Fathers

This ones a long one so bear with me.

With Father’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking about parenthood and fathers. First of all, I’d like to say, “Thank you, Daddy”, for being such a good role model. My sisters, brother, and I were lucky to have grown up with you as our father. You provided us a good example of an actively involved and responsible father. Obviously there isn’t a handbook to being a “good” parent. But there are some qualities that are important to help provide children with a solid foundation. And I definitely feel you helped us with that. Not only did you father us kids, you were a fine example of a dependable adult which I know was a valuable lesson to me.

I always felt my Dad was the strongest and bravest man. I used to think he was sooo tall until I grew up and realized he was all of 5’8”.

As a child, I always felt safe at home. My mom was the nurturer and my dad, the protector. We struggled financially but we seemed to have what we needed and most of the time what we wanted. Although Dad brought home the bacon, Mom found a way to budget in some niceties. I don’t remember my Dad or Mom putting themselves before us. We had swimming lessons, bikes, skateboards, pogo sticks, big wheels, 10-speed bikes, roller skates, barbies, aquariums, tv ping pong, vacations, a flute, a piano, a trumpet, etc. It was all about the kids.

In the summers, my dad would sometimes get me up early and we’d head up to Kamas for some stream fishing. I could never understand how he could be so patient and just sit there all morning with his fishing line dangling in the stream, waiting for a bite. Eventually, I’d be collecting miniature frogs or picking flowers to take home and waiting until he caught his limit. He’d instruct me to be quiet and to hide from the fish so they wouldn’t see our shadows. Well he showed me the tricks but I never really got the hang of it. I never caught my limit. And when I did manage to catch a fish, I hated trying to get those squirming, slimy, and smelly trout off the hook. But it was fun going on those fishing trips with Dad.

Camping was a routine summer event for us. And yes we roughed it when we went camping. No bathrooms, no RV, no curling irons, no electricity. Our porta-potty was a large coffee can because it was never a good experience trying to squat and keep our ankles dry. We eventually got a camper with the entrance in the back where the kids and dogs got stuffed into. We’d sleep and play cards until we got to our campfire. I’m sure the camping trips were Dad’s idea.

One winter, we went sledding in some canyon. I must have been about 7 yrs old and I remember it was a long trek up the mountain. I don’t recall who dragged that large toboggan up. When we finally reached the top, my dad helped me onto the toboggan with an older friend of mine behind me. Boy, I was excited and a little scared when I saw how far down we’d be sliding. 1-2-3 and with a big shove to the back of the toboggan, we were off. There may have been a way to maneuver that thing but me and my friend were just there for the ride. Well that contraption was like a magic carpet with a mind of its own, leading us right for a tree. Yeah, we eventually crashed. I remember afterwards crying and being scared. I was dumped in the snow and feeling the effects of whiplash in my back. When all of a sudden, my dad’s behind me asking me where it hurts. Was he on that sled with us? I thought we left him at the top of the mountain? I can just imagine my dad running or maybe sliding down that mountain and making it in record time to the collision scene. It’s amazing the strength and adrenaline parents have when their kids are in trouble. That was one of those days.

Another summer, I remember we’d decided to take a little gallop on my Aunt’s horses who were old and tame, of course. I was probably about 9, then. This was our first experience on horses so I was a little nervous and very excited. My sister and I were helped onto the back of a large and very tall horse, who by the way looked pretty youthful to me. I didn’t see a gray hair on Dusty’s back. “Did I mention I’m afraid of heights?” And my brother (he must have been 3 years old) rode the other horse, Nellie, while my dad led her along with a rope. So there we were riding ole Dusty and Nellie down a road alongside a beautiful meadow—while mom and dad walked alongside us. When all of sudden, Dusty gets spooked and takes off bucking and in full gallop. Once again, I found myself without a steering wheel. Since I was occupied with visions of my life flashing before my eyes, I was unaware of what my dad and brother were experiencing. I was in such shock I just fainted and my sister and I were bucked to the ground. Behind us, Nellie also got spooked and she tried following her fellow-charger. But my Hercules father managed to hold tight of that rope until he was able to get my brother off ole Nellie. Later while we were all being checked for concussions and chest pains in the Emergency room, my dad was having rope-burned skin clipped, cleaned and salved on his hands and arms – and I remember that his pants were shredded, too. I don’t quite remember if he was holding the rope between his legs or what. You’ll have to remind me Dad. Anyways, Dad was our hero that day too.

My sister and I joined softball leagues when we old enough (10 yrs old) – for my brother it was baseball. Well when I first started playing ball, I was horrible. Yup I played right field for two seasons. But eventually with a little practice, I was playing short stop and/or catcher on the all-star teams. On the weekends, my Dad would take us all to a baseball field or park and he’d throw high flies so we’d get used to getting under the ball and not be afraid to catch that sucker. He’d pitch to us until we were swinging that bat and connecting for easy doubles and triples. My dad was my biggest fan and best coach ever. During a game, I remember hearing him on the sidelines reminding me of the runner on second base when he saw me getting ready to throw to first. We had some great springtime memories of softball games, tournaments, and all-stars.

My dad loved football. I remember us kids having to go back and forth to the fridge grabbing him a beer while he sat in his recliner all day Sunday watching football. I remember asking him, “when’s the game gonna be over?” And he’d show me the 10:28 minute countdown clock. “In 10 minutes”, he’d say. I eventually caught on that 10 minutes was really an hour and a half later with all the time-outs, replays, and commercials. I’m sure that’s why I hate football to this day. What a waste of a perfectly good day. I’d much rather take a Sunday to jot down my memories of Dad for a blog than watch football.

I was one of the lucky ones to have a father who knew what it meant to take care of his family. He started this job at 19 years old. It amazes me when I see people today, men and women, who just don’t have a clue what it means to be a parent. I’ve cut and pasted a few articles about fathers. These are the fathers that we hope their offspring will learn what not to become….

Barack Obama's now controversial Father's Day speech….

In that speech, the presumptive Democratic nominee for president said: "If we are honest with ourselves, we'll admit that too many fathers also are missing—missing from too many lives and too many homes. They have abandoned their responsibilities, acting like boys instead of men." "We need fathers to realize that responsibility does not end at conception," Obama said on Father's Day. "We need them to realize that what makes you a man is not the ability to have a child—it's the courage to raise one."

Today’s Irresponsible Fathers
Marian T. Horvat, Ph.D.

Look around you anywhere – the church, the store, a social event – and it is plain to see that many men, who should be responsible for maintaining the good sense and equilibrium of the family and society, act and look like big boys. The father of the past, respected for his experience, wisdom, keen discernment and strength of soul, is replaced by the foolish figure of a perpetual youth in pursuit of pleasure. How many fathers – and even grandfathers today – have the habits of boys and sport the clothing of youngsters.
St. Francis de Sales noted that the affection borne by fathers to their children is not called friendship, because friendship supposes a certain equality in vocation, rank, or aims. This equality, he continued, should not exist in the affection of fathers for their children. The love of fathers is, he says, a majestic love, and that of children a love of respect and submission. Everything is a Catholic society, including the dress of men in every level of society – from high to low, used to reflect this wise thinking. To counter this unsound modern thinking, the father should follow the Latin maxim: Esto vir! Be a man! Your son not only expects this from you, but requires it.

Children Need A Real Father….
K Vinette

Every male who is having sex, making babies and not being a responsible parent in taking care of their business concerning their children are nothing less than immature mannish boys! An irresponsible male and his penis is like a retarded person with a pistol, totally clueless about the impact and ramifications of their thoughtless actions while using either. The saddest part of all is that their ignorance combined with their stupidity prevents them from even considering the truth about their actions and even sadder is the fact that they don't care! Several situations may have brought them to where they are psychologically but at the end of the day, there is no excuse for it.