Father’s Day, and my only child is far from home, participating in an archaeological field school in Canada. My plans today are to be petulant, surly, and demanding as a result.
I have spent a large part of my life dwelling on capital “F” Fatherhood, first in the most abstract ways, then far more concretely in the last 18 years. Aly will reach legal majority days after returning from the field school. She’ll leave for college this autumn. She and I stand at a crossroads, perhaps The crossroads of our relationship.
Last August, I wrote something in my Franklin Planner, a simple statement that I find now and then, and consider. I don’t know why I wrote it (I take notes faithfully, but rarely remember to record the why of what I say).
Here’s what I wrote:
“It’s not my job to help Aly fulfill my personal hopes for her. My job is to offer her ways to fulfill her personal hopes.”
Whatever prompted me to write that, I definitely believe it to be true. This came home to me while sitting in Norm Easton’s cluttered living room, surrounded by a small group of young people, including Aly, watching a PowerPoint presentation. Continue reading
