My father died peacefully at home last Tuesday. For some reason I thought of this post. On the ride up to New Jersey for his funeral I finished reading CS Lewis’ “The Silver Chair” to my son and we thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks, Dad, for the gift of your life. Thank you for so many memories like this one. Thanks for teaching me how to ride a bike and tie my shoes. Thank you for showing me that it is possible (and laudable) to carve out thirty minutes every day for mass – yes, every single day. Thank you for showing me how to be a man, a husband, and a father. I am not now, nor likely will I ever be, good at any of those things like you were but at least I know there is a standard worth my while to strive for.
I know what you’re thinking. And if you want that kind of advice [on how to father a son, or daughter for that matter] then you might want to check out Wikipedia, Urban Dictionary, or, well, just go ask your parents. There is always the ultimate option of “finding these things out on the ‘street'”. Ooh… Sounds positively dirty.
What I’m talking about is being a father to one’s son. And I have just the story to share on the subject.
A few nights ago my wife had to go out for a few hours. She left me with the usual instructions. “Make sure Son reads two chapters from his book to you, make sure Daughter takes her shower, and carve that turkey on the stove.” Yeah, I’m still puzzled about the turkey.
I got this, I thought to myself. They are, after all, my kids and I’m pretty decent…
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