Father's Day Apologies

I'm not sure if it's a recent trend or not, but I've noticed that in churches on Father's Day, fathers commonly are in danger of being under attack. It's not on purpose, of course. Nor is it malicious. There are Father's Day well-wishes. Sometimes there is a celebration of manhood itself. But in an understandable rush to call God the ultimate Father, there is an admission and even an apology to all in the church body who have had less-than-stellar father figures. "Some of you have had absent fathers or abusive fathers or distant fathers," someone will say. And then they will point those to God as the faithful, love-without-end Father that He is. Rightfully so. But can you imagine the same thing being said on Mother's Day? On Mother's Day the lamenting and understanding tones are for those who wish to be mothers but either are not or can not for reasons out of their control. And they deserve those lamentations. But I don't hear the same for those who cannot be fathers. Instead, there are apologies for the bad ones.

There is a book that I teach to my juniors titled Until They Bring the Streetcars Back by Stanley Gordon West. In it the life of a teenage boy, Calvin Gant, is examined; and a major aspect of the plot is his tenuous relationship with his father. The father is distant but hard-working. He is generally serious with occasional flashes of frivolity. He served in the war, and that service changed him. He speaks sparingly of feelings and never of love. He demands much and provides much. He has a perfect record of attendance at work but a non-existent record at Cal's athletic events. It's been fascinating over the last 14 years in the classroom to hear student discussion on the merits and flaws of this father. Consensus has moved from generally positive and understanding to primarily critical in little more than a decade. Cal's father is a punching bag for them, a father who doesn't do enough, show up enough, express love enough. The flaws are memorable; the contributions, cast aside. For many of them, they say, the same goes for their own father.

This tells me that one of two situations is true: either we are too hard on fathers and quick to judge them if they are not the perfect balance of everything expected of men in the shifting expectations of the last 5 decades combined, or there truly are a lot of bad fathers out there.

I work hard to be a good father, but I admit that my great fear is that my children will remember me most in 30 years for my flaws rather than my contributions. That possibility haunts me if I allow it to. What flaws will stick out? My stubbornness? My fatigue-induced low tolerance? The frustration in my voice when they haven't obeyed as I saw fit? What have I missed that they won't forget or forgive? My daughters aren't even teenagers yet; I can't imagine the atrocities I'll commit during those years.

My father has the comfort of knowing that 30 years later, it is not the flaws that his son remembers. The flaws are mere foibles, and many are comical. One Father's day I remember we made my dad a shirt mocking his frequent and unmistakable use of the phrase, "You know?" in his conversational speech. It is "flaws" like this that make me remember and smile. I know who my father is, and I know he's not perfect. I'm not looking through some rose-colored glasses and waxing poetic about some non-existent past. Instead, I see who he was and is, and I know I see a good man and a good father who can rest easy knowing that.

I don't remember the absences so much as I remember the work ethic. I know he is stubborn, but only because he has stubbornly shown up every time I've needed him. He didn't let me choose the radio station, and he didn't let me choose when we were done working or what jobs were my responsibility. Because of those "flaws," I know and appreciate Paul Harvey and the satisfaction of a late night shower cleansing fatigue and manure from the day. He loitered when I preferred to hurry, and I learned the value of community.

Thank you, church, for your concern. But my father needs no apology for him. He is not God. But he helped me know God, and he helped me know callouses, and he helped me know the value of a face to face conversation. I hope I give my own children as much as my father gave to me so that they can look back at any flaws, hear the world's assessments of my shortcomings, and know that I did everything in love from the bottom of my heart, just like my dad taught me.