Posted: 11/21/2013 1:18:00 PM EDT
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Borrowed from another post.
Father Forgets
by W. Livingston Larned Listen, son; I am saying this as you lie asleep,one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside. There are things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor. At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called,"Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!" Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road, I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before you boy friends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive - and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father! Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped. You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs. Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding - this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years. And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed! It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!" I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much. |
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I love my son dearly and make sure he knows that... but that stepped on even my toes just a bit. I'm in my truck waiting on him at school right now (I was off early and he's finishing late, play practice). Think I'll take him for an Icee when he gets here, after a big hug, just 'cause... |
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Quoted:
I love my son dearly and make sure he knows that... but that stepped on even my toes just a bit. I'm in my truck waiting on him at school right now (I was off early and he's finishing late, play practice). Think I'll take him for an Icee when he gets here, after a big hug, just 'cause... It was a nice read, wasn't it? 
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This is far from the first time that I've read that piece and the only reason I'm not giving in to the urge to sniffle a little is because I'm at work (fucking off - but, still) with two other people in my office. The first time I read it, it about tore my gut out - I'd exhibited so much of the same behavior towards my little girl and had spent many nights making those same kind of unheard apologies. I've fixed a lot but still am too short, too cross too often - especially to a small, eight-year-old creature for whom I am the whole universe. I've done better with my son - just now five - but my dirty little secret of parenting is that "better" is never quite good enough for me. I am gentler with them now but harder than ever on myself to compensate, apparently.
Thanks for the reminder. |
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Good post, XCR........no, great post.
I've never read that before... I have two little girls. I try to make it a point to calm myself while reprimanding/disciplining them, and to explain after the fact they are corrected because they are loved.....however, it's too often lost in translation, the difference in age and perspectives. I think I'll stop off for a new game to play with them this evening......something out of the past - maybe Trouble! |
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I've read it before. It's a good reminder of what's important.
For anyone touched by this read and who wants to be a better dad, I highly recommend reading Robert Ruark's "The Old Man and the Boy". There is a sequel "The Old Man's Boy Grows Older". They are books about Ruark's upbringing with hunting and fishing and dogs and being around his wise but crusty grandpa and his buddies. I guarantee you'll get something out of them. I re-read them on occasion. Have also read them to my boy who loved the stories. With my daughter sitting here, beside be, I'm realizing that I've fallen down on mentoring her. Tonight, I'll be reading some of it to her. Thanks for the post, XCR. |
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I have never read that before. I really enjoyed it. As a father of two very young boys, what it means to be a good father is on my mind daily. I want to raise squared away men of strength and good character. I know there will be discipline and struggle. I hope I negotiate those challenges as gracefully as possible. I never want them to doubt my love for them, as it is the greatest love I have ever known.
Thanks for sharing that. |
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Quoted:
I think that's what they called socks back on the day  Quoted:
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I had a great dad.He passed on a while back..that said..if he ever made me wear stockings,he'd have an asswhuppin' coming to him the likes of which he'd never seen. I think that's what they called socks back on the day I know,I was just trying to lighten things up.  Good poem.
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Quoted:
Borrowed from another post. Father Forgets
by W. Livingston Larned Listen, son; I am saying this as you lie asleep,one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside. There are things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor. At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called,"Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!" Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road, I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before you boy friends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive - and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father! Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped. You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs. Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding - this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years. And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed! It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!" I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much. Thank you XCRMONGER! Nice read and all dad's need to remember that. |
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One of the last times I saw my son before the ex took off with my kids, I scolded him about him not doing his schoolwork 
I haven't seen them since March Ouch! That leaves a mark.  I remember you posting about your troubles. I hope things look up.
My wife often reminds me, "They only have one childhood." Words to live by. |