I celebrated my first Father’s Day in 1990. I just barely missed the cut off in 1989. Randall did not come along until July 15th that year. I wanted the whole world to know that I was a father. I felt like I deserved a discount on my noon meal that day at some local restaurant. It was a big deal for me. I had walked the floor with my young son late at night the previous 11 months, when he had colic. I had changed enough diapers to become the male authority on the subject. Public recognition was in order in my estimation. I vaguely remember paying full price for my lunch that day. And I think my colleague in ministry most likely preached a sermon that day that called on dads worldwide to a greater level of commitment.

I had nothing to complain about then. Fatherhood had its perks back in those days. There is nothing better than rocking your baby to sleep. Life just cannot be any better during those moments. During my second year of fatherhood Randall started forming his first words. When I would rock him at night, he would say: “song.” That was intended to signal me to sing to him. I would start out with a song, and he would say: “not that song.” I would go through a fairly lengthy repertoire of songs until he would finally say: “that song.” His playlist varied from night to night. I was his walking i-pod. He was quite adept at playing possum in those days. His little eyes would get droopy, and he would appear to drift off to sleep. I would place him in his bed, and those same droopy eyes would pop open. He would inevitably look up and say: “song.” He must have known that I was an easy target.

I have not rocked one of my three babies in over ten years now. We passed that milestone a long time ago. They have not asked me to sing to them in quite awhile now. On the other hand, they have requested on several occasions for me not to sing. Their desires today are quite different. Can I have your gas card to fill up my car? When are you going to buy me a phone? Can we have money for pizza tonight? I need some new running shoes, and the list goes on… They know I am an easy target.

I am ready to go back to the simper days. The only request I want to hear is: “song.” I am even glad to hear “not that song” again. I am not holding my breath. Life clocks only move forward.

I have nothing to complain today. Fatherhood has its perks today. Earlier this week Randall called to seek my thoughts on a new job that he is considering. He actually wanted to know what my opinion was on the matter. It was a great conversation. His thought processes sounded like that of a responsible man. It was as a signal to me that he is maturing. He is becoming an exceptional young man. It was great. I miss the baby days, but I am grateful for what today brings.

It did occur to me when we got off the phone during this recent conversation that he inquired about purchasing boots and a hat, and white western shirts for this new job… I suppose he was asking in a round about way that I purchase such necessities for his new venture? Oh well…he knows that I am easy target.

Happy Father’s Day men!