With its over the top premise and mining of dementia for "comedy", I could never get into Raising Hope, but there's one thing I do appreciate about the sitcom: it's one of very few successful shows to feature a working-class single dad.
It centers on Jimmy Chance (Garret Dillahunt), who is 25 when he finds out that a former one-night stand has become a serial killer, been sentenced to death, and left him with sole custody of their baby girl, Hope. As he still lives at home, his haphazard family helps him out as best they can.
Similarly, in Ugly Betty, sisters Betty and Hilda Suarez both lived at home, where their dad Ignacio acted as a surrogate father to Hilda's adolescent son Justin, helping to take care of him both practically (including cooking and housework) and emotionally. These shows highlight the fact that for many working-class single parents, a support system which provides affordable childcare is essential. They also illustrate that single parents may have to move in (or never move out) from the family home for financial reasons, a fact rarely explored in discussions (or statistics) about homelessness.
Earlier this year, Huggies launched a series of TV spots that showed moms putting their products to the "dad test" —the implication being that if those big dopes could use 'em, anyone could. The backlash was swift and vocal, with both moms and dads taking to the brand's Facebook page to complain that the ads played on out of date stereotypes. Huggies was clearly panicked by the strength of the negative response: they yanked one of the ads, emphasized that they featured real couples rather than a fictionalized idea of what fathers are like, and even rushed to a daddy blogging conference to issue an "our bad".
What's interesting is that this criticism didn't come from the media or the feminist blogosphere but the intended audience, suggesting a real-world shift in attitudes towards stay-at-home dads (and hands-on fathers in general). But while Huggies' campaign was unimaginative and hackneyed, it's understandable: for years, the Homer Simpson-esque clueless papa has been a reliable and uncontroversial target for humor. He still features in many ads, like Kroger's current Christmas commercial, where a woman informs us that her husband helps out at this time of year by doing his own wrapping (just like a grown-up!) — and then we see said wrapping, and it's atrocious.
There are some obvious similarities between 2012 sitcom Baby Daddy and 1987's Three Men and a Baby. They're both about three guys sharing an apartment in New York who are unexpectedly gifted a doorstep baby (and the chaos that ensues). But there's a lot that's different, too. In Baby Daddy, our eponymous hero Ben (Jean-Luc Bilodeau), his best friend Tucker (Taj Mowry) and brother Danny (Derek Theler) are a lot younger and less affluent than Tom Selleck & co., making raising a baby more of a challenge.
While Three Men's baby nana was delighted about her new grandchild, Ben's mom Bonnie (Melissa Peterman) is less impressed, saying he's too immature to raise a child and chiding him for not having safe sex ("you knocked up some girl because you couldn't figure out the basics of birth control"), which may be judgmental but makes a change from blaming single mothers. When Ben hears from his ex/baby mama Angela that she's lined up a couple to adopt baby Emma, he's torn about whether to sign away his parental rights. Although she later softens, Bonnie tells him he has no idea how hard it is to be a parent and how much sacrifice it involves, at least inviting the possibility that having a child isn't necessarily the most fulfilling thing ever.
Men who care for children are afforded high status in pop culture if their role is part of some macho, justice-seeking mission (The Pacifier, Kindergarten Cop) or incidental to their real life, allowing them to maintain a cool image (About A Boy, Role Models). When he takes on a childcare role for no other reason than to get paid, however, a man should be prepared to sacrifice his self-respect.
In Melissa & Joey, Joey Lawrence plays an Ivy League-educated former commodities trader (yup) who went broke thanks to a Ponzi scheme. When local politician Mel takes in her sister's kids, Joe becomes their housekeeper and nanny as a last resort, having previously been living in his car. In one episode, Mel finds out that Joe has donated to a sperm bank, and asks him what the most degrading thing he's ever done for money is, hoping he'll admit to selling some of his swimmers. Instead, he gestures around the kitchen and replies, "By far, this." He's not entirely sincere, but the joke (such as it is) is predicated upon the audience acknowledging that this isn't a suitable job for a man who values himself.
There are lots of different dads on Parenthood: single dads, married dads, almost-stepdads, mostly absent dads, and of course, stay-at-home dad Joel Graham (Sam Jaeger). Married to high-powered attorney Julia (Erika Christensen), he was a contractor until the recession hit. Since then, he's been the primary caregiver for the couple's daughter, Sydney, who is 5 when the series starts.
The show doesn't stint on clichés associated with stay-at-home dads, from Julia feeling threatened by the flirty, make-everything-from scratch homemakers her husband now hangs around with to his father-in-law wondering why he doesn't have a "real" job. Joel himself sometimes seems frustrated by his lack of a creative outlet or a social life not involving children. But for the most part, it's a positive portrayal of a man who doesn't resent his wife for having a job, or consider his own contribution to the family to be any less important. He's probably more patient than Julia, steps up to the plate when it comes to both discipline and showing affection, and is a caring, competent father.
The New Normal isn't the first time we've seen gay dads (in this case, dads-to-be) on TV. But from Will & Grace's Jack McFarland to LeRoy and Hiram Berry on Glee, they're usually non-custodial fathers or secondary characters. The aughts brought sitcoms It's All Relative and Normal, Ohio, both of which centred around gay fathers, but neither found an audience.
It wasn't until 2009's Modern Family that a successful network sitcom showed gay men being full-time fathers — and even there, their portrayal is stereotypical and desexualized. That's something Glee and The New Normal creator (and out gay man) Ryan Murphy publicly criticized in 2010, stating that if he were to make a show with two gay leads, their kissing would be shown as no big deal.
It's not that I don't enjoy Modern Family, exactly. It's a slick sitcom that showcases some great acting and witty writing. But despite including characters who are gay and people of color, at heart it's a deeply conventional show, more interested in peddling stereotypes than subverting them.
Most often, Modern Family's white heterosexual family with a stay-at-home mom is presented as the default, including in the show's promotional images, most of which literally position them at the centre of the show: the "normal" people those wacky minorities orbit around. The first season poster even made this overt, describing the family units we could expect to see as: "straight, gay, multi-cultural, traditional" — that last word providing reassurance to conservatively-minded potential viewers that storylines wouldn't get too progressive.
In comparison to single moms elsewhere, on Gilmore Girls, they're heroes. In fact, when it comes to parenting on the show, there's a recurring theme: Men! Not quite as good as women, are they?
They're certainly inferior to Lorelai Gilmore, the bright, witty firebrand who single-handedlyraised the cleverest girl in Stars Hollow while working her way from chambermaid to manager of a local inn, gaining a business degree in the process. Sure, at times she's a little over-invested in her daughter Rory's life (like when she sleeps over during Rory's first night at college), and she can be rude and selfish, especially when it comes to her own parents (although not entirely without reason). But she's also the fun mom who'll take you to concerts and and sneak you into her bachelorette party by pretending you're an international supermodel.
No wonder, then, that her parenting prowess doesn't only extend to her own child, but to those of the men she knows and dates, as well.
While men who unexpectedly become single parents are often presented as inspirational, women in the same position tend to be vilified. Take Murphy Brown.
The show's eponymous lead character, a TV journalist, became pregnant in her early forties and soon discovered her baby daddy didn't want to be a father. So this wealthy, talented, intelligent woman set about raising a baby on her own. Responsible, you might think. At the very least, making the best of things. Not according to then-Vice President Dan Quayle, who considered Murphy to be a scourge of humanity.
Back in 1992, Quayle used the occasion of the L.A. Riots as an opportunity for a little moralizing about family values. While he did at least acknowledge men's role in creating single parent families (saying, "Failing to support children one has fathered is wrong,") he focused his criticism on Candace Bergen's fictional character, ranting: "It doesn't help matters when primetime TV has Murphy Brown — a character who supposedly epitomizes today's intelligent, highly paid, professional woman — mocking the importance of fathers by bearing a child alone, and calling it just another 'lifestyle choice'."
The idea that fatherhood redeems men, turning them into proper grown-ups (and thus acceptable members of society) is an enduring pop cultural preoccupation.
In Three Men and A Baby, the lead characters are living in New York, having fun while still (more or less) covering their bills — but it takes raising a baby and giving up wild parties to validate their existence. Jack, baby Mary's biological father, is the most irresponsible at the start of the film, and the one who is most changed by the experience. In case we missed this subtle lesson, Jack's mom makes it explicit, informing him: "You used to be a screw-up. Now you're a father."
Conveniently for writers, a man doesn't need to have spilled some sperm to have his formerly worthless life transformed like this. For Charlie Salinger in Party of Five, it just took his parents dying in a car crash. Suddenly, this 24-year old slacker who made his living from odd jobs and had a different girlfriend each week was in charge of his four siblings, who ranged in age from one to sixteen.