In the spring of 1999, my son, Charlie, was just learning to crawl, and my wife, Margaret, was in her last year of medical school. She was also set to begin an obstetrics and gynecology residency in July, which would require us to move. Since I would therefore be leaving my job as a teacher at IS 104, a New York City middle school, I used the opportunity to reevaluate my career goals. I took great satisfaction from my work as a teacher, but I had realized early on that the children I was most concerned for needed as much help at home and in the family courts as they did in a classroom. That belief, along with my desire for greater intellectual challenges, convinced me that I wanted to attend law school. If I took the LSAT in June 1999 and worked for a year while applying to law schools near Margaret’s program, both residency and law school would finish in 2003. Then, with Charlie turning five, we could move to an area with good public schools and begin our professional careers. It seemed like a great plan. But as I thought about what life for my family would be like while we implemented it, I could not dismiss the lessons I had learned in my years as a teacher.

Foremost in my mind was a class of twelve E.D. (“Emotionally Disturbed”) eighth-grade special education students I had during my first year of teaching. Most lived apart from both their parents, and they were my only class in three years to be completely unrepresented at parent-teacher conferences. They had little in common with the geeky-looking, middle-class white guy standing in front of them, and even less interest in getting along with him. For those first months they shoved, insulted, and threatened me on a daily basis. Finally, in January, I found the answer: I started a track team and recruited heavily from that class. Almost instantly, I went from enemy to “Coach,” and in the classroom, pushing gave way to high fives. Our first semester had been all but wasted, but in the rest of the year, we covered the Roaring Twenties, their fears about AIDS, and anything else I could fit under the wide umbrella of “Social Studies.” By year’s end, they were easily my favorite class. To me, they represented a dramatic illustration of how the lack of stable homes and involved parental figures had affected the kids I taught. They also showed me what even a little quality time with an adult could do for a child.

The life my wife and I had envisioned would give Charlie a mom who spent up to 120 hours a week at the hospital and, simultaneously, a dad who practically lived at the law library. That plan was increasingly difficult to square with my experiences at IS 104. I initially wrestled against the solution that kept occurring to me, but eventually I told Margaret that I wanted to become a stay-at-home dad. At first, she worried that, far from receiving the intellectual stimulation I craved, I would be bored at home and would resent her for holding me back. Margaret was also concerned that “delaying” law school would turn into “giving up” on it. She left unspoken her fear that she might respect me less if I stayed home. In truth I shared even her unspoken fears. Still, reason told me that what I proposed was the right choice for our family. I assured Margaret that, to keep my brain active, I would continue running my part-time IT business. I argued I would not feel held back because, instead, I would take pride in doing what my family needed me to do. Law school could wait—Charlie’s childhood would not.

When we moved for Margaret’s residency at Stanford, I began my life as a stay-at-home dad. There was a period of adjustment—despite knowing that I was doing the right thing for our family, my previously breadwinning male ego was still catching up. Other people seemed to struggle with my role, too. A playgroup leader asked Charlie and me not to return for a second play date because some of “The Girls” were uncomfortable with the idea of having a father in the group. Prospective IT clients tended to underestimate me when they learned exactly why I telecommuted. In public, strangers often asked if I was “babysitting,” or they said words that are nails-on-a-chalkboard to any at-home father: “Oh, so you’re Mr. Mom?”

But negative or awkward experiences were rare, and the positives blew them away. Every day, I got to play with my son, and later, my daughter Sophia. I could take them to see their Mommy whenever she had an unexpected slow-down at the hospital, which made residency more bearable for everyone involved. At home, we made crafts and danced and read. I felt good about trying to push gender-neutral toys, even if I had to smile ruefully as Charlie still turned his Legos into guns and Sophia still gravitated towards all things pink. More recently, I have coached soccer, introduced algebra to my seven-year-old, and volunteered at school. Most of all, I have given my children what I hope is the right mix of hugs, discipline, and fun. Both are now as kind and happy as they are bright, and seeing them develop into such great kids has affirmed my decision to stay home to raise them. What I once approached as a duty I now regard as a true privilege, and my wife’s respect for me has grown in these years, not shrunk.

My wife and I once feared that I would give up on going to law school or that my brain would atrophy while home with the kids. Instead, I became more efficient and more ambitious with the time I did have to myself. For pleasure reading, I tackled academic texts on such topics as Islamic history, an interest I have had since college, and Constitutional theory. During naps, preschool, and late nights, I taught myself Cisco network administration, accounting, and anything else I needed to know to run my business. On behalf of the practice my wife joined after residency, I have analyzed physician productivity and evaluated the financial viability of a major real estate venture. Most recently, I played a pivotal role in the successful renegotiation of a multimillion-dollar contract with Blue Cross/Blue Shield. My work and self-study have honed my analytical skills far beyond their levels of seven years ago, and have broadened the areas of law in which I am interested. I will be a far better law student in 2008 than I could ever have been in 2000.

This next year will bring many exciting changes to my family and me. Some of them, such as the fact that both kids will be in school full time and need me less during the day, will come whether I begin law school or not. Others, such as my wife rearranging her schedule so she can be at home when school lets out, will result from the same sort of conscious decision to act for the good of our family as I made over eight years ago. When I arrive on campus next fall, I will approach the study of law from a mature and potentially unique perspective, driven by the same values, dedication, and sense of personal responsibility that have guided me throughout my adult life as a teacher, husband, and father.