The Birmingham Dad Meetup: April — Where Softness Lives

Monthly updates from a space for dads and their little ones in Birmingham, AL

It happened again. The thing that happens when you plan something and God laughs. Myles had been sick pretty much all week, and we thought this was just one of those times when your kid goes to daycare, picks up germs, brings them home, and gets better in two days.

Nope, not this time. This time Myles wasn’t himself for almost a week, and on Friday, just when we thought he was finally getting better, the daycare called us to come get him because he still just wasn’t being himself they said. I left work early and found him in the front office, knocked out on his nap mat. I picked him up and his body was so warm, and he looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes and said, “Daddy, I do not feel well.”

Long story short, we ended up in urgent care, and they tested for all the things that make you wonder: did he pick up something traveling the globe in the last three hours since we dropped him off, or are those toddlers at his daycare whipping up something nasty at nap time? They sent the drugs to the pharmacy, the one he loves—Amoxicillin—and I wonder if toddlers all love this pink medicine so much they would whip up a bacterial infection just to get some, because when we mention we got bubblegum medicine, he puts his fist up and smiles.

So this is meetup number four, and Mom and I make the call to stop the spread and keep Myles home. Which means I show up to the meetup alone. And since I don’t have the star of the show in tow, I am on time. I walk in, and Ms. Carla—the librarian, and arguably the co-star of this whole thing—doesn’t even say hello. She just looks at me and asks, “Where is Myles?” I tell her there was an incident at the toddler lab, but he is on Amoxicillin now, so he’s all good. She looks at me and nods like she understands.

Another dad is already there, and he’s without his kids too. His name is D, and he works for this really cool company called FiddleSticks Music, where they have music classes for toddlers and babies. Ms. Carla told me months ago she was going to get them to come.

I’ve met D before, so when I see him, I’m happy because I know the kids are in for a treat. But I’m also a little sad that we are both kidless. I wonder if his kids were whipping something up at the lab too. He tells me his kids turn savage when they watch him play and teach, so he didn’t bring them along. I tell him I understand. One time, I went to Myles’ class to read one of his favorite books, and he told all the kids to stay back from his daddy. I hate to admit it, but those kinds of moments are a two-year-old’s way of saying “I love you.” Love is a verb.

I tell D next time he comes, he gets to come just as a dad—no guitar—so he can experience it all for himself too.

It’s a little after 10, and a couple of dads start to show up. One is my cousin, which surprises me because I only had to ask him once. Another is a dad from the daycare I’ve been telling about the meetup. Another is a dad whose friend invited him last time, and he came back again on his own. And then there’s Z, who has been at every meetup since the beginning.

It was a small, intimate group, and something about that always feels special. I tell the dads I know I can do a better job promoting this, but I love the intimacy of it. I know one day the room will be so full the library will be bursting at the seams with fathers and children. But for now, I sit in this moment and relish it—because even in a small room like this, it feels like enough.

D calls us over to the carpet and starts leading songs that remind me how beautiful this space is, even if it’s just a few of us. He’s there with his guitar, singing, and a part of me softens watching the dads with their little ones in their laps, singing along and playing with all the instruments.

This is what the meetup is about—just a bunch of dads and their kids. And while I know some of the dads here aren’t used to this, because I’m not either, I love how the meetup forces us, as men, to get down low with our kids and allows us to be soft in ways that aren’t often seen, or sometimes, sadly, not even valued.

Because even if the world is on fire, this hour and a half is a call to joy, to connect, and to be soft with ourselves and with our children. I wish men didn’t always have to be hard—that they could leave every burden at the door and just be like their children. Just laugh, smile, and for a little while, be in a room where everything feels alright.

Every month I think I’m creating something for our children, when in reality, I’m creating something for their fathers too.

My favorite moment from the meetup is watching mothers walk by with their kids. I tell them about what we are building here, and they say, “Don’t worry, my husband will be at the next one.”

If you are a dad reading this, you’re doing a great job. You matter so much so much to world, but especially to the little person who calls you Dad.

Thank you for showing up. And if no one has told you they love you today, I do.

The next meetup is on May 23rd, and I can’t wait.

See ya’ll soon,

Marc

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Read about the last meetup here