As I read this blog (below) the other day, I couldn’t help
but think of the many times that as a dad, I just miss it. We have been going through Men’s Fraternity
through the last few years and it has helped me remember to try to redeem these
moments. I pray that this would remind not just our men, but all of our parents
not to miss the moments to love, laugh and instruct our children in the few
short years they are in our home.
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I loved watching my boys participate in sports. One of their
youngest ventures was t-ball. For the uninitiated, t-ball is baseball without a
pitcher. The baseball is placed on a tee for the young boy or girl to hit.
Now the beauty of t-ball is that you can’t strike out. If
you happen to miss the ball when you swing, your coach will help you position
your bat, and you get to try again. In fact, you keep on trying until you
finally hit the ball. My boys called second and third swings “do-overs.”
I wish I had some do-overs as a father. I tend to be a
workaholic. And when I put in long and unreasonable hours, I get grouchy. The
laughing, joyous father becomes a grouchy bear.
Though I have had many spells of the bah-humbug attitude, it
seemed to be especially pervasive when my boys were young. I was a seminary
student and pastor of a rural church. I also worked at a bank since the church
only provided me fifty dollars per week in income. My schedule was horrendous.
Fifteen hours of classroom time each week. Thirty-plus hours at the bank. More
than twenty hours a week of studying. And at least forty hours at the church.
During those three years, I often was anything but a joy. I
have some painful memories that I don’t particularly like recalling. But those
stories are important reminders.
The three preschool boys were still in their pajamas,
watching an early-morning cartoon. “Look at Scooby Doo, Daddy!” one of the boys
exclaimed in laughter. Those boys were having so much fun. They wanted their
daddy to join in on the hilarity.
I was tired and had to leave for an 8:00 a.m. class, but
that does not excuse my behavior. I told the boys in an irritable tone that I
had to leave and they needed to hug me good-bye, part of our everyday routine.
The boys were into their cartoons and were oblivious to my
demands. In a moment of anger, I left the little campus apartment without my
daily hugs. I got into the old Ford, made the usual U-turn that brought me
right in front of the apartment. And there, standing on the little porch, were
Sam and Art crying, motioning for me to return and hug them.
I felt like such a lowlife—because I was.
Even as I write this story more than two decades later, my
eyes are filling with tears.
I jumped out of the car, grabbed my two sons with each of my
arms, took them back into the apartment, and hugged them repeatedly.
I then threw off my coat and sat on the floor and watched
Scooby Doo.
I missed my 8:00 a.m. class, and I don’t even remember what
the class was. But I do remember Scooby Doo. And I do remember my boys yelling
with delight that Daddy had returned and joined the party of laughter.
But there just aren’t any do-overs as a father.
You can ask for forgiveness. You can make up for a bad
moment.
But you can’t undo that which has already been done.
There are no do-overs.
