To be a Father

Nine years ago, my first son came into this world.  Nine years ago, I became a father.

It's a fascinating experience to watch a child grow.  A baby is so small.  His finger and toes were so delicate.  I am not a large man, but my hands seemed so impossibly large next him.

Every milestone is a wonder, learning to roll, learning to walk and talk.

It is a joy to watch him, even when it hurts, to see how he responds, to listen to him speak and ask questions, experiencing the world around him.

When he was two, he had a fascination with his baby brother's eyes.  I'd hear a blood curdling scream and watch a two-year-old run out of their bedroom exclaiming, "He's OK now."

Three years ago, I took my family to my Great-Grandfather's funeral.  My oldest son asked me, "Why are Grandpa's eyes sewn shut?"

These may not paint the best picture of my son, but they remind me that what a child see and does is not always the same as I see and do.

Being a father he been an overwhelming, wonderful, horrible, joyful, painful, life-changing experience.   I wouldn't give it up for anything.   I have a focus and a purpose.  Even when all is going wrong, the hug of a child can make it right.

Fatherhood has been one has been one of those gifts that continually reminds me that there is a God and that He loves me.