One of the perks to being a dad is knowing that no matter how much I mess up, my kids will always love me.

There was the science fair project my son and I were working on. Thanks to dad’s help, it didn’t quite turn out the way the book said it would. Brian said it was still the best experiment he ever could have done. And he loved me for helping him.

Or how about the time I painted my daughter’s room the wrong shade of orange. Julie wouldn’t let me repaint it, because, she said, the color wasn’t really that far off. But I knew it was. And she loved me for painting her room.

Leaving my daughter’s dress hanging on her door when I should have put it in the car with everyone else’s clothes. That was a good one, too.  Believe me when I tell you I’ve had my fair share of these “Oh no” moments over the years, and after each one of them, and some were real doozies, my kids still love me.

But not this time. I messed up royally. Okay…if you want to be technical about it, I didn’t actually mess up. I joined the ranks of the unemployed, and it really wasn’t my fault. The economy and all. But when there are tuitions to be paid, the holidays coming up, and all the other kids are going to the Caribbean or will be studying abroad for winter break and mine can’t because dad lost his job, I can’t help but be filled with deep feelings of messing up. Thoughts of being a failure are intensified when I am filled with anxiety over things like paying the bills, feeding the family, and having to choose between putting gas in the car and replacing the cartridges in the printer; I can’t help but feel I’ve messed up big time. And I am convinced that this time, I’ve screwed everything up so completely, that there’s no way they could still love me.

The three-page letter was taped to the mirror in my bathroom. It was signed by my two children. I don’t know how or when they were able to collaborate on it, considering only one of them lives at home.  I found it after yet another rough week of job hunting negatives and financial difficulties. “You have not let us down, and you have not failed us, Dad,” it read. “The only people who fail are those who give up. You are the strongest and best person we know. Not a day goes by when we are not thankful for all the things we DO have, for all that you’ve been able to do for us, and for what you still do for us every day. THANK YOU for being in our lives, because we don’t know who we would be without you.”

Actually, Brian and Julie…thank YOU. I don’t know where I would be without your love.

Yes, indeed… the best perks a dad could ever want.

So there I was in the Nike store in the Mall on a weekday afternoon with my daughter… no sneakers for me, mostly they’re a bit too busy looking. On the way out, we passed two dads also pushing their Maclarens with kids around the same age as mine. My immediate thought: how can I pick these guys up?!

Don’t get me wrong… I’m a happily married, straight dad. My wife and I moved from the city to the ‘burbs and had a baby a few weeks later. Soon after, we went to an outdoor art show in our town and ended up chatting with a couple and their kid. We hit it off, but then we had to go. As they walked away, I asked my wife: “They were nice. Should we get their number?” “Nah. Their kid’s too old.” We needed to meet people in our neighborhood, but preferably with a baby the same age as ours. I guess that couple and us just weren’t meant to be.

Luckily, my wife has attended lots of local classes. Though there are many nannies at the classes, my wife has managed to find a few moms and make some friends that seem to be sticking. I’ve extended the friendships to me by inviting the dads to my monthly poker game. These relationships might actually work out! (As long I don’t win their money).

I work from home, but I’m able to take one day each week and make it daddy-daughter day. My daughter and I meet friends of mine for lunch, do errands, go shopping, etc. And now I’m taking her to a swim class one morning. It’s been great so far – a lot of fun and filled with local kids and moms.

So there I was in the Mall, thinking: how can I pick up these dads? They somehow found each other. Is there room for a third? I could fill in when one is sick! But I chickened out and walked past them out of the Nike store. I guess I’ll always have to think what might have been. That’s life, I guess. Anyway – there’s hope… there was one dad in the swim class. Maybe he’s the one?

The title here comes from something my wife and I witnessed. Driving along a very busy road one day, we were forced to pull around a car stopped in the middle of traffic. As we passed, we saw the driver, an older man, dangling his foot out the door and tying his shoe. We laughed. Could it be that this dolt actually stopped and held up traffic to tie his *%#@^& shoe? Sure looked that way. Regardless, it brings to light the existence of another segment of our society: The Clueless.

You’ve seen them, the people who blankly push past you in the store, oblivious to how they nearly hip checked you into the frozen peas. Or those pleasant folks who endlessly talk at you about their troubles, and barely seem to be listening when you speak (and you know they’re simply waiting for your lips to stop moving).

The clueless among us are everywhere. And they pose a threat. All kidding aside, how is progress going to be made in areas like work/life integration, when, for example, your boss thinks that work/life integration means giving you the choice of eating your lunch at 12 or 12:15? Or allowing you to work an hour later each night instead of coming in to work on Saturday?

I interviewed at a mid-sized tech company a few years back comprised of nearly all men. And although I hear that single, older female managers often present the most resistance to the younger generation’s quest for balance, let’s not give men a free pass. The man who interviewed me, let’s call him Jack (short for jackass), seemed like a nice guy. We bonded quickly, talking about the industry, his home town, then sports (of course). Then the topic came up, somehow, of women employees. Jack didn’t really know who I was, or who I knew, but he felt confident that he could open up to me (I assume because he and I shared the same type of genitals?).  He said, quite openly, that he was able to offer less money to female employees, and also that he made it a point to avoid hiring women who were in their child-bearing years. I kid you not, I’m not fabricating this for illustration. Since women have kids in their 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and sometimes even 50’s, it’s easy to understand why there were virtually no women in this company. Sad. Infuriating. But par for the course, I’m sure, for more than a few managers out there. You know, the clueless ones whose vision extends about as far out as next week.

So, my fellow work/life strugglers, the struggle is long from over. It’s just beginning in many respects. There are a lot of Jacks, and Jackies, out there to overcome. And although, at times, you may have the overwhelming urge to smack these people upside their misshapen heads, I advise you to take a deep breath and trust that change is coming. Understand, though, that long-term, systemic change doesn’t happen overnight.

But that doesn’t mean you should sit idly waiting to be thrown a crumb. Nor should you throw your hands up in frustrated defeat. Never give up, you women and men of vision. This struggle is one that’s far too important. And you know it.

Visit http://lifeworkalliance.com to do something about it.

I used to have to deal with the race of rats many of you are part of. Depending on the day, it could be exhilarating, frustrating, fulfilling, boring, profitable, draining, inspiring or just plain stupid.

So, I miss some parts of it. But I’m happy now, here in my bunker. I’ve achieved the goal: getting paid to work in my underwear.

But is this my final resting place in the new world order? Am I to never again experience the stomach-twisting anxiety of life underneath a bipolar boss, no smarter than a Ritz cracker? Will I never again feel the accomplishment of arriving home after a hard day of fear and resentment?

Working from home, with all its many ups, has one huge downside: YOU’RE ALWAYS WORKING. Finished dinner? Why don’t I just sit down and read this nice novel—oh, wait, I need to fix that thing—and I just need to check if she emailed as she promised. She didn’t?! Who does she think she is! Five hours later… still at the computer. Mucho unhealthy.

If I was a surgeon, I wouldn’t be able to take my work home. That would be weird. And that’s healthy: go to work, fix gallbladder, wash hands, go home, forget about gallbladder.

Complaining? No, I’m brining up the point that as technology continues to transform the workplace, there’ll be more and more work-from-homers like me. And as with any great shift that promises us so much good, there is the inevitable bad.

At times I remain strong, refusing to be sucked in by the siren call of the computer. I set times that I will work and try to stick to that schedule. But schedules are for losers, man. This is the real world. I got things to do, people to see, places to go… all right, I’m lying. I have nowhere to go. I live here, behind my computer.

But I won’t end on such a sour note. It might be tough, and at times, unhealthy. But to be able to stand up from the desk, at any hour of the day, and run off to the gym for a workout, or to be able to be home when the bus drops the little one off, or to have lunch with my wife several times a week… those are the things that fill me with appreciation for the new world of borderless communication in which we live, work, and play. And for me that world is all right here in my wonderful house/office/playground.

For my inaugural post I’ll attempt to perform a public service by addressing the plight of a sad segment of society: today’s dad. Let me first begin by categorizing the male of our species into three classes:

1) Men    2) Dudes    3) Dumbasses

This species class ranges from those overbearing, overachieving, type-triple-A’s all the way down the Darwin slide to the slovenly, oops-I-forgot-to-wipe-myself charmers. Whichever type you’re shacked-up with, or even if you’re single, understand this, men/dudes/dumbasses are all facing a massive identity crisis. Who are we supposed to be? Especially now when a decent number of us are temporarily home, being supported by our ‘working mom’ women.

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