If They Only Knew

I’m aware that it is presently fashionable to bitterly complain about Facebook, with it’s predatory trading of our privacy for profit and all that. But I would like to pause a minute to praise them for something. Through their platform, I have been able to keep up with scores of young men who otherwise would have drifted out of my life years ago. I am referring to the many boys I taught in Sunday school 10-15 years ago, boys who are now, magically, fully grown men. I see the pictures of them holding their new born infants. I see the pictures of little ones in Easter finery squinting into the bright morning sun, and remember how impossible it was to get those pictures right on those chaotic mornings in what seems now like a hundred years ago. I see pictures of them playing with their children in parks, at the beach, with the grandparents. I want to tell them how lucky they are, how they should savor every moment, not wish any of it away. The fact is that I’m so incredibly proud of them all. 

But in our new, idealized social media world, pictures can be deceiving, often this deception is actually the point. We all want to put only our best foot forward. But, every once in a while I will see a photograph that rings true, whether intentional or not. I see the forced smile of the dad, the exhaustion in his eyes, the worry lines starting to form. These are the pictures that I cherish, because they bring back the heavy weight of hard memory, the great season of self doubt that defines what being a father is all about. Look closely in the eyes of that dad with his little leaguer and you will see a man wondering how in God’s name he is ever going to be able to put his kids through college. The only human emotion more powerful than the love he feels for his children is the fear that he will end up failing them.

Yesterday, my daughter arrived here in Myrtle Beach to spend a couple of days with us. She brought me a couple of cool presents. Then she handed me this birthday card, which was actually a postcard. I flipped it over read her words and they astonished me...

I know this isn’t your typical birthday card, but when I saw the picture on the front, I thought to myself, “This is exactly how I’ve always imagined my dad!” ...strong, capable, heroic, someone who routinely saves the day. I saw you this way when I was a little girl, and I still see you this way (maybe even more so) now that I’m 30 and you’re 60...

Speaking of heroic, it took quite a heroic performance to get through a public reading of such a card without an embarrassing gush of tears. As I read it, I thought...if she only knew. If she only knew how terrifying it all was, how many times I felt like a complete failure. If she had any idea how racked with self doubt I was, how inadequate I felt, she would never have chosen a card with Atlas bearing the weight of the world, more appropriate would have been a card featuring the ancient King Sisyphus, pushing a giant boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down again.

But then it hit me. The fact that my little girl viewed me as heroic was no small thing. Perhaps, it was half the battle. Maybe, the simple fact of projecting strength and competence was just as important as actually being strong and competent. Maybe that’s part of being a father, communicating to your children that you have things well in hand, even...and especially, when you don’t!

So, a word to all of you incredible young men out there raising your beautiful children, and you all know who you are...godspeed. You have a monumental task ahead of you, and your little ones are watching you. No matter how difficult the job gets, they are worth every sacrifice. I see you. I know the burdens. I remember the hardships. No matter what the smiling pictures say, I know what keeps you up at night. But, you too will prevail. One day, before you know what happened, that adorable little girl, that precocious little boy will hand you a birthday card that will bring it all back. And you will shake your head and think...if they only knew.