Man I Am

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"Happy Fathers Day"

I don’t call my dad as much as I should. Occasionally I pick up the phone and think about giving him a ring but end up calling mom instead; and I’ve come to understand where my hesitation comes from.

Most don’t know but I used to be afraid of my father. Not scared like one is of odd insects or monsters; but afraid like the fear of God. Not just fear of judgment either, but the fear of disappointment.

For a long time I could never recall seeing my father smile when thinking of my youth. I only remembered the instruction, the discipline, the lessons, the arguments, the work and his stern face.  I remember spending hours learning scripture after scripture. Spending what seemed like my entire weekend cutting the grass, pulling weeds, cutting trees, plumbing, painting, fixing a car, or performing any other task that typically kept me from what I believed to be a world of fun. I remember playing football in the street with my friends and them stopping to look in the distance at a stern dark man with a machete waving and them asking, “Who is that”…and me answering them by saying, “I have to go home”. And for a long time… that was all I could think about when it came to my dad.

It took 21 years for me to have my moment of clarity. It was Junior year and by far and to date the hardest time in my life. I remember sitting at my desk, eyes bloodshot from going so long without sleep, emotions torn from another failed relationship,  mind drained staring at nearly 60+ pages of Matlab code and stomach growling from hunger. Never in my life had I ever felt so broken. And I already knew what my mom would say if I called. So uncustomarily I called my dad. He asked how I was doing and I said, “I’m alright, trying to make it” (Or something of that sort) and he abruptly stopped me and said, “No, you are blessed and highly favored” and asked me to repeat it. The rest of the conversation wasn’t long and I can’t remember anything else from it but those 7 words…were all I needed to hear.

I think now of what my mom would have said, and imagine it taking a thousand or so words before she made me feel better. For my dad…it took 7.

And I think back now to the instruction; my dad sitting at a board with me even before Pre-K showing me how to do math.  I remember the scriptures, him making me recite hundreds of passages, but always starting with Romans 8:16 “I am a child of God”.  I remember the yard work but him stopping the progress holding two mangos, or two coconuts and telling me I was doing a good job and showing me the essence of hard work.  I remember my dad and only my dad being at almost every Band Concert, every Track Meet, every school function, and even taking me to college.

It’s now through our conversations I realize the troubles I face in life have already been overcome. And his wisdom resolving those issues surpasses my understanding.

I don’t call my dad as much as I should. Occasionally I pick up the phone and think about giving him a ring but end up calling mom instead.  And I’ve come to understand that it is because when we stand next to each other he sees a mirror image of what he used to be, and I see the man I will one day become. And I am afraid of falling short and not being even half the man he is. My pride often forgets I can see into the future and answer any “what if” question by asking my father.

He is the man I pray to be.
He created the boy I was.
He molded me into the man I am. 

-Moises Seraphin