This week I've asked the men of our fellowship to share an anecdote about a father who exemplified the nobility of fatherhood. This coming Sunday we will sit down, and share these stories with an eye toward putting flesh on the idea of the nobility we seek to engender. To make time for everyone else to tell their stories, I've decided to publish mine in the blog.
I've known, seen, and experienced many good men throughout my 65 years of living. Of course, the man who has influenced me the most is my own father. He has been a hard act to follow. Growing up in the very large border city of El Paso, Texas, I was always amazed at how many people knew my father. His reputation for dependability, tireless work ethic, and outright goodness gave me something to strive for as I grew into young adulthood. Much of what my Dad did as a father I didn't understand until later in life. Some of my youthful complaints about my father were rendered moot as I experienced my own fatherhood. Sadly, we don't often honor or speak to the role our father's played in our lives until they are dead. We eulogize them during a memorial service, shed a tear, and then as time passes we wish they were there to talk to.
Thankfully, my father is still with me. At 84 going on eighty five, he is still strong as an ox, though a little less sure in his step. He cries a little more easily than I remember as a youth, but he's still pretty much the same man I knew in my youth.
My Dad is a hard working man. Sitting still isn't part of his nature. When I was a child, I didn't understand these things. His work ethic which was applauded by those adults who knew him, were difficult for a little boy to wrap his head around. All I knew was that he wasn't around much. When he was home, he was...busy. I remember one year in particular when he would leave at seven in the morning, and not get home until seven at night, or sometimes even 9 at night. This seemed to last through the year, and I kept hoping he would come home and be with us.
My friends loved him, which made it hard for me to complain. Then came the Christmas of my tenth year; that morning there were two 'stallion' bicycles parked next to the tree. They were the ultimate of cool with banana seats, sissy bars, high rise handlebars, rear reflectors. For the first time in my childhood, I had a bicycle that I didn't have to have blocks added to the pedals. Santa Claus was awesome that year. Still, I was unhappy because my Dad didn't spend time with me like other kid's daddy's. I whined to my Mom, and she would just say: Your Daddy loves you more than you know. Or she would give me the enigmatic; Your Dad shows his love in a different way.
Much later, I learned that my Dad was moonlighting doing mobile home repairs on the side for nearly three years as he tried to buy the things us boys would mention as our Christmas gifts. I also know that my mother got a fancy organ with Leslie speaker, and when I was thirteen my Dad came home with a motorcycle for me. His sacrifice was never explained, and he's never mentioned it. I had to find out from his boss, and co-workers that he worked the extra jobs to buy us the gifts we desired. Mom never told me, so I guess he'd sworn her to secrecy.
My point to all of this, is that you will rarely see the nobility of a father until much later when you try to emulate them. I've never attained to the level of self-sacrifice that my father gave. It is only much later that I've been able to figure it all out. I try every once in a while to live up to his example, but then he will completely exceed me.
Let me explain with an example. My daughter is a Registered Nurse (yes, I'm a proud papa) and one day while jogging, she had her car broken into, and her nurses bag with a very expensive stethoscope and a few other things were in it. I told my Dad about it one Saturday morning not long ago, and didn't think a thing about it until this Saturday morning when he asked me how much her Stethoscope cost. He said he'd heard they were upwards of $500 dollars, and he wanted to buy her one. This is my Dad. He isn't as vocal as me. He doesn't write lessons like I do, he lives them. He builds, he buys, he gives without giving words to his love, or expecting words in return. This is the nobility of my father. I've known many great fathers who've loved their children and lived the noble endeavor of fatherhood. My father is one of those rough noble men who may not be polished or refined, but live a life of nobility in deed and action.
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