(picture from left to right) Me, my brother Bill, and my son, Andy.
I think that I share the sentiment of many other children in saying that my Dad was the best father of all. Yet, he didn’t want any recognition or anyone going to fuss all over him on Father’s Day. I remember asking my Dad why he never made a big deal out of Father’s Day. He basically told me that becoming a father, that is fathering a child, was something that was quite easy. If the conditions are prime, it takes all of about seven seconds. He reminded me that there are many men who never biologically fathered a child who are more “fathers” than many who are biological fathers. For my Dad, honoring one’s father was not something that was done on one Hallmark Card day a year. As in parenting, honoring one’s father is something that must be done every day of the year.
I have been a dad now for close to 41 years, and I understand why my own Dad thought this way. This past Father’s Day, Ruthie and my kids treated me with great kindness and love, yet, this is something they do daily. Like my own Dad, I didn’t want anyone to make a big fuss over me. Contrary to honoring me, it is I who wish to honor them.
I wish to honor Ruthie through whom I first became a father. In fact, I am envious of her who carried our children within her womb for 9 sometimes 9+ months (Luke liked it so much in there he stayed in her womb for 10 ½ months, and yes, we tried to induce him twice). She has an intimate connection to our children which I will never have.
I wish to honor my children, Andy, Luke, Meg, and Beth, who have taught me and continue to teach me what love means in thought and in action. I remember when Andy, our first child was born. Ruthie, after 24 hours in labor, gave birth to him in the, then, new Windom hospital (it was so new they hadn’t had time to install televisions in the rooms … the hospital has since been torn down for the new, new Windom hospital). It was around 3 in the morning, following all the phone calls to our parents, that I began the drive home to our little rented house in the farmer’s village of Jeffers (population 200 something). I was 23 years old and still one of the biggest screw-ups on earth. The frightening realization that I was now a father fell on me like a ton of bricks on that 30 miles drive north to Jeffers. I was a father. This is completely different from raising a puppy. I’m suppose to teach this baby something. What was I going to teach my son, when I was not too sure what my own values are? It was the beginning of an ever deepening introspective examination that has continued to this very day.
The long and the short of it is it is all about learning how to love. How to love as God loves me, and I, in turn, loving others in the very same way that God loves me. My kids have taught me how to love them even during those times during their teenage angst when I would metaphorically be delighted to sell them to the gypsies. Loving them as I have taken on their joys, their sorrows, their confusion, their searching, their craziness, their own love as they experience it. It wrenches my soul when they are depressed, confused, and filled with sorrow. It exhilarates me when they feel joyful, proud of their accomplishments, proud of who they themselves are. It is in all of this that I feel the most honored. They allow me to share in all of their lives and I am a better man, and a better father for it.
So to you, my beautiful Ruth, to you my wonderful children, my greatest legacy, who carry within you both the best and the worse of my genetic make-up (sorry about those defective genes), I honor you for giving me the great honor of being a father. I don’t need anything else and don’t want anything else but to be your dad. Every day for me is a “happy father’s day”.
