Reflections on Fatherhood

I have a two-year old son.  He is the joy of my life, the apple of my eye, and nothing else I’ve done in life gives me more pride.  Strange, isn’t it, that none of my education, none of my accomplishments, none of the stuff I’ve worked really hard to achieve… none of it compares to being a father.  It’s doubly strange considering I really didn’t do very much.  I mean… there was the sleeping with his mom part… but that’s not normally considered “work” if you know what I mean.

But I do recognize that the hard work is ahead of me.  Going from being a father to being a Dad… that’s going to be some hard work, boyo.  Nothing prepared me for it, and I suspect nothing ever could have.

I don’t think that I was naturally inclined to be a Dad.  I know some men are all about becoming a Dad, want to teach their son how to throw a baseball, how to shoot a jump shot, how to tie a knot, etc. etc. and have dreamed about that from the time they were in high school.  Not me.  When I got married, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to have kids.  I never particularly cared for other people’s kids, no matter how cute.  They couldn’t hold a conversation, and weren’t very interesting… when I was a 29 year old single guy.

And yet… the first time I saw his little head being held up by the doctor, I knew my life had changed forever.  I knew with a certainty that I’m sure God built into our DNA.  Everything I had done was in preparation for this job, of going from a father to a Dad.  I studied hard, went to the good schools, got my degrees, pulled all-nighters, stayed late, worked my way up the ladder… all so I could make sure I could provide shelter, food, and education for my little guy.  I work now, spending too many hours away from him, so that he can have a better life than I had, so that he can be a better man than I was.  I know this.

What is passing strange is how knowing all this, knowing that he’s the most important thing in my life, I do things to keep me away from him.  I have to work harder, take on greater challenges, spend more hours at the office — so I can make the dollars to pay for the house, the food, the car, his childcare, and save for his education.  I know I’m hardly alone in wanting to get off the track, get out of the rat race, and spend leisurely evenings with him, or teaching him how to throw a baseball — but that all has to wait for the weekend, or the evening hours if I get home early enough.  For the past two years, his mother has been the primary caregiver, the most important person in his life, and I can’t even find a way to be jealous.  It seems so natural that right now, she will be the focal point.

I wonder — and secretly hope — that it will all change once he goes from being an infant toddler to being a little boy.  I hope then that I can start to teach him all I know, that I can help him become the man that he is destined to be.  That I can set an example — and Lord, is that a frightening thought, that I would be someone’s example.  And when will I find the time for all this, if I’m spending most of my waking hours at work?  Is it enough to just spend time with him, or should I be thinking of all the life lessons I need to impart, and pearls of wisdom?  (That would require having some wisdom in the first place… and I’m doubtful of that.)

And what does it mean to be a good Dad?  Frankly, my own isn’t an inspiration, as he was too absorbed with his work.  I can’t trust the books 100%.  And I can’t trust myself 100% either.  So I wrestle and muddle through, doing the best I can, spared for the time being by the fact that he laughs if I give him a ride on my shoulders.

Then I think about the world we live in, the society he will come up in, and I find it difficult to stay out of despair.  On the one hand, terrorism and fascism; on the other hand, political correctness and cultural suicide.  Evangelical fundamentalists on the one side, multicultural fundamentalists on the other side, ecological fundamentalists, feminazi fundamentalists… the Center does not hold.

In the midst of all the darkness, I find myself bewildered and befuddled, searching for a safe path through which I can guide my son: That way lies rational, moral, mature, and self-fulfilling life, son.  I feel so wholly inadequate to the task.  The true state of modern Fatherhood, I think, is inadequacy.  This father certainly doesn’t know best.

In these moments, I have to turn to God for help.  I wasn’t a particularly religious man before having my boy.  I don’t know that I’m particularly religious now.  I certainly break enough commandments, I suppose, every day, and of the Seven Deadly Sins, I’m probably expert with at least five of them.  So it is that my faith is conceived of desperation, midwifed by bewilderment, and delivered through confusion — it’s a simple cry, really, “Oh Dear God, Help Me!!!”

Let me be good, so that I can show him what good is.  Let me be brave, so that he can see what courage looks like.  Let me be virtuous, not for myself, but so that he can distinguish between virtue and vice.  Help me raise my son, and I will do anything you ask….

Is this not the Dad’s prayer?

-TS