Happy Father’s Day! It’s been said that “anyone can become a father but it takes someone special to be a Dad.” I don’t think anyone can argue with that.
A little trivia: Did you know that in 1910, Sonora Smart Dodd proposed the concept of Father’s Day in the United States? It was meant to honor her father, William Jackson Smart, a single dad who raised six children. It was first celebrated on June 19 that year, but did not catch on until 1930 when Dodd renewed her efforts to promote among the general public.
Reactions were cynical and sarcastic. The media harped on the commercialism that had invaded the celebration of Mother’s Day. Many agreed. Others were ambivalent, or willing to give it a chance.
Finally, in 1966, US President Lyndon B. Johnson issued the first Presidential Proclamation honoring fathers, designating the third Sunday of June as Father’s Day.
It had a slow and tentative start, but soon businessmen described it as “a second Christmas” for all industries connected with men’s merchandise.
Papa
I always gave my father pajamas or a nice book for Father’s Day.
I still miss Papa. No matter how long he has been with Jesus, I still wish that he was here, close, available. That’s selfish, I know. But I often need his presence. I miss his laughter, the twinkle in his eyes whether he was serious or joking. I miss his unique sense of humor, his fairness and his wisdom.
Today, when I find it necessary to give some kind of advice (okay, unsolicited more often than not) to my children and grandchildren, I wish he were just a phone call away. I need him to tell me, yes, I can do it. That, no, I am not being unreasonable; that staying on the right path is never easy, but is still the only way to go.
I miss going to his bedroom, catching the faint aroma of cigar smoke, finding him immersed in the newspaper or reading a magazine. (When I was little, his favorite was the Saturday Evening Post.)
He was always happy to see me. Whatever weighed on my heart before seeing him would quickly vanish. I was sure that I had come to the right place.
When a personal encounter was not possible, we wrote letters. Pity there was no e-mail then. I wrote in Spanish and he replied in English. This is the way we brushed up on our language skills.
I wonder if my children get that same feeling of reassurance when they come to see me. Is mine only a token opinion so I won’t feel left out? And when I speak and they seem not to listen, or when they scoff or sound patronizing, I ask myself: “Did I do this, too?”
There was so much wisdom in that handsome gentleman with the silver hair. I regret not having taken down notes. Many times, instead of listening, I argued. Instead of admitting error, I made excuses. Did Papa know that despite my resistance, I really took his words to heart? Or did I make him feel outclassed, uninformed and outdated, like he belonged with the Neanderthals?
Did he know that in spite of my quick lip, I was really listening? I pray he knew that whatever he said stayed with me. Did he imagine that years later, I would be speaking his words to his grandchildren? Could he have known that even at this late age and stage of my life, I would still need to hear from him?
Keep going
When I attempt to counsel young people today, I feel that I must keep going. I don’t want to wait for a comment. If their attitude irks or irritates me, I try to ignore it and carry on. In my heart, I feel that something I say may speak into their lives and make a difference, perhaps not right now, not even today, but some time in the future.
Someday, they will suddenly remember something I said and perhaps it will all make sense. God willing, it may help. It might serve as the red stoplight they heed to avoid a collision, or the kick in their backside to get them going. It may give them the softness they lack or the strength they never knew they had.
Something will remain, I am sure of it; maybe a word, or the tone of my voice. And if it hurts today and they resent it, so be it.
Today, as we honor fathers, it may be interesting to note the statistics that emerged from a recent census in the United States.
There are 13 million children in single parent households, and of this number, 2.5 million are being raised by their single fathers.
Seems to me only fair and fitting to have come up with a day especially for dads, and the many who all alone carry the burden (and yes, the joy) of raising a family. They say that there’s nobody stronger than a single parent. They get twice the work, twice the stress and twice the tears.
But here are the perks. Single parents—yes, even the dads—can get twice the hugs, twice the love and twice the pride.
Let me ask this. Who has a tougher time? Is it harder for a single mom or a single dad? I know it is difficult to play both roles even when the absence of one parent is only temporary. “Wait till your father (or mother) gets home!” is the usual warning in those situations. Talk about passing the buck.
Overcompensating
There are too many broken homes today where the dad and mom are ridden with guilt and anger. Parents in that situation tend to compete with one another. Blaming themselves for the failure of the family, they overcompensate and shower their children with “stuff.”
I know a dad who loves his children with all his heart. When they were little, the marriage crumbled. Limited to short visits, he indulged them in any way he could. The kids had all the toys they ever wanted.
Today, the two boys have dropped out of high school and play video games all day. The daughter parties with the wrong crowd. With all his money, the dad can’t repair their messed-up lives or buy solace for his broken heart.
There is a saying that goes: “a man’s children, like his garden, reflect the amount of weeding done during the growing season.”
The soil needs to be tilled, the weeds pulled and the branches pruned. Yes, it is hard. Of course, it hurts. But it needs to be done.
Dads, please take note. The growing season is now.