I know that crowded malls can play tricks on your ears, and I easily could have misheard what was said. It's happened before. For years I thought Elton John's lyrics to "Bennie and the Jets" were she has electric boobs, her mom does too, but they were really, she's got electric boots, a mohair suit.
Body parts aside, let's say I'm right and his words really were "when I was a dad", because I want to disagree with that guy.
Let's begin with vocabulary. Fathering a child and being a dad are completely different things. "Fathering" just means you were right there when this ball started rolling. Being a "dad" means you are always there - no matter where the ball rolls. Biology doesn't matter; it's all about the lines. The lines on a pregnancy test and the lines on the adoption papers mean the same to me.
This past summer I was asked what aspect of becoming a parent was the most unexpected? My honest answer was, "It's not going to end."
I wasn't complaining about the sleepless nights all new parents experience, and I wasn't pointing out how Charlotte currently needs constant supervision when she's not sleeping. I was talking about the emotional state of being a dad.
When Daphne was pregnant with Charlotte, I was told about a blood test the doctors could give that would let us know if our child had Down's syndrome. When researching it, I read that some people want the test so they have the option of terminating their pregnancy. We wanted nothing to do with that because we knew the test's results wouldn't matter. Nobody was going to hurt our little girl. But that didn't stop me from worrying about her health.
We were trying to sell our home when Daphne was pregnant, and we bought a St. Joseph Home Seller Statue Kit.
After burying the statue upside-down in your yard, there is a prayer you can recite. I don't remember every word in the prayer, but I remember changing the ending. Instead of "... help us sell our home." I secretly prayed, "... please let our baby be born healthy."
We didn't sell our house, but Charlotte arrived with everything intact, and I still thank St. Joesph and God for that.
As my daughter grows she is going to be less and less dependent on me for her survival, but that doesn't mean I'll care or worry less. If anything, letting her out of my sights will make me even more nervous because I'll have less control. Being a dad isn't something you shut off like a water faucet. It's a stream that's flowing into a river, which is headed for the ocean.
I'm reminded of Jason Robards' speech to Steve Martin in the 1989 movie Parenthood. He's explaining to his son how parents never stop worrying about their children, "It's not like that all ends when you turn 18, or 21, or 41, or 61. It never, ever ends… There is no end zone. You never cross the goal lines, spike the ball, and do your touchdown dance. Never. I'm 64 and Larry's 27, and he's still my son."
Age has nothing to do with parenting; you can't out grow being a parent.
At the moment you first see your child, they are permanently etched into your memory as "your little one". And the moment your little one is able to recognize your face as a "Daddy" or a "Mommy", that's the title you will always hold in their mind. There's no going back; you're both joined forever. How many times have you heard of an adult in a stressful situation later confess, "At that point, I just wanted my mom"?
While driving Daphne's grandfather home after visiting his daughter on the oncology floor, he told us you couldn't throw a stick in the senior center where he eats lunch without hitting a widow, but only a handful had ever buried one of their own. "And you're never the same after that..." he tearfully confided. Although Howard is 83 and Debbie was 57, he was openly weeping over the idea that he was losing his little girl.
After the passing of my mother-in-law, I'm not sure death can stop you from being a parent, either. Deb was so disgusted with what cancer had done to her body. She'd gesture sourly with her open hands at herself and tell Daphne, "When this is done, you know I'll be able to help you more than I can now." I don't believe she was kidding. And I'd have to say things have been working out for us lately that don't feel like coincidences. They feel like someone is silently giving us help.
Let's get back to that guy at the mall. I know he'll never read this, but I want to tell him something. You think you were once a dad, but now you're not one? Then you. were. never. a. dad.
Dads (and Moms) are in it for the long haul.
If you're not a parent, you might think I'm being harsh. But, again, it's all about lines. If you haven't crossed that line that separates a life dedicated to yourself to a life that's dedicated to another, then I can't make you understand my view.
When Mo Rocca interviewed Martin Sheen for Sunday Morning two years ago, he asked what was it like being a father while watching all the problems his son Charlie was having playing out in public. In response, Martin asked Moe a question.
"Are you a father?"
"No," Moe answered.
"You're not? Ah, well, then you can't know. No one can."
Links:
Parenthood, Bennie, Martin
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