By Sean Spiesz

Let me start with this: I didn’t sign up to write a Father’s Day blog post. I signed up to go to the hardware store, build stuff, and tell corny jokes.

But here I am, because fatherhood got redefined for me back in August 2007.

The Day the Definition Changed

We were expecting our third child. Two boys already at home, a cake in the fridge for my birthday, and the sense that life was full and solid.

Lucas arrived after a very short labor, and everything felt familiar. Until it didn’t.

I remember Geralyn asking me if I thought our baby had Down syndrome. I remember saying, “No, what do you mean?” Because sometimes men need a second longer to catch up to reality.

A doctor came in, listed some “markers,” and said he believed Lucas had Down syndrome. I don’t remember all the words. I remember the feeling. 

And I remember, more than anything, just wanting to make it alright.

From Shock to Strategy (aka: The Dad Way)

So I did what I know. I fixed. Or, tried to.

Because when you’re a dad, especially the kind that mows lawns diagonally, has a label maker, and calibrates a level before hanging a photo, you go into fixer mode.

Problem? Solve it.

Challenge? Rise to it.

New diagnosis? Fine. 

But here’s the truth:

Some of this stuff you can’t fix. Sometimes you can’t even sort out what it is you think you should fix.

You can’t fix how scared your partner is.

You can’t fix the fear of an unknown future.

You can’t fix what people will assume about your son or daughter.

You can’t fix the fact that life just veered into a territory with no map.

You can only show up. Again. And again. 

What We Don’t Say Out Loud

If you’re like me, maybe you didn’t cry at first. Maybe you felt like you weren’t allowed to. Maybe you tried to be strong because that was the only thing you could do for your wife and family.

But there’s a version of grief that doesn’t involve tears. It looks like isolation. Like silence. Like diving into work or fixing the furnace that didn’t actually need fixing. (Ask me how I know.)

Grief doesn’t mean you don’t love your child. It just means something in your plan went way off script and we weren’t taught how to sit with that.

But let me say this as clearly as I can: 

We’re allowed to feel it. We’re allowed to be scared about the future and not have the answers.

I have learned (the hard way) that when I didn’t share these things it was assumed I didn’t “get it.” The protection of “Let’s be logical,” “What is the plan?,” and “Let’s create a binder system”, came off as dismissive, apparently. 

The thing was, I was afraid to admit how out of control this new path made me feel because maybe that would be the thing that destroyed it all. (I have since learned that women, especially mothers of our children, don’t want things to be fixed or solved, they just want to know we get it and will be there with them hacking away at the path to be cleared.)

And we’re definitely allowed to ask for help.

The Trap of the Fixer and the Rise of the Builder

Eventually, I realized that being a father to Lucas wasn’t going to be about fixing anything.

It was going to be about building.

Building an environment where he could grow.

Building trust with Geralyn as she created a path that looked very different from what I thought it would. 

Building the kind of family where all our kids know they’re loved beyond measure and realize that Lucas’s needs aren’t any more special than the other boys’. 

That’s where fatherhood got redefined for me.

Not in the hospital room.

But in the thousands of little decisions since then:

• Saying “yes” to mats shaping a track around the hallways and living spaces
• Saying “I got this” to the suggestion of building a custom set of monkey bars to bolt in the living room
• Supporting the decision to rethink everything we did as parents from the food we provided, the mindset we cultivated, and the new relationships we built. 

A Word to New Dads

If you’re just starting this journey and maybe fresh from a diagnosis, neck-deep in Google tabs, or conversations about feelings at 1 AM when no one can sleep, I want to say this:

You don’t have to figure it all out right now.

And stop believing the lie that you have to have all the answers.

I’ve been told that slipping into “fix it” mode actually makes things worse. It seems sometimes just being present for the 5th lecture on neuroplasticity or the update on my son’s poop chart (while actively demonstrating concern about said poop) is all that’s required.

From One Dad to Another

I used to think fatherhood was about setting my kids up for success. Probably, I needed to examine my own view of what it meant to be successful. It isn’t the accomplishments. I now know it’s about something much deeper:

It’s about creating a life where love leads, challenges are met with courage and ferocious determination, and difference is just another piece to our amazing family.

Did I sign up for this? No.

Would I trade a second of it? Also, No. (Except maybe the poop discussions.)

So to all the dads who are on this wild and unexpected path, Happy Father’s Day! (See you in aisle 3 down at the Hardware Store!)

Cheers, 

Sean, Lucas’ Dad