What Dads Gained During the Chaos of the Pandemic

by Spencer Farnsworth

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped wearing pants with buttons. It was probably around week three of the pandemic—somewhere between a tantrum about the wrong spoon and a last-minute work call while my toddler poured applesauce into the printer. Like many parents, my living room became my office, my child’s classroom, and what I can only describe as a war zone of LEGO and forgotten snacks.

In those early days, we weren’t just juggling responsibilities; we were reinventing them on the fly. There was no manual for how to be a professional while elbow-deep in Play-Doh. We just kept going, powered by cold coffee and the kind of determination only parents in crisis can muster.

Redefining Roles, Rewriting the Rules

If there was ever a silver lining, it was how the pandemic forced a conversation in our household about how parenting gets done. My partner and I, like a lot of couples, were working under the old model: tag team parenting, with one person often defaulting to “lead parent” status. When everything shut down, that model broke.

Suddenly, we were both home. We saw each other struggle. We saw each other thrive. We split chores not because it was fair, but because there was no other option. I started noticing more dads on walks with strollers, more fathers at the pediatrician, more men braiding their daughter’s hair during Zoom school breaks. Something was shifting.

The truth is, for a lot of men, the pandemic made care work visible for the first time. It’s emotional labor and it’s constant. And maybe, just maybe, more people started to understand that.

We don’t talk enough about the emotional weight we carried during this time. Sure, there were surface-level complaints—homeschooling, cabin fever, rationing toilet paper like it was gold—but beneath that was a constant, gnawing anxiety. Would our kids be okay? Were we doing enough? Were we doing too much?

Parenting through a pandemic was a daily emotional negotiation. I tried to be calm when I felt scared. I tried to be fun when I felt exhausted. I gave pep talks I didn’t always believe, wiped away tears I didn’t always understand, and fell into bed most nights feeling like I’d both failed and succeeded. Sometimes at the same time.

What We Gained in the Chaos

And yet, amid all the stress, something remarkable happened. We were present. More present than we’d ever been. The daily rush of pre-pandemic life all faded. Suddenly, we were eating meals together. Taking neighborhood walks. Reading bedtime stories with nowhere else to be. Before the pandemic, I didn’t realize how much of my son’s day I was missing. I was there, of course: weekend breakfasts, bedtime stories, the occasional soccer practice.

During lockdown, I got a front-row seat to the way he hums while drawing, how he talks to his toys when he thinks no one’s listening, the little rituals he invents to feel in control of his world. I started seeing him not just as my child, but as a whole person unfolding in real time. That’s a gift I wouldn’t trade for anything.

We built forts and routines and memories I know will stay with both of us long after this phase of life passes. I learned how to speak his language better—not just the words, but the tone, the patience, the curiosity. And he got to see me not just as a provider or a disciplinarian, but as a partner in play and presence. For all the stress, the exhaustion, and the mess, I walked away with something I didn’t even know I was missing: time. Time that turned into love, and love that turned into a deeper bond I carry with me every day.

These weren’t just cute moments for the scrapbook. They were anchors. Proof that even when the world stopped, our families didn’t fall apart. In fact, some of us grew stronger.

Let me be clear: this wasn’t some heartwarming sabbatical. It was an endurance test. And not everyone had the same tools to make it through. Single parents, essential workers, families without remote work options—they carried burdens that often went unseen. Many fell through the cracks. That’s unacceptable.

If we’re going to talk about the "lessons" of the pandemic, we have to start with this: child care in America is broken. It was broken before COVID, and the pandemic simply smashed the pieces further apart. And guess who had to glue it all back together? Parents. Mostly mothers.

More Than Gratitude

During the height of the crisis, we were called heroes. Teachers, nurses, grocery clerks, and yes, parents. But hashtags don’t provide child care. They don’t offer paid leave or flexible work hours. They don’t change the fact that many of us had to choose between our jobs and our families.

If we want to honor what families endured, we need real change. We need policy, not platitudes. We need affordable daycare, paid family leave, and workplace cultures that recognize parenting isn’t a distraction from work—it’s part of life.

For better or worse, the pandemic turned us into accidental activists. We saw up close what wasn’t working, and now we can’t unsee it. We sat in on Zoom classes and realized how underfunded our schools are. We tried to access mental health care and ran into months-long waitlists. We dealt with broken systems—and now we know they need fixing.

Parents are no longer just raising kids. We’re raising our voices. And if there's one thing this pandemic taught me, it’s that when parents band together, we’re a force to be reckoned with.

Now that the worst of the crisis has passed, there’s a temptation to forget. To go back to “normal.” But normal didn’t work. Normal burned us out. What we need now is something better—something built with care, compassion, and an understanding that families are the foundation of everything.

So let’s keep the pressure on. Let’s push for policies that reflect the reality of our lives. Let’s support each other as parents, neighbors, and voters. Let’s build a world where the next generation doesn’t just survive crisis after crisis—but thrives.