I attended a wedding recently. I recall the close and loving
relationship between father and bride. They were almost opposites. He
quiet and considered but personable. She, not so quiet; in fact,
exuberant, high spirited and full of heart.
I also recall Dad's doubt. Doubt whether he had been the perfect
Dad.
He told the guests of one of his regrets as a Dad. Of not having spent
enough 'quality' time with his daughter (or son) because of work and
other commitments. That was one of the most essential things for a Dad
to give to his children: 'Quality time'.
What struck me most was not to be reminded of the importance of
spending quality time with our children but rather that here was
another Dad berating himself - in a small way - for not being a super
duper Dad. And so, I thought, do most Dads. But is it really all that
important to be the perfect Dad? I think not.
Before I became a Dad I wanted to be that perfect model father. But I
am not. And I am glad about that.
Like so much in life reality does not match the theory, nor the vision.
Dad has a huge workload, financial commitments, many dependents and,
ideally, his own life and interests to enjoy. Dad does from time to
time get grumpy, fails to set an example, to deliver on his promises or
just is away from home far too often.
Its remarkable though that despite the imperfect role model, Dad (and
obviously Mum) still raise very lovable and capable children. Maybe
there is something to be said for Dad being two black holes short of a
star. Many parents observe how the child in their family with higher
self-esteem is often the child left more to his or her own devices. Who
receives a little less attention. Who is mollycoddled less. But who
emerges more resourceful, sociable and content.
American sitcoms have popularised the clown of a Dad. Your Bill Cosby
bumbler. Dad is an object of some ridicule. Yet how many children would
love to have Bill Cosby for a Dad.
The point is - for me at least - to do your best. You can't be the
Perfect Parent. Maybe just Father Fantastic.
Perhaps what our children need from Dad is appropriate and not too
irregular doses of:
Dad, and quality time
Dad, who shares with them, but who remains their Dad
not their big mate
Dad, the child, not just "Dad on high'
Dad, loving and nurturing
Dad, who sets boundaries
Dad, who supports and acts consistently with Mum
whatever their circumstances
Of course there are a whole host of other needs children have of Dad
(and Mum). The list is long. Meeting its requirements is exacting. In
theory it is possible to be the perfect Dad. But, the reality is
another story. Reality is that children do not need a perfect Dad. As
our father and bride illustrate, perfectly, and imperfect Sas is just
perfect.
Finally, and illustration of how this Dad learnt a bit more about being
a Dad from being imperfect. He took his 6 year old boy tramping. After
a night in a hut (described by the Department of Conservation as
'historic' and his son as 'far from cosy') they headed home. The first
hour of the 3 hour return trip was uphill and muddy. Twenty minutes
into it the boy was fed up. He wouldn't move. Dad, the rational male,
gave him a gentle lecture. 'This is the only way out, chum. The rescue
helicopter service is not an option'. A grimace grew. Budge, he would
not. And so emerged Plan B. Dad walked on. Sonny Jim would follow. The
deep quiet of the bush was broken by Sonny Jim. 'I'm not walking up
your stupid hill'. Dad, by this stage, was getting a little fraught. A
tad grumpy. He paused. To think about things. Back he walked to the
Grimace. The Grump sat down beside the Grimace, picked him up, sat him
on his knee and gave him a big, long hug. Neither spoke. Ten minutes
later Dad (no longer the Grump) stood up. Took a pace or two. The
Grimace, fighting back a grin, gave a little grunt and then he
trotted...well, trudged...up that stupid hill with his Dad.
A perfect lesson for an imperfect Dad. A perfect moment for both.
