With three boys–two of whom are chronologically considered men but who are not totally independent yet– in tow under my tutelage as a woman doing her best to love, mother, teach, protect, and give more love, my thoughts are constantly bombarded with the “mold” I know as Dad. None of my sons are dads yet (and yes, I can wait), but that which it takes to be a dad starts light years before a literal seed is sown.
What I know about my Dad is that he represents maturity, accountability, perseverance, strength, passion, love, and courage. Add to that a sense of humor, a love of God, family and humanity, and an ability to serve as my muse even when I mistakenly and involuntarily activate the TMI (Too Much Information) switch, and I see near perfection. He represents a masterpiece of a man, that to me, is based upon unconditional love. But just as importantly, my Dad understands and demonstrates the gravity and blessing of fatherhood. And he was well-prepared for it, raised by a nearly perfect Masterpiece in my dearly departed grandfather.
So although the cliches, “they don’t make ’em like they used to,” or “they broke the mold when they made him” tend to threaten my thoughts about his male contemporaries, I hold out hope and pray that my boys will be slowly seasoned like their grandfather because the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.