When I was a young man in the late ‘80’s, I longed to be a father.  But If the truth be known, I had no idea what that meant.  When our firstborn entered this world in the summer of ’89, I soon discovered being a father meant taking the night shift.  I walked the floor with a baby that had colic.  My mother told me to hold him closely, because the warmth of my body would help his little tummy feel better. I don’t know if there was any truth to her counsel, but I listened. Every night from 11:00 on I held him ever so close.  During the first 6 weeks of his life we walked the floor in the middle of the night. Something happened during that short period of time. I “became” a father.

I was so young then.  And I was incredibly naïve.  I only knew one thing.  I did not want to be like my own father.  That is really not an indictment of his character.  His father died when he was only 2 years old. He did the best he could with virtually no experience on which to draw. My father passed away when I was 15 years old, so that left me a little lacking in the experience department as well.

In looking back over the past 28 plus years, I realize in some ways I have not been like my own father and in other ways I mirrored his very character. My father was too busy to hang out with his kids.  In sharp contrast, I was engaged with my three boys to a great extent. I played in the floor with them when they were small.  We built forts out of blankets and dining room chairs.  I took them to the park.  I took them with me to the lumber store and to every other place I was going.  We camped out in the tent in the backyard. And I built a fort for them in the backyard with turrets for water guns.   And when they got older, I volunteered at their schools. And I ate lunch with them in the school cafeteria.  When high school rolled around, I accompanied them on school trips as a sponsor.

But there is a dark side too.  As a father, I struggled to be emotionally present.  I became just like my own father.  I was too young and too full of pride to acknowledge such a weakness. Naturally, I have regrets.  In recent years, I have viewed that challenge in a different light.

I realize now that being a father is a calling.  It’s an identity thing.  One of my primary roles in life is to be a father.  And that means I must be willing to fully engage.  I choose to give of my time and energy. But more importantly, I am also willing to give of myself emotionally too. Being a father also means letting your guard down in a spirit of openness.  The fatherhood calling is not completely fulfilled until that occurs.

As I have purposed to be more open in recent years, something unexpected has occurred. Opportunities to be a father to teens and young adults continue to pop up on a very regular basis. It’s a weekly thing.  I had no clue that I was surrounded by young adults that are “fatherless” for a variety of reasons.  They seem drawn to me. It’s humbling.  I fully realize that such doors could not possibly open as long as I remained emotionally disengaged. 

My 56^th birthday is next week.  My hair will soon be solid gray.  I am perceived as “old” by some groups.  But at 56, I know that my calling as a father is as vibrant as ever.  I want to be a blessing to my own children.  And I hope to make up for the grievous mistakes I made in previous years.  And I am eager to be a father to those that are searching for such a person in their life.  I am wide open. I refuse to let pride or insecurities impede my paternal calling.  They certainly did in the past.  And… I know what it is to be fatherless.  That reality just fuels my calling.  In 2018, I long to be father. And thankfully I have a clue what that means now. I  actually find myself “becoming” a father.