What Makes a Dad Great (an Open Letter to My Husband)
"Don… I'm sitting here on the laptop, scrolling through pictures you've snapped of the boys over the years. Pictures taken long before you and I even knew each other existed.
It's the first time I've clicked through all of them.
There are many. More than a thousand. All the pictures we rescued from your phone that broke, remember?
In these photos, I see three sweet, innocent, carefree young souls enjoying life. They're laughing and goofing off and being silly. They're guzzling lemonade and devouring ice cream and Krispy Kreme donuts. They're racing go-karts and jumping on trampolines. They’re tearing down water slides and backflipping off diving boards.
They're having tickle fights and wrestling matches. They're chasing trains in the desert and burying each other in the sand on the beach. They're playing video games and Monopoly and Pool, and with Legos and Thomas trains and Nerf guns.
They're going trick and treating, opening Easter eggs, ripping the paper off Christmas presents, celebrating their birthdays and school graduations, and receiving certificates and awards.
It's as if I'm right there, experiencing their childhood with them and watching time progress a little more with each click of the mouse... Aww.
Michael is so cute, like a picture postcard baby angel—only the wings are missing. I so much want to kiss those chubby cheeks!
David looks shy and a little nerdy (is this where the nickname "professor" comes from? ;-) I can tell he takes his role as big brother seriously, the way he always has his arms wrapped around Christopher and Michael. It's as if he's subconsciously trying to protect them from harm. He knew…
And Christopher—check out that smile! I'm looking at a kid who feels included and is super happy to be spending time with his brothers! It strikes me how normal he looks; his disability is barely noticeable in any of the pictures.
I wish I'd known them back then, that even back then I could have been a mom figure to them. I would have pulled them close and assured them that they’re loved, reiterating all the things you were already teaching them. I would have told them that her poor choices were not their fault. That they didn’t deserve it. That they were going to be okay despite everything they'd gone through and the challenges that still lay ahead. Because God's got them.
Some of the shots you're in, too. But mostly, you're behind the camera, capturing all the magical moments.
Moments from Knotts, Soak City, Disneyland, Vegas shows, movie premiers, concerts, magic shows, comedy clubs, and Lakers games.
Moments from the field, tournaments, and sporting events: You faithfully drove them to and from martial arts classes, cross-country training, baseball, basketball, and soccer practice. You even coached their teams, season after season.
(I love what you said about how sports have always been about more than "just sports"; it's been a springboard for teaching them godly life principles.)
Moments from acting in school plays, from Bible studies and the Pioneer club at church, where they made friends, got to hone their social skills and step out of their comfort zones, and where they grew closer to the Lord.
Moments from meals the four of you had together where you faithfully invested in their health. Dinner often consisted of fish, brown rice, and salad, but dessert was generally still allowed as you believe in balance. Then, like now, you wisely went for the grass-fed, wild-caught, free-range, and organic, quality and taste being non-negotiables.
For years, you played the part of both mom and dad to them, rising to the occasion the way God called you to. You went to great lengths to ensure they had a chance at a normal childhood. Probably few fathers would have stepped up like you did.
You were their guide, mentor, confidant, friend, authority figure, and role model. (You recognized that raising healthy kids is about giving quality AND quantity time.)
You stood up for them, advocated for them, and put their needs ahead—way ahead—of your own.
You challenged them and helped them see the bigger picture. You taught them lessons they needed to develop into godly young men: about persistence, self-discipline, respect, kindness, humility, and fairness. And you always made an effort to lead by example.
You advised them on friends, education, hobbies, entertainment choices, nutrition, exercise, after-school activities, and, later, work, politics, and dating. Even when your advice wasn't followed, seeds were sown for the future.
God noticed. He saw how you poured yourself into them, and I'm confident that every seed will sprout in due time.
Yes, you really gave parenting your everything—and then some.
Of course, succeeding as a father doesn't mean one always does everything perfectly.
One of the things that makes a dad great, the way I see it, is when you've messed up, and your kids are aware of it, and you can be humble enough to admit it. Not only to yourself or God but to your kids.
You go to them and say something like this: "Here's where I missed the mark. Here's what I'm doing to fix it. And here's what you'll want to do differently so you don't end up in this situation."
I've seen you do this. Many times. And it's so inspiring. Because now you've taken your mistake and done something mature with it, something that helps the boys not only make wise choices but humbly take responsibility when they don't.
They're teenagers and young adults now (where did time go?), and you still play such a critical role in their lives.
I'm sure you always will. The older they get, the more they'll appreciate everything you've done for them.
You've been and are their anchor, and I know they respect you for it. I don’t doubt they recognize what a caring, attentive, supportive dad God blessed them with. Even if they've had, and may still have, moments (or days or seasons) where they don't sufficiently demonstrate it.
Don, you've done a wonderful job with the boys. Our boys. Thank you. Happy Father's Day.
Lena."
Do you agree that to do our job as a parent properly, we must give our kids quality and quantity time? Why/why not? What is your best parenting tip? Please share in the comments section below!
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