by Stephen Muse, Ph.D.

I’m a daddy and a dad and Stephen. (I’ve been called other names by loved ones in times of great tribulation as well.). One stepdaughter was killed in 1982, a month and a half after my son was born. A second stepdaughter now lives and works in Philadelphia. Each of my children has given me a different name.

Daddy is my youngest daughter’s word for the sweet love that links us, born of 22 years of adventures. When she speaks it I feel it like some kind of vital nutrient refreshes parts of the frozen tundra of overworked places in myself as if it were a gentle flame. When she was born, the midwife put her in my hands and I cut her umbilical chord and suctioned the phlegm from her throat that was obstructing her breathing. The miracle of her life and growing is one of the hidden tattoos in my heart that reads JOY! (I’ll tell you a secret. It is all the greater because past sorrows and tests proved the existence of deeply rooted faith, resolve and intuitive wisdom in her.)

My first born son entered the world from a hospital instead of a natural birth at home like his sister. I nearly passed out when we arrived because of the intensity with which I felt the intimacy of the event being taken away by modern technology. But the miracle survived and the first sight of him (He looked like my father as an old man.) is a Niagara of gratitude still cascading in my heart. I cut his umbilical chord as well.

Why does this seem more significant for a boy? We men are attached and yet we are separated. And it keeps on happening as we grow up, only we don’t always notice it. One day my son decided that shortening his name from Gregory to Greg was important in advancing his status in some way and curiously, around that time Daddy became Dad. The tender love of childhood remains, burning beneath a cooler bravado.

After a couple years together, my stepdaughter Kelly lovingly called me Daddy. When she was four, I became Stephen again after her biological father assumed a primary role in her life. That was painful. Moving back and forth between two homes in separate states every other weekend, Kelly’s emotional umbilical chord was cut and stretched and cut and reattached again. (So was ours!) Those adventures left some tattoos as well, and a great deal of love.

One of the joys of being a father, now that my children are adults, is that I can be a child again. I have the privilege of enjoying my children for the people they are and not having to worry about “parenting” them. Ironically, it is from the childlike part of my own heart that the man I am can understand and relate to them most deeply and enjoy them the most. Come to think of it, that’s the same recipe for intimacy with my wife. We have all our childhood pictures framed on our bedroom table under the caption “All God’s Children are Loved.” A family of souls arise out of nothing, live a while together before disappearing again. Some kind of trace is made, a “tattoo” on the Great Body of Time and Existence, and when it’s discovered by some Ancient. One some day, I hope that it clearly spells Joy, Gratefulness, Thanksgiving , Wonder, and mostly… Love.

Dr. Stephen Muse, directs the Counselor Training Program and Clinical Services for the D.A. and Elizabeth Turner Ministry Resource Center of the Pastoral Institute, Inc.