One day, almost two years after our first son was born, my wife announced plans to take night classes to complete her teaching certifications. On those nights, she said, I would be in charge of taking our son home and making dinner.
There was just one problem: I didn’t cook. Granted, I could safely grill stuff, and my spaghetti was acceptable, but that was it.
I had no desire to improve my already questionable cooking skills; I had once boiled water for so long that the water evaporated, and the pot had almost melted onto the range.
She cooked, I cleaned, and that system worked just fine for me, thanks. Now, I was being told to cook and serve that food to our son. Didn’t my wife know who I was?
But as it turned out, learning to cook helped me grow as a person and become a better dad.
We first implemented Guy Night
I had muscled my way through our son’s first year of life, handling my share of feedings, diaper changes, and 2 a.m. wake-up calls without too many problems. And while I can honestly say I was present and active, I don’t remember sharing many bonding experiences with my son before I took on dinner detail.
As it turned out, our new situation created a new event designed for father/son bonding: Guy Night.
My wife had class on Monday and Wednesday nights most weeks, so she would drop him off at my office before heading to campus. Those nights became our time: chases through my office, jamming out to whatever was on the radio on the way home, cartoons while I cooked, and stories before bedtime. Guy Night was for us, and it was a lot of fun.
And while those nights allowed me to really bond with my son, they were also helping to show me who I was becoming.
I eventually found joy — and some stress — in cooking
The first meal I learned how to cook was tacos — a wonderful dish for low-confidence chefs since it requires the same amount of culinary skill and talent as making box mac and cheese. Red meat gets cooked until it’s brown; white meat gets cooked until the pink disappears; in go the peppers, onions, and seasonings; then everything gets tossed into a tortilla, and dinner’s ready.
I made tacos at least once a week for a year, but around the third month, I noticed something interesting: I was having fun.
Once I got a few meals down, I focused on meal planning.
Feeding an infant only requires milk or formula, a burp rag, and a parent’s assent to get covered in spit-up frequently. Once children get on solid foods, they can suddenly become very picky eaters, expressing their distaste by angrily throwing food or offering it to the dog while maintaining direct eye contact with you.
We’re a fairly health-minded house that seeks diversity in our dining options, mostly because there are only so many spaghetti dinners you can have before the thought of red sauce and noodles makes you choose violence. So, I did have some concerns about meal planning for anything more complex than boiled noodles.
Fortunately, my son shared my dining philosophy: “If it gets served to you, eat it before they take it back.”
That time with my son offered some much-needed stability
Cooking also provided a sense of stability during a time of intense struggle. When my wife went back to school, we were experiencing severe financial distress, so in addition to surviving on a smaller income, my fears and anxieties could run wild. Some days, the challenges seemed insurmountable.
How wonderful, then, to find that preparing a meal for myself and my son could help ground those anxieties and provide the inner strength needed to push forward for another day. Cooking for my son at a time that should have been defined mostly by stress, fear, and uncertainty unlocked a new skill set and a tool to get through the hard times.
Life happens even in challenging circumstances, often with surprising results. Few things provide inner strength better than your child grinning at you with a mouthful of homemade tacos.
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