I can't help but think about what my children will see in me when they are grown. So many children have come and gone through my office door over these many years. In one way or another, most of them loved their parents, even when they were seriously abusive or neglectful. What frightens me most are the hundreds of adults that I have seen over the years who harbor deep resentment about their upbringing decades after they left home. I wonder if my children will feel that way about me.
I work so hard to be a good father and yet many days I feel like I'm moving backwards. No matter how much I give of my time and my efforts, it never seems to be enough. Frequently I hear "I want…" and yet how rare are the words, "thank you" from my children. I know I'm not alone.
I wonder if my children will remember the good things I did for them - the many hours we spent playing together, our trips, vacations, lunches at school, bicycle rides, and bedtime stories. Will they remember the many times we all snuggled together in one big bed on a Saturday morning or the times we tickled each other in front of the fireplace on cold winter evenings, laughing until we cried? Or will they just remember my mistakes - times when I lost my temper, failed to listen to their stories carefully, or times when I seemed too busy, uncaring, or distant? Perhaps they will only remember the time that I was away from home rather than the time that I was here. It grieves me to think it might be this way.
In a blink of an eye, my house will be quiet. My children will be grown and gone. The time between visits will seem like forever and I know I won't hear from them as much as I will want. Sooner than I know, the little feet running in the hall on the second floor of my house will not belong to my children, but my grandchildren. I hope that my children will look to me as a model for parenting rather than what they do not want to be.
When those days come, the frustrations I feel today will be long forgotten. I will not remember the many times homework was forgotten in a locker at school, the petty arguments about who sits where in the van, who gets what glass at the dinner table, and who left dirty socks lying on the floor. Also forgotten will be the frustration of entire weekends spent driving to and from soccer games and dance recitals, sitting through ninety-minute programs waiting for the last five minutes when my child recited her one memorized line. Completely in the past will be any memory of the constant nickel and dime expense of school supplies, cheerleader uniforms, dues for scouts, and "voluntary" contributions for costumes and productions at school and church. I am positive that these things that make my day-to-day job as a dad frustrating will be hard to recall when my kids are grown.
All in all, I know that every day I think about being a parent and I take that responsibility very seriously. They won't remember all the times when I was the only dad on a field trip or about the prestigious professional opportunities that I have let pass because they required me to be away from home too much - but I will know.
I know, despite what they might think of me when they are grown and gone, regardless of what they will remember, I've done a good job. They will remember me as the one who always had time for them and the one who loved them even when they were unkind to me. They will call me when they need help because they know I will always be there for them, even when they have ignored me. They will remember me as the one who celebrated their successes even when they were too "cool" to acknowledge that they were glad I was proud of them. They will see, I hope, that being a parent was a joy for me and they were never a burden - that when I look at them I cannot believe such incredibly beautiful, brilliant, and wonderful people came from me. The future frightens me, but I know, even when I make mistakes, that I've always done my best to show my children that I'm so very glad I'm their dad. That, I suppose, is the best that any of us can do.
