All my sweaters are dad sweaters… now what?

Thoughts from an expectant father

My wardrobe is host to a rather impressive (or shameful) collection of ‘dad’ sweaters. The sweaters themselves are a real mixed bag of styles. Some are sensible and reliable, others are altogether more ridiculous, vibrant, and fun. Such a collection has been the cornerstone of my wardrobe throughout my adult life, turning autumn into a much-anticipated yearly event.

The daily dad assessment

For one former colleague, my choice of sweater became the focus of our daily interaction. An interaction that came to be affectionately known as the daily dad assessment, the first of which went something like this:

Me: (Wearing green, black, and orange patterned sweater) Good morning, how was your evening?

Colleague: (Looks me up and down) That sweater… it’s a stern dad sweater. The sort of dad that would disapprove of their child’s choice of university program.

Me: (Confused) Sorry?

Colleague: Yeah I feel like you’d be trying to dissuade them from their modern art major because you’d be worried about job security. That simple white one you wore yesterday was more of a “as long as you’re happy I’m happy” kind of dad vibe.

Me: (Laughing) I guess I should stick with the white one then.

Colleague: No, that wouldn’t be as fun, keep mixing it up. Anyway, I’ve got a meeting to run to. See you later. (Turns and walks away)

Me: Ok, bye.

That first interaction began a light-hearted routine to our mornings where my sweaters were identified as having fun dad, serious dad, artsy dad, aloof dad, stylish dad, sports dad, DIY dad, cool dad, and sensible dad vibes. Each conversation would begin that way before either being ended by the need to dash to a meeting or evolving into a conversation about something else — work, topical issues, or most delightfully, her daughter. At the time it was nothing more than a funny way to start each day, a light moment between two colleagues (one a parent, the other not) with a similar sense of humour.

However, fast forward to today as I excitedly await the birth of my first child in January, and the memory of those interactions has begun to take on a different meaning for me. I’m now asking myself “what type of dad am I going to be?” The sweaters will no longer serve as the punchline to a hypothetical scenario; instead, they are to become the uniform of a dad, unshakable symbols worn by me, influencing the way a growing person thinks about the world, about masculinity, and about himself. Afterall, all of my ‘dad’ sweaters are about to become dad sweaters. So now what?

An important lesson in a daily joke

That question takes me back to those light-hearted office interactions. As much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, my choice of outfit each morning was (and still is) a rather haphazard affair based on a system of assessing the weather and plucking something clean from the wardrobe — not to say that I don’t care about clothes because I most definitely do. But this system means that my colleague’s assessments weren’t something I was seeking to influence. It was an enjoyable routine that, despite its repetition, felt spontaneous.

But now in the months and years to come, when the eyes of my child look into mine, he will be seeking to know something concrete; he will be looking up at me for support, and guidance, and knowledge, and unconditional love; and he won’t be asking what type of dad I am, he’ll be an ever-watchful bystander as I define what that word, that powerful, once-in-a-lifetime word means to him.

As a result, my haphazard system of throwing on clothes in the morning must now be contained to clothes. My identity and my choices must shift and mould to the experiences and responsibilities to come. Because the choices I make will go into the forming of an identity, a life — my son’s life.

Upon reflection there was a lesson in that little, daily joke: the choices I make matter. That my identity and my comfort within that identity matter. For years I have worn ‘dad’ sweaters, and now as I undergo my own transformation, I owe it to my son to wear my new identity as a dad with the same gusto, enthusiasm, and pride.

And that’s the influence that I’ll seek to have. To help him see that change happens, that the person you are today may be entirely different from who you are tomorrow, and there is joy and wonder in every shift. That who he is and how expresses it will be a constant evolution. In fact, he may well shed ideas about who he is as often as some people revamp their wardrobe, and there’s beauty in that too.

There’s also beauty in the imagined reality of fatherhood. Looking into my wardrobe of dad, not ‘dad’, sweaters, I’m struck by the impossibility of knowing what’s to come, of knowing the person who’s to come. With so much unknown, there’s comfort in remembering all of the types of dads that my impressive (or shameful) collection promised, knowing that each time I wear one of them in the future I’ll be defining fatherhood for myself and my son.