Ward Cleaver Was a Stud - Breaking Away - Heavy Lifting: Grow Up, Get a Job, Raise a Family, and Other Manly Advice (2015)

Heavy Lifting: Grow Up, Get a Job, Raise a Family, and Other Manly Advice (2015)

PART I

Breaking Away

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

—E. E. Cummings

1

Ward Cleaver Was a Stud

Now that I have your attention—and your skeptical cackling—let me tell you why.

Inevitably, when you make the assertion that Ward Cleaver was a stud—I know this from experience—people are going to accuse you of wanting to go back to the 1950s.

And that’s not quite what Cam and I are advocating. Let’s skip over all of the accusations that we’re archaic, stodgy curmudgeons with hopelessly outdated thinking and nostalgia masquerading as advice and ideas. If you really think we’re advocating for a return to docile housewives submitting to their husbands, you need to meet Mrs. Edwards and Mrs. Geraghty.

A loud corner of American culture has been rebelling against the image of the 1950s since, oh, the 1950s, so this marks our sixth or seventh decade of national cultural insurrection against the Ozzie-and-Harriet image of American suburban bliss. It’s almost as if the rebellious counterculture—which has been the mainstream culture for at least a decade or two—needs the 1950s as an opponent to define itself in opposition.

So here’s the first step: Can we at least acknowledge that in the two generations of rebellion and rejection of that archetypical 1950s suburban dad image, we threw some metaphorical babies out with that bathwater? Can we recognize that for all of his flaws, if today’s men emulated some of Ward Cleaver’s traits, the world would be a better place?

Even if Ward Cleaver comes across as boring and buttoned-down compared to today’s pop icons, he’s a man who takes care of business inside and outside the home. He’s responsible, a man everyone can count on. We can quibble about whether his methods of fatherhood and being a good husband are ideal, but it’s indisputable that he loves his wife and kids and tries to take care of them. He works hard, and we don’t hear him complaining. His offered wisdom and guidance to the kids might seem corny or saccharine to today’s ears, but it’s rarely bad advice.*

There’s more sly cynicism than our memories might suggest. From the opening narration of one show: “You know, it’s only natural for parents to feel proud of their children. And there’s nothing so fascinating as your own offspring. But when another parent raves about his children, it’s amazing how you can lose interest.”

He’s not rebelling against anything. He’s the man, and he wears that title with pride.

Even if you don’t remember or care to remember Ward Cleaver of the show Leave It to Beaver, his name is now synonymous with the image of the 1950s dads—an image also shaped by Ozzie Nelson of The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, Jim Anderson from Father Knows Best, and, one could argue, George Bailey in the 1946 film It’s a Wonderful Life. They were grown-ups who had already been through a Great Depression and in many cases were veterans of World War II or, later, the Korean War.

Their archetype outlasted the 1950s—Steve Douglas of My Three Sons, Mike Brady of The Brady Bunch, Howard Cunningham in Happy Days, Alan Thicke’s Jason Seaver in Growing Pains, Cliff Huxtable in The Cosby Show. (Let’s just skip over the recent controversies of Bill Cosby.) Today’s DVR offers a handful of somewhat bumbling successors like Phil Dunphy on Modern Family and Andre Johnson of Black-ish.

These men all had flaws, but in the end, they were solid and dependable. The word that probably best summarizes the Ward Cleavers of the world and their successors is “responsible,” and maybe they seem like such throwbacks because the rest of our culture has so thoroughly embraced irresponsibility.

Ask women what they really want to see in a man—well, women who have grown out of their adolescent fascination with bad boys—and they won’t say Ward Cleaver, but they’ll describe at least some of his traits: Reliable. Trustworthy. Smart. Confident, but not smug. Funny and capable of laughing at himself. Successful at work, but not a workaholic. Likes kids, but is not a kid.

It’s an indisputably masculine figure. It’s alpha male, but a particular brand of alpha status. It’s not a Gordon Gekko “Greed Is Good” alpha male. There’s not much chest-pounding; the Ward Cleavers of the world don’t constantly remind people of what they want to be; they already are who they want to be.

A man who’s constantly telling other people what a nice guy he is isn’t really all that nice. A guy who insists he’s funny isn’t all that funny. And a guy who constantly feels the need to showcase his confidence in himself probably has deep-rooted, hidden anxieties. If you feel the need to flaunt something, you don’t really have it.

Ward Cleaver knows it’s not a sign of weakness to admit he’s wrong, when he is, and to make amends. He considers that natural honesty and courtesy. He’s respectful to those who rank above him, but isn’t afraid to respectfully speak his mind.

And make no mistake, most women like, appreciate, and prefer an indisputably masculine man who takes earned, quiet pride in who he is.*

A bit of perfect irony: back in 1999, Vice President Al Gore hired feminist commentator and author Naomi Wolf to advise him on shaking the “beta male” image.

Ward Cleaver isn’t flamboyant, and he wouldn’t have much respect for the transformation of the word “drama.” Somewhere along the line, the word “drama” stopped meaning just a type of performance and came to mean a consistent aura of controversies, disputes, spats, hurt feelings, miscommunications, rivalries, and other emotionally fraught headaches. If you know people with a lot of “drama,” well, I’m sorry. They’re often exhausting to be around, pulling you onto their own internal psychic hamster wheel of perpetual outrage, usually relating to their infinite capacity for indignation over someone else’s lack of respect for them.

Ward Cleaver ain’t got time for that. In fact, there’s a remarkable lack of drama around a Ward Cleaver type. He can act quickly, but he’s not impulsive; he makes the best decision he can with the information he has at the time and acts, and accepts the consequences.

Perhaps most important, he takes responsibility—for himself and for those who depend on him. He doesn’t make excuses. He doesn’t whine, fume, or brood in defeat; he knows that his hard work and persistence will eventually win the day, if not this day.

And there’s a lot he’s simply outgrown. He never had any interest in perpetuating his own adolescence. He’s a grown-up who accepts marriage and fatherhood as the life of an adult.

Now, we’re not saying that Ward Cleavers of the world are off-limits to criticism, mockery, or lampooning. We’re just pointing out that there was a time not that long ago when men were expected to work hard, make a good living, be good husbands and neighbors and friends, and raise and be the role models for the next generation of young men. Sure, laugh at them, but remember they’re what the world is built on. If all the slackers in the world disappeared tomorrow, the video game industry would collapse. If all the Ward Cleavers of the world disappeared tomorrow, civilization would collapse.

Deadbeat dads, slacker ManChildren “failing to launch,” commitment-phobic boyfriends stringing along their girlfriends as the biological clock ticks louder and louder—Cam and I aren’t going to be able to solve every problem in the world in this book.

But what we can do is tell every guy out there that “growing up”—a career, a wife, kids—is not a trap. Working your way to a mortgage, getting married, being a father, are probably the best things that will ever happen to you. Our culture snickers at Ward Cleaver types, but it is propagating a myth when it paints them as boring, stifled, miserable, hollowed-out men, yearning for their carefree bachelor days and regretting all their commitments. What leaves a man depressed and hollow inside is not attachments but the lack of them.

Come on: gainfully employed, married, a dad—you have no idea how great your life can be. But we’re about to show you.