by Terrance Martin

Created on: June 26, 2008   Last Updated: March 23, 2012

Before I get too far along in the occupation of writing, I have a confession to make. The title of my column is the shameless plagiarism of my ten year old daughter's intellectual property.

The strangely wise, but simple clarity of mind demonstrated by children has always been a source of fascination for us adults, and "the Dad from home" so simply and accurately describes my role that I have been unable to find a better way to express it.

"Stay at home Dad" is an invitation for skeptical looks and suspicion. "So you're unemployed then?" is a likely response. "Work from home Dad" is a possibility, but the kids couldn't care less about work. They like me being home. I have six of them, and a unanimous vote is so rare that it is something to pay attention to.

Like half the population of people with kids, I am also a divorced Dad, and for those of you who are not yet divorced, I can only say try to avoid it. If you can't avoid it, at least try to be friendly. My point of view is necessarily male, but the subtle ramifications and expressions of what kids experience in a divorce is a hard reality that is gender neutral.

By way of example, I saw an angry looking mom come barreling out of a place recently, small son in tow. The little boy looked anxiously up at his mom as they stopped to wait for passing cars, and said "don't be mad mommy".

It's a lesson for us all.

While this column is exclusively about children, it is not necessarily for their consumption, as I intend at times to peel open some really ugly business and shine a scathing light on the creeping cancer that is eating at the foundation of our society and our families.

That is where our children live, and it is under relentless attack. Men of sound mind and good character have always risen in defense of an attack on their reputation, freedom and families, and I am no exception.

In any event, this is for our children, and so is not going to be a black place. There is nothing more friendly than laughter, and no better place to find it than where children are.

Quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever had anyone say to me was said by a little girl around four years old when I was attending to the distinctly mom-like duty of taking my youngest daughter to the bathroom. She is too old now for me to take her to the men's room, and frankly there's a good reason why women complain about men peeing standing up.

As I hovered nervously in the social no-man's land outside the door to the ladies room, the little girl waiting in line with her mom looked up at me quizzically and asked "are you a man?"

Indeed.

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