I paced slowly along the hot sidewalk outside Tampa’s International Mall. The sun was blazing hot. The air felt thick, like a storm was just about to break. I glanced down at my shirt and pants, checking for any stains or obvious wrinkles.
I’d recently gone through a divorce and was heading into my first date in years. It was 2013. I’d been dropped like a pancake into a dating scene that now revolved around apps like Tinder, PlentyOfFish, and Match.
At first, it all felt fascinating. I came from a time when you had to get way too drunk just to say hello to someone at a bar. Now, it seemed effortless. You could scroll through photos, read a short bio, and pretty quickly figure out whether there was a vibe or not.
I was in my early 30s and, what was particularly striking compared to dating in my early 20s, was how many single mothers I saw. I had no issue dating a woman with a child. But it was interesting how assertive these profiles were about announcing they were mothers. Perhaps it was to keep the issue front and center, which I respected.
That day at the mall, I met a beautiful engineer, Jen. She looked just like her photos, thankfully. She was my age, 30, and was divorced with a child. We vibed right away during our dinner date. We shared similar values and senses of humor.
And despite my efforts to come off as calm and cool, she later told me I seemed super nervous during our date. And who could blame me?
At dinner, she asked me, “Have you dated any other people?”
I said, “This is my first date in seven years.”
“Wow, I’m feeling so much pressure,” she said with a smile.
Things went well and we continued seeing each other, finding time between our busy work schedules.
As a parent, Jen had no real support system. Her parents were several states away. The baby daddy was a deadbeat who moved to Alaska to work in the oil industry. He had no real interest in his son, outside of the occasional birthday call. It was a crying shame.
I quickly found myself playing a parenting role, much sooner than I’d have expected. I didn’t love the idea because I’d heard stories from friends about their mother being single, and seeing men come and go. One said, “Just when I met one I liked, he left and was gone too.”
I was terrified of becoming another flighty character in this kid’s storyline. But it was also a two way street. I have a heart and get attached to people too. If things didn’t work out, I worried I’d get burned too and never see the kid again. I kept my emotional guard up for that reason.
Outside of that, I had no qualms with the situations. I wasn’t insecure, and constantly thinking, “I will always be #2 to this kid.” That always felt like such a selfish take.
How the problems began
I met Jen’s son on our third date because her babysitter was running late. He was a cute little guy, Walter (we called him Walt). He had curly brown hair and big eyes and was very confident, walking up to shake my hand like a grown adult.
The first red flag came two months later. I went with Jen and Walt to a theme park. It was my first time spending protracted time with Walt. I don’t know if he’d slept wrong or what happened — but he had three one hour long meltdowns that day, kicking, screaming, and raising all hell. He was making an unholy scene, but I actually felt bad for the kid. I couldn’t figure out what he actually wanted.
The more time I spent around Jen and Walt, the more I noticed a bad pattern. Every outing became unpredictable. Sometimes things went well. But often — they didn’t. There were full on massive public meltdowns over the tiniest of things. Walt struggled with any routine or discipline.
I wasn’t Walt’s father or guardian. But I’d grown up in a disciplined military house and knew the benefits this structure gave, and not a shred of it was present here. I felt like Jen was trying to shield Walt from the true reality of the world around him, while also pretending he didn’t have major behavioral issues. He was out of control. These weren’t concerns I would assert without considerable thought and observation.
Finally, I asked Jen, “Do you think it might be worth seeing a therapist about this?”
“Nothing is wrong. He is just having a bad day. He needs a nap,” waving off my concerns curtly.
“I’m not just referring to today or even this week. I’m worried about him,” I said, trying to keep a calm tone.
Jen got defensive and agitated so I didn’t press the issue. I was exhausted with the situation. It wasn’t romantic or fun when her son was constantly present and sucking all of the energy out of the room with his behavior. He was in distress and I was watching him fall apart. I felt like my doing nothing was contributing to the problem too.
Our chemistry soured over the coming months. It wasn’t entirely because of her son, but that issue in particular seemed to exacerbate all others. I began to question if this is the life I wanted.
The final straw came when we were having dinner at her house. She’d asked Walt to turn off the TV several times. He didn’t even look at her when she asked. She reiterated several times, before walking over to him and getting in his face and saying he’d be in big trouble if he didn’t.
Suddenly, Walt took the remote, and spiked it into the hardwood floor as hard as he could. It exploded it into several pieces that flew all over the room.
I’m not a proponent of spanking, believe me. But I can assure you that if I’d done that as a kid with my military dad sitting near me, there’d have been absolute hell to pay. After sending Walt to his room, Jen spent the rest of the night fuming and irritated. She didn’t say anything. She was snappy with me, as if I was I’d broken the remote.
I began to resent Jen because I felt like I was putting so much more into the relationship than she was giving back. She allowed drama with her parents to spill over into our relationship, while refusing to take accountability for her son’s behavior, or take concrete steps to address it. The worst part was the sense of powerlessness I felt. I wanted to help by providing discipline or guidance or more structure, but equally feeling that it wasn’t my role to do that.
We eventually broke up, and I will take some fault in that—as I realized I wasn’t equipped with the patience to deal with the situation. There were a number of moments where I should have done more, and others where I should have done and said less.
But I suspect that even without her son, it probably wouldn’t have worked out either way.
However, the entire experience with Jen was insightful as a single man with no kids. I was quite sympathetic to her situation. Being a single mother or father is an extremely difficult job. Kids are high octane at a young age. I was certainly a wild animal at that stage too.
Being exposed to it made me appreciate, for a second time, just how incredible of a feat good parenting is. Mothers deserve all the praise they get, and then some. Her son, difficult as he was then, would probably grow up to be just fine. He would know his mother’s love as we all do, and hopefully have the same patience she showed him, for his own children.
But you don’t have full control over how a kid turns out or how that journey to adulthood goes. A friend, who has four grown kids, told me, “As a parent, you more like a manager. You can give kids all the guidance in the world. You try to instill values in them. Yet at the end of the day, the kid is still his or her own person, and will do as such.”
It’s a serious consideration for people contemplating children.
My spouse and I are doing fine now, and are child-free. I’m 41 and she’s 39. We’re at last call for fertility, and thus far, nothing has compelled me to call the bartender. I fear I lack the wherewithal to endure kids spiking my electronics in my living room. And wherever Jen and her son are now, I do hope they’re doing well.