You know, I really wasn’t sure what sort of father my husband would turn out to be. I thought, given his upbringing, that he might be a bit strict. But then I wondered if, given his upbringing, that he’d turn out to be quite lenient, in that “I’m never going to be my father” type of way.
Turns out it’s sort of both. While my sons may later be given permission to pierce their ears and color their hair purple and listen to whatever music society deems shocking in that era, they will be expected to do so while saying yes ma’am, no sir, completing their chores and doing well in school.
But, while I didn’t know what to expect when it came to my husband’s take on discipline, I was not surprised at all when it came the amount of affection he’s shown his boys.
My three guys can’t get enough snuggles, enough tickling, enough “I love yous” from one another throughout the day. The oldest greets his daddy with a shriek of pure joy when he seems him come in the door at the end of the work day, and the baby always has a grin and a few gurgles for him.
It’s not just affection with the boys – my husband believes one of the best things a man can do for his children is love their mother and for that I am truly blessed. He works hard at a dangerous job that is both physically and mentally demanding in order to provide us with a comfortable lifestyle. He spends time in prayer for our family and plans constantly for our future.
And, as he demonstrated tonight – he looks out for our safety.
After a completely slothful day at home during which we stayed in our pajamas, ate a bunch of junk food and just generally wallowed about like swine (save for a brief ER visit when the oldest fell and whacked his head on a door frame) we began settling in for the night.
Suddenly, the dogs began to bark. The barks turned into snarls – noises that always let us know something is definitely not kosher.
My husband rushed outside in his underwear, armed with only a small dachshund, to find that the spokesmodel for Faces of Meth had wandered into our carport.
She was scrawny, toothless and haggard and she asked him for a cigarette and directions to Wal-mart. He replied that he had neither, and that he couldn’t help her.
I was still inside, oblivious to our unwelcome visitor, when I heard the dogs begin to growl again. I thought it quite strange since he was already out there, and I poked my head out the door to see him still trying to respectfully turn the woman away.
As she gave one sad story after another in her erratic, slurred speech, he continued to address her as ma’am but refused to let her any closer to our door. I watched him for a little while longer, torn between his pity for the woman and his determination to protect his family before I chimed in and told her that the police station was about a quarter of a mile that way and perhaps she should head that way if she needed help.
The police met her at the end of the road, having apparently been summoned earlier by a neighbor. We left them to their business and headed back inside, praising the dogs and locking down the place.
He took the oldest to bed with him while I tried to unwind by cleaning the kitchen. While I put away dishes I marveled at the tremendous effort he always puts into trying to do the right thing. In his jobs as a parent, a husband, an employee and yes, even as a man dealing with a late-night junkie trespasser, he does his best to treat people with respect, to be a man his sons can look up to.
So Happy Father’s Day, honey. We love you and appreciate you so much, and we wish you a mulligan on your relaxing day with hopefully no head injuries or toothless meth addicts. Oh, and may the Royals beat the Rays. Muah.