A Love Without End, Amen

I’m sitting in the sun reading a book, pretending to be involved in something other than my son’s golf tournament. He’s warming up on the practice tee and I don’t want to be one of “those” Dads, the guys who are living through their sons, guys whose intensity and pressure takes the joy out of a joyful game. Nope, I’m reading a book, 50 yards away from my DNA.

He knows I’m there and we are connected. I can tell from the sound of his club contacting the ball how he’s hitting, the clicks tells me when I need to look up, when he’s going to need to catch my eye. Knowing that a little nod or a little shoulder movement from me is all that’s required to make an adjustment that gets him hitting the ball even further, my reading is half hearted at best. He’s 13 and he already hits the ball better than I ever dreamed I could. His bad shots, the ones that cause a little louder exhale, are as good as my best. I know I could play my best round and not hit one ball as pure as he does almost every time. Things seem to come easily to him.

It’s something to be a Father, to watch your children grow and be successful and happy. Saying you are proud is not enough, pride seems to indicate that I had more to do with it than I know I did. Humbled is a better word, I’m in awe of all of my kids. The oldest, who is amazingly creative and a loving Mom, my second, who has found her life work in the nursing profession and my third, who told me, just a few days ago, that she has decided to get a PHD. Their Moms deserve the praise, my kids don’t know about limitations, about settling. I never knew true faith in God until I understood a Father’s love. I love my kids and I am happy to be a part of their story. There is nothing they could do to break the connection, I am better because of them.

I don’t care if my son plays terrible golf, or even if he decides it isn’t his game. Same with his trumpet and his other pursuits, I just love him. I know, and he knows, that it doesn’t matter how good he hits a golf ball, how he plays music, how well (or how poorly) he does anything. I love him.

So, here I am, in grass stained shorts, reading a book and knowing what love is. He knows I’m there and we are connected.