What does it mean to be a father? That may seem a silly question, but it’s one that has been on my mind incessantly the past few months. Is it simply a matter of blood? Proximity? Time? Is it any, or all of these things? Is fatherhood something that must be earned? Or do the vast majority of Dad’s simply fall into it by mistake and learn as they go along?

So many sobering thoughts crowd my mind as I await the birth of my son. An overwhelming sense of responsibility, but it runs deeper than that. Bordering on fear. Fear that unless my shit is in line I’ll never teach him what he really needs to know. But perhaps a healthy dose of fear is imperative to being a good father. Fear that nothing is ever quite enough, so we push a little farther, a little harder, always one step ahead of the curve. Even though we know, that for most, age is synonymous with irrelevant. How do you toe the line of mentor, leader, friend, caregiver, teacher, authority figure..when all along you know the day will come when he will think he doesn’t need you anymore. How do we impress what we know to be true on a  mind that we hope will fill with it’s own ideas and purpose?

I don’t want to be one way. I want to be every way. I want to have the foresight and ability and humility to transition with my son. To change as he changes, to walk in lock step and yet just a little out front to take a few of the shots that life inevitably throws. To show him that nothing is to be trusted implicitly except God and his own gut. How do I teach him to rise above the din of an ever louder world that offers nothing but comfort and passing fancy?

Roots. I want my son to have roots, deep and plentiful, roots that keep him grounded even when the wind bows his branches.

I don’t have answers. I have ideas, but they all require trial and error. I suppose all I can hope for is the confidence to tell him what I know to be true, the humility to tell him ‘I don’t know”, and the energy to say “let’s find out”.