their depth of feeling. Is it because we have held it in so long that men believe that if we cry the tears won't stop? For as we approached school age, most of us were taught that "big boys don’t cry." To enforce that social command, those who couldn’t hold back the tears had to endure the humiliation of being called a "girl" or a "sissy" or a "fairy." But where do the tears go? Perhaps it is as my own father once observed to me that we men just cry on the inside.

My own story is similar to those of the men in the room, for I too have a child with a disability. Nineteen years ago, swept away by the electricity of the moment, my heart pounded with excitement as I held my newborn son’s soft delicate body next to my heart. He was all I had dreamed he would be as our eyes met and locked onto each other for the first time. Visions of playing baseball and building model airplanes together and having a warm, close relationship danced in my mind’s eye.

Tariq’s life flowed through the first eighteen months of his life as he rolled over, raised his head, began creeping, then crawling, cruising, triumphantly walking, and then talking. Then he got an ear infection, and the train went off the track. That exciting time when every day seemed to bring a new accomplishment was gone. He stopped talking, stopped playing normally, and began flapping his arms in a strange repetitive manner. His life and mine have never been the same.

Eventually, after years of early intervention, my boy was diagnosed with autism and mental retardation. He never spoke again and never learned to read or write. Now eighteen, he’s still extremely active and doesn’t understand danger. It was confusing and bewildering not knowing which end was up - feeling so badly and yet having an adorable child with a serious "problem." A grief beyond words, but there was no death and a totally normal looking child whom I have loved as much as life itself.

I thought I would change him, and make him the boy I wanted him to be. But he has changed me, and helped me to become the man I needed to be. He taught me the meaning of unconditional love - to honor his sacred right to be loved for who he is, not what he has achieved lately, how he looks, or how much money he will earn. What a priceless lesson that he has taught me in his silence, without words - like a Buddha.

The "New Man"

Until the 1970's, the role of the father in child development was largely ignored. While regarded as providers and protectors, fathers were not expected to be involved in day-to-day parenting activities, with the notable exception of discipline. Who, for example, doesn't remember hearing "Wait until your father gets home?" In emphasizing the undeniable importance of mothers, social scientists lost sight of the father and the larger family context in which children grow and develop. The word parent became synonymous with mother. This same trend applied to fathers of children with disabilities.

By the time fathers were "rediscovered," many men were frustrated with their traditional roles. Many had found that the "duty" to be a successful breadwinner had sometimes choked the natural instinct to nurture, and that they could instead be tender and nurturing with their children and provide discipline too. And, as more and more women worked outside the home, fathers became of necessity more involved in the day-to-day care of their children. Michael Lamb, Ph.D., a leading scholar on fathers, revealed some significant differences between mothers' and fathers' behaviors with their newborn infants. Mothers spend more time attending to the infants' basic needs while fathers tend to play more. Fathers are also observed to be more vigorous and rougher in their play than mothers.

Mothers and fathers initially respond differently to a child with a disability. Fathers seem less emotional and focus traditionally more on long-term problems such as the financial burden. Mothers respond more openly with their emotions and are more concerned with the burdens of the daily care of the child. Fathers who are less involved in daily interaction with their children tend to have a prolonged period of denial about the disability and its implications. The growing literature about men tells us that men express their feelings differently and tend to avoid the direct expression of feelings other than anger or frustration.

We contemporary fathers don’t fit the image of the perfect dad as Robert Young portrayed in "Father Knows Best." On the other hand, we are far from the idiocy that is depicted in the popular current image of Homer Simpson. Our struggle is to continue the traditional role while taking on new responsibilities that we have not been prepared for. In fact, we are creating new images of fatherhood for our children to improve upon.

Connecting Through Sorrow

What are men expected to do in the face of loss? Keep the lid on emotions, take charge of practical details, support others, and take on the loss as a challenge of traditional masculinity are all part of the script. On the other hand, men are not expected to lose control over their emotions, to openly cry, to worry, or to express overwhelming sadness. In caring for one's special child, a father can find himself more cheerful when actively involved with his wife in helping to meet their child’s needs and wants. Standing by and watching a child's struggle and a wife's pain is more heartbreaking than pitching in and helping with the work. This sort of involvement can break the irresistible pull of grief. Many men find it hard to talk openly about their feelings with their wives because they think they are expected "to be strong." Whether this is true or not, men tend to believe so.

Each must find his own way through the grief. For men, perhaps the greatest frustration is that they cannot fix everything and make it better for their wives or their children. In this respect, too, love is not enough. The pain that accompanies this realization makes you go places you never planned to go. There is an immediate need to connect despite our clumsy attempts at sharing and intimacy. It takes time to acknowledge feelings and let them be heard. Even though fathers initially see themselves primarily as support people to their wives and children, they are able to acknowledge their own needs once they get together with each other. Breaking through this wall of their own emotions helps fathers to work through and complete their own grief. Here’s a few helpful hints for men in this process:

1. Find other men to share thoughts and feelings with. The National Fathers’ Network at www.fathersnetwork.org is a great place to start. There are many essays by fathers there who are going through what you are experiencing.

2. Keep a journal of your thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Sometimes our innermost feelings come out when we write.

3. Think about what you would feel if you weren’t angry, grumpy, or irritable. It could be something more tender.

4. Realize that when a woman wants to talk about a problem, she doesn’t always want you to fix it.

Sometimes it seems that men grieve on the inside, so that women can grieve on the outside. Here’s some hints gleaned from my years of experience working with fathers about what men want from their partners:

1. Remind your partner that you don’t want or need him to fix everything, merely to listen and show his caring is often enough.

2. Tell your partner what he is doing right which helps him feel valued and secure in the marriage.

3. When possible, ask for help in finding solutions - even if you think you already have one. When this is the goal, it is easier for a man to listen and not be overwhelmed by a woman’s emotions.

4. Plan time together as a couple.

Conclusion

It's obvious that men have a different tone of voice than women. What's not so obvious, but equally true, is that men have a different tone of grieving and feeling. We are not defective, but we are different. Rich and Debbie Auerbach of Philadelphia have a charming four-year-old son, Adam, who has autism. Accepting and coping with their very active child has been trying for this couple, particularly because Rich himself has cerebral palsy. At a recent support group for parents, Rich shared his insight that Adam and other children with disabilities, and he himself "are not the children of a lesser God."

Indeed with their gift for teaching their families and the world about unconditional love, they may be more like guardian angels.

 

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