Snapshots Into Fathering Future

I read an article about fatherhood transitions by Dr. Ken Canfield from the National Center for Fathering today. Although the reality seems far away, I know it will be here in a blink as I watch events like Siena start actively marching around the house, Brody writing his name, and Braydon starting kindergarten . . .


Snapshot number one: You're wrestling two suitcases up the final flight of stairs to your daughter's new dorm room. She's already claimed the bottom bunk. Green Day blares from someone's stereo. Out on the lawn, you almost got beaned by an errant Frisbee. This will be home - at least until Thanksgiving - for the girl who used to sleep under your roof and eat around your dinette table.

Snapshot number two: You're under the sink in your son's new apartment. It's old, but the rent is cheap; and besides, it goes with his collection of garage-sale couches and end tables. The sink's been backing up since the day he moved in, but the landlord's out of town. He gives you a call and, of course, you stop by with your monkey wrench. (I'm not very handy, so it is likely that I'll be paying a plumber in this scenario. But I'll come over to supervise and make sure the plumber does the job correctly. And then shake down the landlord for prorated rent!)

Snapshot number three: You're decked out in a tuxedo for only the third-and-last time in your life. In the crook of your arm rests the hand of the sweetest girl that God ever created. You wish her hand could stay there forever. But then you hear, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" You breathe deep and swallow hard. "Her mother and I." (~!Gulp!~)

And so you launch your children out into their own lives. Daughters marry and take new names. Sons move to new addresses. One day, they climb in the car, roll down the window, and you watch them back out of the driveway, toss a wave, and then turn a corner and disappear. Oh, they'll be back. But for now, you wrap one arm around your wife's waist and walk back into a house that is suddenly quieter than you ever wanted it to be.


( . . . sniff . . . sniff . . . )


That day will come. In the words of Johnny Cash, "I don't like it, but I guess things happen that way." (Take it away, Brody . . . he really likes singing Johnny Cash songs.) But tonight we can treasure our children still living at home.