The Emotions of Fatherhood
Fathers Day is nice; but, it can’t hold a candle to fatherhood.
On Sunday many of us will attempt, with variable success, to express how we feel about fathers, our emotions for them. This Fathers Day, I’m finding myself very interested in the emotions of them. I have to start, I suspect, with my own emotions of fatherhood, some of which have been described in a previous post.
Many of these emotions, in my stage of fatherhood, are thoroughly laced with a feeling of tiredness. I have 4 children, none of whom, I think, could contend for the Gold if sleeping through the night were an Olympic event.
I’m not thinking of the sort of tiredness that puts you to sleep; though, that happens. It’s a tiredness that I do not even necessarily dislike. It’s a tiredness that moves easily in the same circle with satisfaction and accomplishment, being needed, being “the one” that has to do specific things simply because I am the father.
Although I’m sure age is already taking its toll on my hearing, I am still the one who is most likely to hear a child’s footsteps, or coughs, or cries, in the middle of the night. I know for certain that not every father is “blessed” with this ability and I could envy them, but instead I secretly take pride in it.
There is an emotion that goes along with “rescuing” a child who is afraid at night. I suspect it includes some hint of the masculine hunger for heroism, sacrifice and fidelity; although, looking at those words after I write them, they seem too large to fit into this simple, common experience. Again, it’s laced with a tiredness. It’s as if the tiredness reassures me of my care for this child who will not even remember the experience in the morning, “I must care for her or why else would I so readily take on this task half asleep.” And, as I leave my task of the moment undone, whether that task is sleeping or some conscious task, I am forced to face the hard but ultimately comforting truth that my life is not about me.
I confess I cannot settle on the right name for this emotion, but I do know the scenario often runs like this:
This Unsilent Night Up with the late night noise of clocks, drips, stepped-on toys, restless dreams, creaking beams, I know in this unsilent night, a child upstairs, is tucked in tight, burrowed, curled, a nestled world until that dream she thought was gone returns unbidden, starts to spawn pictures, names, haughty claims that break the spell so cozy, warm, stirring worry, conflict, storm and now, she, stumbling, crying, mumbling finds me in my reading chair, drops her head of auburn hair on my shoulder, ’til I hold her, leave my books, my paper, pen to bring her to her bed again.Truthfully, as I write the last words of this post, I hear her coming down the stairs on schedule.
167hours
Guest Author
I’m quoting a card that puts it well, I think: “Parenthood is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” It related, so I shared it.
LOVED this!
When you said:
“I know for certain that not every father is “blessed” with this ability and I could envy them, but instead I secretly take pride in it.”
THEY should be the ones envying YOU! I think most men pretend they’re sleeping. In the morning they act so surprised when they realize their wife only got a couple hours of sleep. “I never heard a thing.” WHATEVER!
The poem at the end left me speechless! Amazing!
God Bless You for taking such good care of your children!!
That was beautiful!!!
Just think of the legacy that is being passed on. In the not to distant future your sons may be fathers and you have set such a good example for them. You have earned the right to be proud.
Children may not remember the experience in the morning but they will remember the feeling of security of having you there to comfort them.
What a blessing you are to your family! My prayer every night is that the Lord will fill the void in my children’s lives that is left by their unattentive earthly father. The role of mother and father is mine 99% of the time. I do the best I can, but nothing compares to the presence of a steadfast father. The line in your poem that touched me the most was “and now, she, stumbling, crying, mumbling finds me in my reading chair.” This line says to me that this is a path she takes while on auto pilot, no thought required. Your presence in this spot, this chair, is consistent and reliable. You will always be there for her.