When I was a kid, I don’t remember my dad ever stepping foot into any of my schools. Not once. Now, I’m not mentioning this because I believe my dad was a bad dad. To the contrary, he was an excellent provider and dispenser of fatherly advice. But I always knew I wanted to be a dad and I wanted to be a hands-on dad. That’s the main difference between my father and I; we have vastly different parenting styles. One of the things I do for my children is to volunteer at their elementary school once a month. I am part of a volunteer program called Watch D.O.G.S. (Dads of Great Students), which “is the father involvement initiative of the National Center for Fathering that organizes fathers and father figures in order to provide positive male role models for the students and to enhance school security.” Doing this allows me the opportunity to get to know the teachers and staff at my kids’ school, meet the kids my children are friends with, and see what it is like for my kids to be in school and what their daily routine is like. Mostly, it is more time I get to spend with my kids. I love being a dad and I enjoy the company of my children. But, and this is a BIG but, I ended up learning more about myself and what it means to be a dad than I ever expected by volunteering at their school.
When I’m at the school, all of the kids tell me the funniest things. They tell me things without any filter and without any provocation at all. For instance, when my oldest was in kindergarten, she had a little boy in her class that I guess would have been considered the bully. He was an obnoxious little brat that always made loud outbursts during class and constantly harassed the other students. I could tell that the teacher was at her wits end with this kid. I couldn’t help but think that this kid needed a good spanking (and I never spanked my own kids!). I made it a point to keep my eye on him. Later in the day, the class was in line to go outside for recess. The bully was terrorizing some of the kids. I stepped over to him and place my hand firmly on his shoulder, maneuvering him to the back of the line. He looked up at me with a straight face and said, “I wish my dad would be a Watch DOG.” I asked him why his dad didn’t do it and he said, “Because he’s in jail.” My heart sank. He said this so matter-of-factly too like he was telling me his favorite game to play or what color the sky was. Little did this brat know just how much he affected me that day. It had a profound effect on me. Volunteering at my kids’ school became more than time to spend with my kids; it gave me some great insight into being a parent too.


















