Affirmative Dad: At Home Father Breaks Domestic Barrier: SouthFlorida.com

I have a hard time describing what I do for a living. I don't have a top-secret government job. What I do isn't technical or intricate. I just have a hard time confessing my profession. But, they say confession is good for the soul, so I might as well just come right out and say it.

All right. Here it is.

I'm a stay-at-home parent.

Whew. That took a lot out of me.

Personally, I'm not ashamed of it being a man who's a stay-at-home parent. I'm proud of what I do. I don't mind that my wife is the breadwinner. On paper, it doesn't bother me at all. But it's the people I run into on the street. They're the ones that make me feel like going into hiding when the dreaded 'profession question' surfaces.

Let's face it. There aren't a lot of us out there. Not by comparison, anyway. There seem to be two circles in society. Those who go to an office and earn a paycheck and those who work at home raising families. There's an argument as to whether men dominate the work world, but there's no doubt that women rule the domestic world.

This is the way it's been for centuries. And that's why it can be difficult being a man in a role society considers less than manly. Whenever another man at a social gathering asks me what it is I do for a living, I can feel a cold shudder deep within because I know what's coming: My manhood is about to come into question. When I confess that my job is staying at home with my kids, the conversation grinds to a halt. First there's silence, then a long pause. Finally the other man does his best to put on a brave front and says, "Good for you. I wish I could do that."

But the look on his face betrays him. I can tell he has no interest in doing what I do. The fact is most men fear what those of us on the domestic frontlines face. They fear it like root canals and tax audits.

Not everyone is as subtle at hiding their utter shock at my confession. Behold the reaction I got when I answered the 'profession question' while sitting next to another man at a basketball game:

After chuckling incredulously, the man said, "No. What do you really do?"

"That's what I do."

"So you stay at home while your wife does all the work??"

Yeah, spend a day with my kids and find out what real work is, buddy.

For a time, I peppered my responses to the 'profession question' with statements like, "I'm home with the kids, but I'm also going to graduate school." Which was true, even though my real goal was to be home with my children. But because of the reactions I was getting, I felt shamed into qualifying it.

I found it hard to fit into either of society's circles. I don't have a career, at least not a paying one, and working my way into a woman-dominated arena is daunting.

It's not for lack of trying. I make the effort to look the part. I trudge through shopping malls and school functions with my stroller and children in tow. I carry a backpack my bag of tricks chock full of extra clothes, snacks and toys. But despite the domestic suit I wear, I'm apart from the pack. Everywhere I go, other mothers cluster together and converse effortlessly. They chat about anything and everything. The discussions float from what's going on at their children's schools to upcoming social events and activities. I can talk about all of those things. It should be easy, right.

Yet, it's awkward. I just can't break in.

A lot of it is psychological. Everything in my world is geared toward women. Homeroom parents at my son's school are called homeroom 'moms.' I take my daughter to a "Mommy and Me" class at gymnastics.

I'm 'out-mommed' at every turn!

My trouble finding security in the domestic realm isn�t just because society won't accept my role. I also share the burden, because I buy into the stereotypes.

Why wouldn't I feel out of place when every other parent in my circle is a woman or when all the other men on my street leave the house at 8 a.m. to go to their 'real' jobs?

But the times, they are a' changin. More men than ever are staying home with their kids. There are even male nannies, or 'mannies,' taking care of young children. I know these things to be facts. But I still can't find the iron will to shrug a lot of the nonsense off. Sometimes I can't escape the feeling that somehow I'm less of a man for being home with my kids. But then, I realize it's time for a Dr. Phil 'get real' moment.

It shouldn't bother me when people call me Mr. Mom and oh, how that boils beneath my skin. I shouldn't care if grocery clerks think I'm giving my wife a break for the afternoon when I take the kids to the store, but it does. I shouldn't be annoyed when people give less than enthusiastic reactions when I tell them what I do, but I am.

Maybe part of the secret is feeling comfortable: comfortable in my own skin. I enjoy my children despite how hard the work is at home. I love being home to pick up my son from the bus, even though the homework is a little rough. I love taking my daughter to swim lessons even if none of the other moms converse with me. But I especially relish every day being casual Friday at home.

I should let that enjoyment show when I'm around other parents. I should be more confident and not cower when the crosshairs of the 'profession question' takes aim at me. I shouldn't feel inadequate about my role in the career and domestic circles. Raising a family is my career. It doesn't make me any less of a man because I want to be home for my kids. Above all, I shouldn't care what others think about my choice to stay home with my kids. Because I know it benefits them, and me.

So look out world! I am man, hear me roar!