They'll Never Know
Gregory K. Moffatt, Ph.D.
It is Father's Day as I write this and I'm reflecting on what I've become as a father. I see my children getting older before my eyes and I think of all the things that we've done together over the years. Many of the things we did that I know they enjoyed aren't even in their memory banks anymore. They were just too young to remember. Other things I know they remember well. In all, I hope their lives as children have been good.
My minister said something in a sermon that got me thinking. He said that time passes quickly and we never seem to know where it has gone. "At the end of his life," he said, "Methuselah, the oldest man to ever live, probably looked back and said, 'Where did those 900 years go?'" Where has my time gone? It seems like yesterday my first child was a tiny 7-pound baby in my arms, but now she is an adult and her siblings aren't far behind her. I realize that no matter what my children think of me, I've tried very hard to be a good dad. But some things I've done as a parent that they'll never know.
They will never know all the job opportunities I turned down because even though it would have helped me professionally, it would have required a move or it would have threatened our family time. Even worse, nearly all of those opportunities would have inhibited the flexibility that I have in my job making it impossible for me to have lunch with my kids every week at school, to attend field trips, or to participate in class programs and presentations any time I wanted. They don't know that I never accepted a speaking engagement, out-of-town trip, or any other obligation without first considering how it would affect my family time and also making sure my trip wouldn't cause me to miss a program, honors ceremony, or soccer game.
They will never count the hours and hours I spent sitting through programs at church or school, dance, orchestra, band and piano recitals, soccer, baseball, and basketball games, and track meets - not to mention the hours my wife and I spent driving them to and from these activities, practices, parties, the park, Six Flags, and all the other places we went.
They'll never add up all the money we spent on meals they complained about, movies or shows we took them to that they didn't like, clothes we bought for them that they never wore, and toys that we bought that they never played with. Until they have their own children, they won't understand how much it hurt me all these years when they were mad at me for something I was doing that was for their betterment - even though they didn't like it at the time and when it would have been much easier to just not care.
How could they ever fathom my hopes and dreams for them that began the very moment I saw them for the first time? And until they have their own children, they couldn't understand that I would walk through fire, sacrifice everything I have and everything I am, if it would mean they could be spared pain and sorrow.
They don't understand that I have always been terribly proud of each one of them even when they made mistakes and they probably will never know how often I wondered if I was succeeding or failing as a father and how much I want them to be proud of me, too.
I'm not the perfect father, as much as I have always wanted to be. I've often failed even as I was trying to do what I thought was best. My personality and temperament have caused me to butt heads with my children on occasion and they know my weaknesses and failings all too well.
I know that my kids can see my failings, but I hope they
also see my heart, at least a little bit. I hope they remember
the great times we had. I know they will clearly remember the
things they didn't like. I would love for them to see me as perfect
- like they did when they were little - but that isn't realistic.
I'll just settle for them seeing me as a dad who has always loved
them more than life itself. A Father's Day card is nice, too.