Two Choices

Watching my two boys climb rocks in Maine a few weeks ago brought profound gratitude and reflection. I was grateful to be their father and reflective because I tried to understand how they see the world, specifically me, as their father, something I rarely think about.

As adults, our lives, rightly so, are filled with significant responsibilities, so it is difficult to stop and see the perspective that our children have towards us. As parents, we do what we do, day in and day out, and rarely think about our presence’s impact on our children. We are the caregivers in charge, and we are certainly not their friends, at least not yet. That said, a moment on those rocks struck me when I realized that I was making two distinct choices from their perspective. 

One day in particular, while climbing on the beautiful rocks on the coast of Maine, as they had been all week, they both suddenly stopped and turned back. Finding themselves out farther than before, they instinctively turned and wanted to see that I was watching them. It was something very innocent and not out of the ordinary, yet, at that moment, it struck me. These two boys explored as boys do, ensuring their father was watching, accepting, approving, protecting, caring, and affirming. Not their mother, but their father.

A mother’s love seems more primary and assumed because it is created innately within the womb. It is foundational and transcendent. A mother is God-like for her children because she is the first to love a child literally from the inside out, producing a profound spiritual connection and security. (This makes losing or never having this kind of love so painful and devastating.)

Then there is the father. The first “outsider” or “other” to be around. The first person in a child’s life who chooses to love you or not. Whoa. This struck me on those rocks and made me pause so profoundly. As their father, I never considered my presence to them as a conscious choice. And yet, for those two boys on the rocks, I was choosing them individually, something, from their eyes, I didn’t have to do.

“But Dad is that other in the house, at a greater distance. He does not ‘have’ to love you. His love is not inherently felt and drawn upon, like Motherlove. He must choose to love you! He decides for you, he picks you out, he notices you among the many. It redeems, liberates, and delights, therefore, in a totally different way. . . . That is the uniquely transformative experience of male love. It validates us and affirms us deeply, precisely because it is not necessary.”

Richard Rohr

Much has been written about the “father hunger” we all have and the flourishing that occurs when that hunger is met. Consequently, the “father wound” occurs when this hunger is not satisfied by the conscious choice of that “other” in the house.  

“It seems we cannot be ourselves, we cannot be our own man, or our own father, until we have been someone else’s little boy. We need him to like us, to bless us even after our mistakes, to enjoy our company, to tell us that we can succeed. The separation from the one who is the same as us (our father) is somehow even more destructive than the separation from the one who is opposite us (our mother). If manhood itself does not like me, then I’m forever insecure about my own. His affirmation is ten times more important than that of any other man, and of a completely different quality than the affirmation of a woman.”

Richard Rohr

Like our fathers and mothers, we raise our children to be responsible, caring, and loving human beings. Of course, we stumble along the way, growing them to someday not need us. We do so without considering how our children view us because our attention is always on them and their needs. 

Then, we have these little moments of reflection—beautiful little moments when the profound impact of our time and choices becomes visible—like the ones I had on those rocks in Maine.  

I have to be honest; that moment scared the hell out of me. It was an insight I had never considered before, seeing it through the eyes of my two boys. I took it for granted; they would know I chose to love them individually every day.  

That said, each day is a new choice in their eyes…a choice that has profound impacts that go well beyond the rocks of Maine.