I originally wrote this reflection for the Providence Community for Father’s Day 2021.
When I learned that I was to become a father, it took a while for that reality to sink in, mentally. Over time, I began to wonder if I was capable of being an adequate father to this child. Could I do the right things and teach her what she needed to know, provide the things she needed and have the right words at the right times? My daughter was born three months early; her mother and I received a crash course in parenthood. After the emergency caesarian, it would be another 15 hours or so before I was able to spend more than a moment with my child or even touch her. (And my dear wife! Due to the medical circumstances, she had to wait a couple of torturous days to meet her daughter!)
As a child, I was blessed to have five living great-grandparents. (My children are greatly blessed in that they had seven in their lives, five still living.) Two of mine lived through most of my childhood years, and I was given the chance to spend time with them often. When I did, one of the things I remember doing most is sitting in lawn chairs in the yard on summer days. It’s an understatement to say that I didn’t “get it”. I mean, these people had TV and some board games, and I had offered to show them how my video games worked. They declined. They just sat there in the yard.
The years rolled around to my time of driving and independence, and I didn’t have time for anything like sitting in the yard doing nothing. Too many things to do and possible adventures to chase. My grandfather, after hip and knee issues slowed him down, would often be sitting in the backyard when I would drive by. I eventually made it a point to stop, and that’s when I started to figure it out. Countless days I sat in that backyard with him, and most of the time, there wasn’t even anything to talk about. We just sat there in the yard.
In the middle of the chaotic days following my daughter’s birth,I was being asked to make immediate medical decisions I knew little to nothing about, and I can remember having a moment in the hall where I was at the end of my rope. I told my own father I didn’t know what I was doing and didn’t feel like there was anything I could do, other than just sit in her room and wait for the next machine to alarm or nurse to ask for a signature concerning my daughter’s rapidly failing health. My dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me what I consider one of the most important lessons of my lifetime: “Welcome to fatherhood.” Not even seconds later, a nurse approaches and says, “You’re Mr. Crites, aren’t you?” (I thought she was talking to my dad!) I managed to pull myself together and acknowledge, and she said, “I’ve just come from your little girl’s room, and it looks like things are turning around!” How’s that for Providence?!
A few years later, we went through a similar situation with our son, who was four years old at the time. He was promptly admitted to the hospital one Saturday night on the diagnosis of a rare bleeding disorder. Once again, I was a little lost. I realized the only power I had besides prayer was to simply be present for my family. And so I was.
At a wedding recently, I observed the fathers of the bride and groom, each demonstrating presence in a different way. The bride’s father wholeheartedly toasted the new couple, speaking of the father-daughter relationship he had known and how joyous his daughter was with her new husband. He also talked, in not so specific words, of how the literal presence he had with her for many years was evolving into a new form by entrusting his grown child to her own new life. He wouldn’t be too far away to love and support, no matter what geography had to say about it.
The father of the groom was much more subtle. He was recovering from a couple of medical procedures for retinal detachment that hadn’t quite went as well as doctors had hoped. His happiness outweighed the blurred vision and complications he was dealing with (and on this note, I’d like to ask our St. Mother Theodore – since you’ve dealt with similar things before, please bend God’s ear on his behalf). While he didn’t publicly share any thoughts as the bride’s father had, he proudly smiled and snapped pictures with his phone while the happy couple had their first dance.
Because of these experiences, I have come to value “being present” with others, most especially, my wife and two children (all happy and healthy these days). There is such tremendous value in simple presence.
There is also, perhaps, a lingering pain within the hearts of those who never knew their fathers; those who weren’t given the option of a father participating in their lives; and those whose cherished fathers are no longer living. Those opportunities for presence have become fixed in time, in a way. Even so, there is likely to be something to be thankful for, whether a treasured memory, a strong mother who juggled double-duty parenting, or just having those key people at whatever point they come into your life.
I think the call for all of us, no matter our labeled vocation, is to follow those examples and “father” the gift of presence to everyone around us. Let’s not take it for granted while we have the opportunities.
