Today’s father has no problem if his son wears a dress to the Pride Parade

Father’s (Pay)Day

Today’s parent: spending machines. That’s one important aspect of this whole breeding thing nobody mentioned in prenatal class. Mucus plug, cloth versus disposable, curtailed sex drive—sure. Necessity of thrift? I must’ve dozed through that one. Not that it matters; if there’s one aspect of child-rearing shared by parents of all genders (beyond worrying, that is), it’s just how damn much it costs to have kids. And it doesn’t matter how much you make; it still costs more than you have.

As the proud offspring of a working writer, my kids have subscriptions to a pair of children’s magazines, which usually arrive in our mailbox with a complimentary copy of a glossy parenting magazine I would never actually consider buying. Indeed, a quick flip through the slick pages of the most recent issue confirmed my belief that I just don’t make enough money to be their kind of parent. One article in particular, however, did wonders for my confidence as a single-income father in a four-person family.

“Living on Less” cited 10 different ways to save up to $7,000 a year. Great, I thought; who couldn’t use an extra $7,000 this year? (Or any year, for that matter.) But it took me scant few seconds to discover that I, apparently, am doing something terribly wrong, as their list of “spending habits to change” include spending habits I have yet to be able to afford. Instead of hiring a bi-weekly housekeeper, for instance, I could enlist my family to do the cleaning (saving $160 month); instead of ponying up $30 a week for riding lessons, I could gear my girl towards Guides for just $125 a year (pocketing $1,435); instead of eating out twice a month, I could just order in pizza (serving up $900 in savings). Housecleaner? Riding lessons? Eating out? Whose life is this, anyway?

Certainly not mine. My frugal-father money-saving chart would include things like watching a DVD I already own instead of renting something new ($5, without the increased stress of wondering if Buffy can stop the latest apocalypse), not driving (that’s it—just not driving) or, if I’m feeling really thrifty, buying the cheaper brand of generic soup to eat for lunch at work (15 cents a can, for a remarkable saving of $7.80 annually). Any riding in our family is done on used bikes, eating out generally involves the phrase “and chips,” and our housekeeper answers to the exotic name of Momanddad.

Perhaps if I lived in Toronto, worked for a firm (instead of having a job), had a close relationship with a personal trainer named Bo and swapped one of our kids for a Labradoodle, then I might be living the glossy-mag dream. Until that time, however, I have to stay up long after my family has gone to bed to write articles for exactly this kind of magazine just to get by. (Still no bail-out package for writers, eh?)

Not that I mind. I would rather earn less at a job I truly enjoy than make a ridiculous salary doing something I would have to learn to enjoy; corporate communications, say, or writing the premier’s speeches. (“No, no, the cuts have to sound more heartfelt.”) Fortunately, I’m naturally thrifty. Along with a love of music, a weakness for westerns and an inescapable sense of personal responsibility, my own father (bless his jazzy cowboy farmer soul) also engendered in me a seventh sense: frugality.

True, this inherent desire to save a buck wherever possible did clash with the late 20th-century inevitability that we 40-somethings like to call student loans. But now that that part of my life is over—and just in time, as I hear you can qualify for some senior’s discounts at 50—I can comfortably return to my regularly scheduled sense of thrift.

So this Father’s Day, I’m hoping my kids will give me the best gift of all: a day that costs me nothing. And no parenting magazines. M