Why I’ll Never Be a Father

Are you less of a man if you’re not a parent? That question has hounded me for decades. But I’ve learned to love my child-free life. [View in Browser]( [Esquire Sunday Reads]( [I’ll Never Be a Father. Finally, I’m Okay with It.]( I’ll Never Be a Father. Finally, I’m Okay with It. My girlfriend and I sat on the couch of our new apartment in the happy daze that comes after a big move. Most of the boxes unpacked but no art hanging yet, the fresh smell of newly painted walls tempered by the cool autumn air drifting in from an open window where we could hear the sounds of the elevated subway in the distance. After a year and a half together, we’d made the first leap. The apartment already felt cozy. I reached for Emily’s hand, told her how much I loved the place and our life together and how incredible it would be one day when we could start a family. Her eyes got big as she pulled her hand away. When she broke the silence, she said, “I don’t want kids,” incredulous, as if I already knew. We retreated to opposite sides of the couch in disbelief. We’d been so cautious, so thoughtful about everything in our relationship up to that point. How in the hell had we not discussed this? [Read the Full Story]( [MORE FROM ESQUIRE]( [The Lost Art of Buying a Round for the Bar]( The Lost Art of Buying a Round for the Bar In late April, I got the news that my debut novel sold (Kaplan’s Plot, coming soon from Flatiron Books). It was the biggest moment of my career. The book represented twenty years of learning and grinding, hustling and sweating. I was as proud as I’d ever been, but I didn’t carry out my vision in the bar. Something even bigger was about to happen in my life. Less than two weeks after the news of the book’s sale hit the trades, Lulu, my first child, was born in that hospital on the Upper East Side. After leaving my sleeping wife and child, I headed south from the hospital toward JG Melon on Third Avenue. I’ve been going there for nearly as long as I’ve been of legal drinking age. The first time I went I didn’t even realize it was a local institution; I just thought it was a perfect bar. [Read the Full Story]( [When My Father Talked About Larry Bird]( When My Father Talked About Larry Bird You live in Atlanta as Hawks fans, but your dad grew up south of Larry Bird in New Albany, Indiana. He’d trained at various points to be a pastor, lawyer, and professor, but instead of a congregation, court, or classroom, he has you for an audience. Together, you chose Larry Bird. You’ll never get closer to Bird, the north star of your youth, but he’s present in every debate and stretch of silence with your dad. This is true even on that December night in 1991 when your world stops, spins off its axis, and leaves you on a sidewalk seeing stars. [Read the Full Story]( [I Finally Found the Perfect Belt]( I Finally Found the Perfect Belt I got called on to consult for a friend’s belt purchase. That’s the life I live. I’m happy to help someone drive anywhere, move apartments, or anchor a TV to the wall. I’m cool being a menswear consultant, but a belt felt kind of mundane. “What’s a good belt to buy? I know you’ve got opinions” was the ask. Is that all I’m good for? Not sure, but my friend was dead-on, because I’ve got some f*cking belt opinions. I own only two (on purpose), both made to order from a townie in my old college town. (Shout-out to Irvin at Masada Leather.) My friend wasn’t into that. He wanted a style he could buy over and over. So I had to find a mass-market option that matched everything I love about my small-town belt—classic look, top-notch leather, versatility, and durability. The perfect belt, essentially. Not easy, but I did it. I dug around, and I found that perfect belt. It’s a Shinola one-and-a-quarter-inch belt in U.S.A. Heritage leather. [Read the Full Story]( [What Does It Even Mean to Be a Halfway Decent Dad in 2024?]( What Does It Even Mean to Be a Halfway Decent Dad in 2024? Scientific fact: No one has ever smiled while saying the word father. Bowed their head in respect or fear? For sure. Followed it with the word figure? You know it. Included it in the title of their “brave and unsparing” memoir? You betcha. Magazines (this one included!) love nothing more than to furrow their brow and devote pages upon pages to the state of American fatherhood. It’s no wonder, with a word—a figure—so looming that every man, on some level, fears turning into his father. Becoming a father is serious business. Unless you work at the White House or are a surgeon of some kind, raising a kid is likely the most important thing you’ll ever do. The stakes are high enough to make a guy wonder whether he should be a father at all. Our radical suggestion? Don’t do it. Don’t become a father. Become a dad instead. [Read the Full Story]( [How To Raise a Daughter]( How To Raise a Daughter I can pinpoint the moment our daughter began transforming into a stereotypical girl. She was two, and her mother and I took her to Ariel’s Grotto, in Disneyland. The restaurant traffics in so-called character dining, meaning the tables are careered by marquee Disney characters—princesses, in our case. Since well before we had a child, my girlfriend and I considered ourselves enlightened on the subject of gender binaries. The notion that boys are naturally one way and girls another seemed like bullshit, to use a technical term. “Naturally,” “natural”: these are words designed not to explain but compel. Not every boy loves pointing an imaginary M-16 and not every girl squeals when a tiara is placed on her head. To insist that any child behave in ways that to them feel wrong is to lay the first bricks of what will become an adult prison cell. [Read the Full Story]( [LiveIntent Logo]( [AdChoices Logo]( [How satisfied are you with the content of this newsletter?]( Follow Us [Unsubscribe]( | [Privacy Notice]( | [CA Notice at Collection]( Esquire is a publication of Hearst Magazines. ©2024 Hearst Magazine Media, Inc. All Rights Reserved. This email was sent by Hearst Magazines, 300 West 57th Street, New York, NY 10019-3779