How to be a better father

Spectator

9 hours ago

Children in this country are desperate for fathers to rise to the occasion. All the research indicates that a key determinant of a child's ability to flourish – to make a success of growing up – is having a father actively involved in his or her life. Having a decent dad in the picture is vital. The affection of a father can prove one of the most authoritative things in a child's life.
A million British children have no meaningful relationship or regular contact with their fathers
We mustn't give up on that ideal. But nor should we ignore reality. A million British children have no meaningful relationship or regular contact with their fathers. Facing reality demands, I think, that we do more to help father-figures rise to the occasion too.
Boys particularly crave male mentors. This has been my experience teaching kids in an elite boarding school and now working with less privileged young people in the communities I serve. As a man, more than anything I want to answer this summons. To step up for my own two boys. (I want to be the one who gets to raise the kids I've fathered). But also to stand in as an honorary dad. In 2010, following the death of his father, Jean (then 14) and his mother asked me to adopt him. I accepted the honour.
A child's need for a paternal presence goes very deep. In his 1949 study, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell identified a common structure to our most beloved stories. A key component of what Campbell called 'the hero's journey' is the encounter between the protagonist (who initially resists the adventure he or she's been summoned to) and an older mentor, a wise guide. Think Yoda in Star Wars. The Jedi master gives Luke Skywalker all the encouragement and advice Luke needs to take on the dark side of the Force.
But here's the thing: to be a wise sage you must first have been a hero. As a father, and indeed as a father-figure, an awful lot rides on 'whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life', in the words of David Copperfield.
What does heroism require from men today? Of all the heroic attributes we could name, I think the most important is integrity. Integrity, best defined as 'being the same in every room', matters because for many of us the greatest temptation – and the greatest danger – is to compartmentalise our lives. Professionals complain about having a poor work–life balance. More problematic is what we might call a work-life chasm – i.e. a yawning gulf between my public and private life. 'Over there is my job, my colleagues, my dreams', I catch myself thinking; 'over here is my marriage, my kids, my responsibilities'.
But you run a risk when you compartmentalise so carefully; when you so strictly demarcate the various roles you play. The risk of being a different person in different contexts: doting father, cutthroat trader, loving husband, predatory colleague ('a real character'). 'I contain multitudes', boasted the American poet, Walt Whitman. I'm not sure that's a good thing.
What else do I need if I am to 'turn out to be the hero of my own life'? As well as a mentor I need a sidekick. I need other heroes; other men who've embarked on the journey; people prepared both to console and cajole me.
In our culture, men often lack deep connections with other men. This is why I founded the charity, XTREME CHARACTER CHALLENGE. Since 2017, we've taken thousands of men on 72-hour adventures in the wild – a kind of MOT for men, or DofE for dads. Stranded in Snowdonia, phone confiscated, we've found that being physically exposed to the elements can precipitate being emotionally exposed to one another. A rare thing: men opening up about their deepest insecurities, unspoken dreams, greatest fears.
What happens if you consistently avoid your peers? If you try to go it alone? In storytelling there's another intriguing archetype. Instead of becoming a hero, the protagonist who refuses to learn lessons becomes the fool.
The fool's fate inverts the hero's journey. Everyone who embarks on the adventure of life brings weapons with them – namely, their skills and strengths. But we also bring our injuries – our weaknesses, our flaws, what Alcoholics Anonymous terms our 'character defects'. Becoming the hero of your own life hinges on your ability to recognise and then fix these flaws. It's the only way to overcome the enemy and win the reward. The coward finds his courage; the hothead his peace; the cheat becomes honest; the liar tells the truth; the egoist starts being sacrificial.
The fool, by contrast, is someone who continually denies their character defects. Refusing to learn from his mistakes he stands doomed to repeat them. The fool is someone who refuses to grow up and is thereby condemned to eternal recurrence of a very puerile kind.
''I don't want ever to be a man,' he said with passion. 'I want always to be a little boy and to have fun…''
J.M. Barrie certainly thought he was writing a hero's story. But am I a dude or a dud if, aged 43, I define fun in exactly the same terms I did when I was 16 – wasted in Wetherspoons every weekend; racking up snogs at second-rate festivals. I hate to break it to you: Peter Pan is no hero. Neverland is a fools' paradise.
Our young people need men to be heroes, not fools. So it's not just my own happiness that depends on my sticking to the script; on my seeing out the hero's journey. Other people's lives are at stake. Indeed, the way to change the world most available to us as men, the way which is nearest to hand, is to raise the children we have fathered – and perhaps the ones God has placed in our path.