“”Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.
There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.
At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, ‘Goodbye, Daddy!’ and I frowned, and said in reply, ‘Hold your shoulders back!’
Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive‐and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!
Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. ‘What is it you want?’ I snapped. You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither.
And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs. Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me?
The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding‐this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.
And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!
It is feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: ‘He is nothing but a boy ‐ a little boy!’
I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.”
W. Livingston Larned
I find it so easy at times as a father to forget how precious these little miracles in my life are. Every time I look into the eyes of my children, I see a miracle. I see wonder. As a child, I imagined what my children would one day be like. Now they are before me. My heart is swollen with gratitude for these angels in my life. I don’t think it would be possible for me to have been given any greater blessing, yet I find myself at time finding fault in them… becoming frustrated because I hold them to the same standard to which I hold myself. It is easy to forget in those moments just how precious they are. It is also easy to forget that they are but children who have a whole lifetime of learning before them!
It is my resolve to be the best father that I can be. I know that I will make mistakes, as I always have. In that sense, I am still but a child myself… striving to become what I know my Heavenly Father wants me to be. There are times where He has more than enough reason to find fault with me, yet he doesn’t do it. He loves me and each of us with a perfect love that will never fail, no matter how much we ourselves fail. There never was a greater example of true fatherhood than that which is given by our father and creator. May we all strive to be better parents and better children ourselves. Every day learning and allowing ourselves to grow while we also allow our own children to grow, showing them nothing less than pure love. This is my hope and my prayer for all of us, as we are are in this together!
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