The Melting Pot Inside of Dad
by John Boyd
It really doesn’t make much sense. A doofus, usually barely more than an overgrown kid, somehow makes himself marginally attractive to the fairer sex, a little romancing ensues, and nine months later, that same unprepared male has been given a responsibility greater than any other. Just like that—a dad is born.
No doubt there are a great many ways to express the importance of being a father and the enormous gravity of that relationship for his children. Despite the solid rock the mother’s love will play, and despite the shaping influence of a child’s siblings, there’s only one apple in one eye, and that belongs solely to Dad. But what does it take to be a good dad?
I happen to be influenced by disparaging, yet equally influential, sources on this debate. There is, on the one hand, the mythical figure of Dean Moriarity from Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. He’s a character who is a father only in the genetic sense. His escapades through the novel focus far more on the time he spent chasing frivolous passions. How can he be an influence to a good parent? Well, frankly, he can’t. But one thing I got from him more than any other media icon (including the greatest father of all—Dr. Huxtable) was an unquenchable desire to live life to the fullest and to put the present into perspective. That is, this is all you have, so live it up.
Now getting back to earth, let me introduce you to the influence that serves as the opposite end of this high-wire, tightrope journey, keeping my way in tension to keep me from testing the net below, because frankly, it’s better not to fall at all.
I’ve seen my dad’s fists clench so tight his knuckles turned bone white and his eyes alight with anger. I have seen those same hands cradle a newborn puppy, and those eyes mist up at the joyful sight of helping our sweet cockapoo Sugar deliver a litter of pups. The same eyes that could give as stern a lecture as William Jennings Bryan could give in a four-hour oratory, could also convey strength and approval. They’re the eyes, when a boy looks up from underneath the batting helmet after a called strike three, through the chain length fence in Weracoba, convey resilience and the never-give-up strength that makes him proud. How many times in my life’s trials would I have given the world for just one chance to glance in my father’s face, and know in that instant what to do? And when trials did come, those same hands that disciplined me were there to offer a grown man—yet still a son—a lift back up to his feet.
Had it not been for the immature ramblings of my literary fantasies, I don’t know if I’d know the joy of the passionate Now. Of rejoicing in the moment as it comes. But without the steady force of my father, I wouldn’t know how to be a man at all. I wouldn’t know that my strength as a man comes from being a loved son. The two now are inseparable. Because such a man raised me, I can have the life of hope and joy that I can share with my own children.
This is just my experience. Around this Father’s Day, I’m grateful to the man who taught me, and is still teaching me, how to be a dad. And I’m grateful to the man he called dad as well. That’s a line I don’t want to break.
Last, but not least of all, are the little ones, who because of their first little breaths in a delivery room, gave me a birth as well. I decided I needed to ask their opinion. One simple question was presented to my three daughters. What does it take to be a good father? My 5-year-old without skipping a beat said, “It takes you!” (Reminder to self: Judith gets the pony this year.) My one-year-old Janie had a different response, and until I get my Goo-Gah Translator (patent pending) working, I’ll have to say I don’t really know what she said besides Dada, but I assume it was brilliant. But I have to give it to my 3-year-old. It took her a little while to answer, and Sarah scrunches her little nose up when she’s really thinking hard about something. Finally, after a little prodding, she said, “It means you don’t get into any trouble.” Amen to that!
Folks, our kids can teach us what we need to know about what it means to be a good father. It means you. It means you being Dada. And it means you staying out of trouble. Truer words have never been heard by this dad. Happy Father’s Day guys.
And Dad, I love you.
John Boyd makes his home in Columbus with his wife Jennifer and their three daughters. They accept babysitter referrals at any time.
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