This essay was first published in the Fort Bragg PARAGLIDE then the Fayetteville OBSERVER in 1990 –  just in time for Father’s Day.

  Fathers Are Forever

            Our heads were still bowed from saying grace for Sunday’s dinner when I noticed my daughter, Shelly, was staring at the top of my head.

            “Daddy,” she said, excitedly, as if she was about to reveal a startling discovery.  “Your hair is real gray now!”

            Now that bit of good news certainly whet my appetite!  But kids are always making innocent observations about their fathers.  For out of the mouth of babes…. But these are the times when our wives are most supportive.

            “Eat your supper,” my wife, Gloria, told her.  “And don’t tease your daddy about being so old.”

            I would have appreciated her defense a little more if Gloria hadn’t put so much emphasis on the word old.  And it would have been nice if my son, Patrick, had been more supportive of dear old daddy and not beamed grins and giggles at me from across the table.

            It has only been a couple years ago that Shelly used to sit on the arm of my recliner and count the gray hair affixing themselves in my ever-aging scalp.  But now that she’s 10, she considers herself too big to sit on the arm of Daddy’s chair anymore.  So, she was probably surprised to see the gray hairs would very soon out-number the brown ones.

            And yet, there seemed to be something more than surprise in her voice.  Was it worry?  Was she suddenly confronted with the awesome reality that Daddy was growing older as she grew up and one day Daddy would be gone?

            Nah!  Every kid knows that fathers are forever.  We’re providers and protectors, spiritual counselors and hard disciplinarians.  We never hope to attain the lofty status of mothers although a little appreciation now and then is allowed.

            We’re a mystery for the most part, probably because our role as provider keeps us away so much of their young lives.  That mystery sometimes makes us bigger than life.  But if we do our jobs right, we earthly fathers can lead our children to know their Heavenly Father by teaching them about His Son, Jesus.

               Patrick is always comparing himself to me and constantly announcing career choices he thinks will please me.  His choices range from paratrooper to preacher, which, as anybody knows are miles apart.  Maybe my little boy is just a little more like his daddy than he realizes, having found himself torn between rugged adventure and Bible study, between patriotism and devotion to God.

            My daughter likes to greet me at the door in the evenings with her music book in hand to show me the new songs she’s learned to play on the piano.  Musical notes and symbols are all Greek to me, but she thinks I understand.  She thinks Daddy knows and understands everything. 

             But fathers don’t understand everything although we’re often guilty of pretending we do.  Unlike mothers, who worry endlessly over dirty hands and skinned knees, fathers worry over bigger things.

            We wonder if our sons will reach that age of rebellion and become the proverbial “prodigal son.”  And we worry that our daughters may one day shame their mama and break their daddy’s heart.  And again, if we do our jobs, we pray constantly about these things that worry us most, giving them over to the Lord.

            There’s really no mystery to fathers.  We both worry and pray about our children because we love them just as much as their mothers do.  But our self-inflicted tough-guy roles often disallow our showing it.  Do my own kids know I love them?  I think so.

            Every evening, I require our two to be ready for bed by 9:30.  An hour or so later as Gloria, who’s currently carrying our third child, and I head upstairs to bed, we’ll hear a scurrying of little footsteps running to their bedrooms following the sentry’s whispering cry, “Daddy’s coming!”

            By the time I’ve reached the top of the stairs, daughter and son are both in their beds and covered up, pretending to be asleep.  A moment later as I turn out the hallway lights, I hear two wide-awake children’s voices.

            “Good night, Daddy,” they’ll say, first one then the other.

            “Good night,” I’ll answer then prepare for bed myself.

            And so ends another day as a daddy.  Do I ever have any regrets about being a father?  Never!!!