I’m always on the lookout for books about fathering. The funny thing is, when I find a really good one, it applies to fathers AND mothers. My most recent “find” is “Covering Home: Lessons on the Art of Fathering From the Game of Baseball,” by Jack Petrash (Robins Lane Press, 2000).
I’ve never been much of a competitive sports fan, but as a child in Michigan in the 60s, I had to have SOME kind of exposure, because my home state then was the home of the Detroit Tigers who, if my childish memory serves me correctly, were pretty big back in those days. Jack Petrash has written a book that is a worthy addition to the library of any parent. I have to quote from the Introduction. Jack describes a video clip prepared by the National Fatherhood Initiative to encourage fathers to play a more active role in the lives of their sons. The clip was presented at the National Summit on Fathering in Washington, D.C. The clip, says Jack, shows, “a young boy . . . standing in an open, sunlit meadow, holding a baseball glove and a ball. The action moves in slow motion as the boy winds up and throws the ball. The camera follows the ball through the air . . . it lands in the grass and rolls to a stop. The boy runs after the ball, picks it up, winds up, and throws it in the other direction. Again, there is no one there to catch it. A voice says, “Four out of ten children in America grow up in a home without a father.”
Jack Petrash, a teacher, uses baseball analogies to explain to other fathers how important it is to: (1) commit to being actively involved with their children from before birth; (2) understand and adapt to the needs of children as they exist at various stages of childhood; (3) how to be an example . . . even when you make mistakes . . . especially when you make mistakes; (4) and how to adapt to all the changes and unexpected events in our children’s lives and still give our kids enough room to be who they are, not who we want them to be.
Note the personal pronoun, “we.” Because, personally, I wish I’d had this kind of advice years ago. My youngest child is almost 24. He’s an incredible delight. But he’s longed for and missed out on, a positive father his entire life. So the image evoked for me in Jack’s description of this ad hit especially hard.
This past summer, on Father’s Day, my son and I were sitting in the emergency room lobby of a huge hospital. My son had been struggling with some chronic health issues that left him with a lot of pain. Surgery was on the horizon, but we’d been through a string of doctors that didn’t have a clue how to help him. So, there we were, on Father’s Day, waiting for his name to be called.
I picked up the city paper and in the fluff section was a piece by a woman who had lost her father when she was about eight (8) years old. I read it, and before long, I was in tears. The man who was the best father (not including my own) I’d ever known, and the love of my life, was probably not going to make it much longer. He was dying of cancer.
When my son was in high school, he’d gotten beat up in class. Back then, I was working for this guy. The school called the office first and my friend and love took the call. Back then, he was just my boss, but he was waiting at the hospital when I got there, sitting by my son’s bed. And later, when things were more clear between the two of us, we were sitting together and my son was explaining some computer thing and this amazing man just sat there, listening, really listening, to my son. I’ll never forget the look on my son’s face. Never. And just a few weeks before, when my son and I had gone to see him in the hospital, and my son walked into that room, the face of this extraordinary man just lit up like a light bulb and he said to my son, “Wow! You look so GOOD!” Five words and a few nanoseconds and he’d done what my son’s father couldn’t or wouldn’t ever do in a lifetime.
All these memories were going off in my head while I read this article about fathers who didn’t make it, and fathers who weren’t there, and I was blubbering. Right there in this busy, hotel-like emergency room lobby. And my son asked me what was wrong, and I told him, and he said the sweetest, most painful thing I’ve ever heard, “Aw Mom, you did the best you could. You just never stayed for long.”
In his book, “Covering Home,” Jack Petrash talks a lot about staying. Just staying. Whether you are a father or a mother, and hopefully if your kids have both of you, that’s what matters. Just staying.