For Ben. For Luke. For Max. And for all the children of the world.
Father's Day. I really do love it. It's 24 hours in which I'm always absolutely certain of my purpose here on earth.
As a child, Father's Day for me was ... well, just another cruel reminder of missed opportunities. Unfortunately, I had no positive father/son experiences growing up. I've never had goosebumps fondly recalling a Hallmark moment with a dad. But there's no point in rehashing the turmoil and pain of my obstacle-filled childhood. If you've read some of my past blogs, you know the story.
I found out many years afterward that I was avoiding and running from the feelings associated with the lack of love, bonding, and companionship with a father. I thought I'd let it all go as I matured, but it was actually festering in and eating at my soul, and the realization smacked me firmly in the face as an adult. So I addressed it, looked it right in the face, and I continue to do so. Shining light on the darkness takes away its power. I've grown from going into the shadows, and every time I venture there I grow a little more. The suffering, that ache, and the resulting understanding that came from dealing with it has given me an uncanny ability to empathize with and love others like I never thought possible. That initial weakness is now a strength.
So here I sit today as a father with three wonderful sons of my own. Ben is 21. Luke is 18. And Max is 8. The heart-building father/son experiences I have with my boys are too numerous to count. That -- is awesome. There's nothing I wouldn't do for them. They know my love is unending and sincere. They're experiencing a literal complete flip from what I saw in my own childhood.
I was present for the birth of all three of the boys. I cried when they first squinted at me with their sweet eyes, and I was amazed at their screams when their tiny lungs first filled with air. It was electric, all three times. God was there, too. Know it! He changed me in those moments. Those whispered first breaths of air were God's whispers to me, three times, gently telling me "This. Is love. This ... is Fatherhood. This is healing."
I currently coach a baseball team comprising boys ages 7 and 8. Max is on the team. I also coached Ben's and Luke's teams when they were that age. Doing so has presented me with many more opportunities to be a positive male/father role model for not only my sons, but for other boys on our team, and other boys and girls throughout the league. I cherish the relationships I forge with these kids, every one of them.
When I'm out and about, I also make time to speak to boys and girls in public. At the grocery store. On an airplane. At the swimming pool. I laugh and joke with them. I kneel down and look directly into their eyes. My soul is safe. I want them to know that. My gift is love. I want them to feel that. These are still more opportunities to spread fatherly love, to provide a young boy or girl with a glimpse at what a father acts like. To show them that fathers care. That I care.
The deep love I have for my three sons overwhelms me with joy. The love I share with other children adds to that bliss. We're all connected anyway. I'm connected to every young person I speak to. I know it. They might not understand, but I certainly do. We're all one. We breathe the same air. We smell the same flowers. We adore the same moon. We give and want to receive the same love.
I'm also still connected to my father and my stepfather, both of whom are now deceased. I believe both of them are receiving and giving love in a place where they finally found the father/son love they missed out on in their time here on the planet. My missed opportunities were very much theirs, too. I feel sorrow for them, because I now get to experience every day what they missed out on.
I will undoubtedly always be connected to my three sons. They have my blue eyes. They have my sense of humor. They have my heart. I know they'll find their souls, just like I found mine, as they walk along a much more gentle path than the one I took.
When I caress Max's face while he sleeps, when I talk to Luke about his upcoming venture into college, when I watch Ben sink a birdie putt ... I feel the father/son love I missed out on as a kid. It heals me as an adult. It's fatherhood. I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
The moments. That's where it's at. They don't have to be complex to be spectacular. Every moment has a miracle in it when you're aware. And the painful growth I felt as a young boy, especially on Father's Day, has helped me learn how to be aware, to see the miracles, especially those involving my own and other children. There's much more to come, too. The potential is infinite, and I can assure you I will fully participate in and be aware of it all.
Being a father. It's spectacular. I'm sure I'm not a perfect dad. But, I am sure that the love I'm blessed with when giving and receiving as a father is perfect. It's God-given. I accept it. And I'll never let go of it.
To Ben. To Luke. To Max. To anyone who needs some fatherly love. I am all in on this dad thing.
Forever. And ever.
