The Art of Parenting- Father Forgets

After the interesting parenting sessions conducted on AD's Coaching, I come across a lot of parenting stories. Some are cute. Some are funny. But few stories have ever stopped me in my tracks, leaving me both stunned and inspired, promising myself to strive to be better tomorrow.

Until this one.

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This is “Father Forgets,” by W. Livingston Larned. It was written in the 1920s and some of the language may seem a bit outdated, but the message is evergreen.

Read it and see if this message resonates with you—and if it does, Do join us this Saturday at 12 Noon India and 09:30 AM Qatar Time with Author & Coach Mahendra B Thakur for an enlightening session on the “The Art of Parenting “

“Father Forgets” – by W. Livingston Larned

The Story ..yours and mine…

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 boyfriends 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 buy 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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You might not have had a day in which you snapped at your child as much as the author does here. But have you ever had a hard day, or even just a hard hour before bedtime, maybe you weren’t quite the mom or dad that you wanted to be—and then when you go in to check on the kids before you go to bed, they’re peaceful, angelic, beautiful…and you’re struck with a pang of guilt?

And there is always an opportunity to enhance your art …the “Art of Parenting” ..this Saturday on Zoom Live at 12 noon India and 09:30 AM Qatar. Will see you soon..

For earlier sessions pls click here : https://youtu.be/N_jcwlrxYDI

for the pdf copy of this story Click here https://faculty.sfcc.spokane.edu/…/kimt/father%20forgets.pdf

30 Mins - Part 1 . You are invited. For live interaction Click this link tomorrow at 12 noon India and 09:30 Qatar time.

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