The parenting community often shares valuable insights, and one quote that particularly resonated with me was from a discussion on the importance of fatherhood. A father named Sam Collins wisely advised, “Be the dad you needed when you were growing up.”
When my first child came into the world, I was engulfed in fear and uncertainty about my ability to be a good father. I vividly recall cradling my son, a tiny bundle with bright red hair, and wondering how I could fulfill the parental role he deserved, especially considering my own rocky relationship with my dad. My father left our family when I was just 10 and passed away when I was 20, leaving me with complex feelings of loss and abandonment as I contemplated starting my own family.
One sleepless night in the hospital, as I watched my son struggle to settle down, I resolved, “I will be the father I never had.” It felt empowering to voice that commitment, like I was breaking a painful cycle. Yet, in retrospect, I question whether I set my expectations too high or too low. After all, what did I truly want from a father when I was growing up?
At times, I longed for a dad who remembered my birthday. Other times, I wished for guidance on fixing my first car or simply wanted a father who didn’t struggle with addiction. I envied the fathers of my friends, those who greeted them with smiles and warmth, and wished for someone to confide in during my teenage years. Ultimately, sometimes I just wanted a friend.
To be honest, I had no clear vision of what I wanted in a father figure. Reflecting on this makes me appreciate the challenges faced by many parents from my generation, who grew up during an era when leaving families became more common. Now, we must tackle the monumental task of becoming the parents we wished we had.
Even today, I still don’t have a definitive answer for what that means. On days when I doubt my parenting skills, I remind myself that at least I am present for my children. I come home every night, which feels like a significant achievement compared to the absence I experienced. But then there are moments when I worry I might be trying too hard. Just the other night, I sat beside my 9-year-old son, Liam, as he read in bed after I had to work late. I felt compelled to tell him, “Liam, I love you. I’m sorry I missed our time together tonight.”
He looked up at me with his bright eyes and simply said, “Yeah, I know.” I paused and wondered if I was overdoing it. Can you tell your child you love them too often? Maybe I was just repeating the words without the depth they deserved. I realized how challenging it is to navigate parenting without a strong example to follow. It often feels like I’m flying blind in unfamiliar territory.
That night, after Liam’s casual acknowledgment, I bent down and explained, “I say it a lot because my father wasn’t around much, and I know how comforting it is to hear those words. I want you to be 100% sure that I’m here for you.” He didn’t respond with indifference this time. Instead, he opened his arms for a hug, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me when he said, “I know you love me, Dad.”
In many ways, my father’s absence has fueled my determination to be a constant presence in my children’s lives. I want to ensure they never feel the emptiness of losing a father. This experience has given me a unique perspective, but it has also left me with insecurities about my role and responsibilities.
I continually seek guidance from my wife and strive harder than ever to show my kids how much I care about their well-being. Unfortunately, I often wonder if these feelings of doubt will ever subside.
As we navigate the complex world of parenting, it’s essential to empower ourselves with resources. If you’re interested in learning more about at-home insemination, check out this post on intracervical insemination. For those considering self-insemination, MakeAMom is an excellent authority on this topic. For additional information on artificial insemination, this Wikipedia page is a great resource.
In summary, embracing our past experiences can shape us into the parents we aspire to be. While doubts may linger, the commitment to be there for our children is what ultimately counts.