Like Father, Like Son

 January 18, 2023

“Help! I’m becoming my father!” It’s the agonizing cry of men in their forties or fifties. I resigned myself to it years ago, but lately it’s reared its head in one troubling way. No, I’m not referring to my dad jokes. I actually take pride in them, much to my wife’s dismay. My favorite is my dad’s response to anyone who said he was spoiled because he was an only child: “No, I’m not; the whole family smells that way.” You can groan anytime now.

I never became my dad in his love for fishing. My brother got that gene, and has dutifully passed it along to one of his sons and at least one grandson. Passivity is one thing my dad passed along to me. He wasn’t aggressive; it didn’t matter to him if mom were to have fixed the same dinner five nights a week. She didn’t, but had she done so, he would have happily eaten it. I’m the same way. Linda is always trying new recipes and asking what I think. In fifty-two years, there’s only been a couple that I suggested should be a one-off. Linda likes to rearrange the furniture occasionally. If the couch never moved from where it is now, I’d be content.

Dad was not one to take risks. He always played it safe with investments, never had a penchant for fast cars. Conservative and practical were his middle names. In this area, I spent a lifetime working to overcome. There was a time in my ministry life that things got so predictable I knew it had to change or I would have to find a new career. The way things were going in the mid-eighties, the church was almost on autopilot, and I was getting spiritually and emotionally numb. In the New Testament, serving Jesus was an adventure! There was danger and challenge. I knew I needed to shake things up, so we started doing things differently. We began to grow, and finally got to the place where we couldn’t be sure everything would succeed. In other words, we had to actually trust in God. I had stepped out of the risk-less world of my father into my own shoes.

But here I am, seventy-three, and seeing my father growing large in me. In his later years, dad was always cold. I think that’s why he loved going to Florida every winter. I don’t see that happening for us anytime soon, but in the winter, if I’m not moving around a lot or sitting by the fire in the back room, I’m cold. I no longer silently chuckle under my breath at my dad wearing long johns from October to June. I’m not that far along yet, but the day may be coming.

If there’s any way in which I want to see my father when I look in the mirror, it’s in his integrity and faithfulness. With my dad, what you saw was who he really was. There was no dissimulation, no prevarication with him. He was faithful to my mother and faithful to Jesus. He took fatherhood seriously, and passed that along to me. He wasn’t perfect, but I am grateful to be able to look back over the years and see an example of steady, quiet leadership. I think it’s because he looked to Jesus. Jesus told Philip, “If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen the Father.” Dad kept his eyes on Jesus, and through him learned what being a father is all about. That’s my goal, too, and though I’ve still got a long way to go, I can say with a measure of pride, “Like father, like son.” Except for the long johns.