A father’s greatest gift is his children
A reader once wanted to know how my youngest son was doing.
“How do you know Jake?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve never met him,” she said. “I’ve watched him grow up in your columns.”
Before they left home for colleges and careers, my three sons (sounds like a great name for a sitcom) lived under the roofs of four different houses, were buckled into 13 different family vehicles and attended 10 different schools.
Along the way, they grew up between the lines and down the rail of these pages. That’s what happens when your father writes a newspaper column. Anything you do or say might end up in the font of the day.
At the supper table, they would share their adventures and experiences, and my journalist antenna would go up.
“You’re not going to write about that, are you, Dad?” they would ask, rolling their eyes.
Maybe. Anything was potential fodder to a wordsmith father.
Ed, Grant and Jake have been my greatest gifts. I am proud of them. I strive to make them proud of me, even I wear Crocs and act like Ward Cleaver.
They have willingly … and sometimes unwillingly … had an audience. I haven’t always asked for permission to write about them. (Like right now.) And, yes, I have had to beg for forgiveness.
A father pays his dues and earns his stripes any number of ways, from sleeping on the ground in a tent to sitting on hard bleachers at the Little League park to attending piano recitals, chaperoning class field trips, idling in the car pool lane and spending hours searching for some obscure action figure at every toy store in town.
The reward is unconditional love.
I have permanently recorded their wiggles, giggles, hopes, dreams, growing pains and joyful noises — from coming down with the chicken pox at the beach to getting their driver’s license to being cut from baseball team, graduating from high school and getting married.
Of course, these are different times from when they were younger. With social media, they now play out their lives and post their history in the public forums of Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter. They broadcast where they are, who they are with and what they are doing. By choice, they are an open book without binding. Their world is a stage on open-mike night.
Delinda and I will celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary next month. We have been parents for almost 34 of those years. The nest has been empty for the last five. We have moved at least one child for 14 of the past 15 summers, rolling up frequent driver miles in a U-Haul. All three boys have now settled within a mile of us. We are blessed.
Last week marked another milestone anniversary. June 12 was my 20th anniversary of signing the contract to publish my first book, “True Gris.” There have been eight more since then, and three other collections of newspaper columns. In each, I included a section on “Fatherhood.”
I turned the page on a Father’s Day column I published 17 years ago today, acknowledging my 17th year as a father with advice from to my children, a timeless refrain.
Never put a 10-dollar tree in a 10-cent hole.
Look both ways in everything you do.
If you see somebody without a smile, give them one.
Prayer is the most powerful thing in the universe.
Never trust a blinker.
If you drink water in a restaurant instead of ordering tea or a soft drink, you will save $9,562.43 in your lifetime. (Not to mention, it’s healthier.)
Always look people in the eye when you’re talking to them.
There’s no such thing as a dumb question.
Sports are life’s great common denominator.
Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody.
You don’t have to catch fish to have fun every time you go fishing. (But it sure helps.)
If you can’t change the world, at least change your oil every 3,000 miles.
Wag more, bark less.
The only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.
Never turn your back on a foul ball.
Know when it’s time to sit down and shut up.
Get up early and do all your heavy lifting before noon.
Never pass up a restroom.
Praise in public, criticize in private.
For every bad story you see on TV or read in the newspaper, there are thousands of good ones that never get told.
Making a living is not the same as making a life.
Keep trying. The sun doesn’t shine on the same dog’s tail every day.
One the sweetest sounds in the world is a gentle summer rain. (And a perfectly stroked tee shot.)
The book is always better than the movie.
Never flush the toilet while dad is in the shower.
People love the sound of their own name.
You don’t have to travel first class to get where you’re going.
Success comes before work only in the dictionary.
When things start going wrong, don’t go wrong with them.
Life may not be all you want but it’s all you’ve got, so you might as well stick a geranium in your hat and be happy.
State patrolmen have already heard every excuse. Save your breath.
Everybody remembers Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs. Don’t forget Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times.
Never fight something that can’t fight back.
There’s nothing wrong with coloring outside the lines.
There are lots of fathers in the world but not enough daddies.
One day you’ll love your own children more than words can say.
Happy Father’s Day.
This story was originally published June 16, 2017 at 5:08 PM with the headline "A father’s greatest gift is his children."