Posted by Patrick Corkum on June 23, 2009
I don’t know what took me so long to realize this, but on Sunday, as we were “celebrating” Father’s Day, I came to an odd realization that I wish I had realized when I was but a wee lad. Ready for it….. wait…. wait…. ok… here it is……Father’s day is not about celebrating father dearest! Okay, sure, the day makes people think of their father; especially for those who don’t get to spend the day with their father.
I have two reasons for this. First, I don’t think (although I could be wrong) that anyone celebrates their father. Rather, it is more about their dad. I know, I know… the old cliché “Anyone can be a father but it takes someone special to be a daddy” is ringing through your head. But think about, there’s quite a bit of truth to the statement. The day should be renamed Daddy’s Day.
Anyway, the second (and may I say much more profound) reason for this is completely different. As I was enjoying the day, I came to realize that I was celebrating. Celebrating myself? Nonsense… anyone who knows me knows that there’s nothing to celebrate there. Rather, I found that I was celebrating being a dad… to three children. All I wanted all day long was to enjoy my children enjoying all that God (the true Daddy to us all) has given them.
So, I have a charge to all children. On Father’s Daddy’s Day, simply enjoy life and let your dad enjoy you doing that!
Now wait a second… I couldn’t possibly end the post like that. I have to be theologically profound in some way (if not at least in my own mind). So, reflecting upon the metaphor of God as Father and my revelation, perhaps there is yet another conclusion. Wouldn’t it be such an awesome thought if everyday was Daddy’s Day to God. What if He celebrates (God celebrating… now there’s a thought) being our daddy and celebrates us enjoying life every day? Think about it.
Posted by Patrick Corkum on June 3, 2009
So, I’ve been asked several times lately “Does he feel like yours yet?” It seems like such a straightforward question. However, I like to over-analyze questions (and think through them) before I give an answer. But, when I’m asked, I’m stuck…. answer and try not to sound stupid. So, my typical answer is an excessively committal “I guess.” Thereby, I answer nothing.
Why is this question so difficult? First, most people who ask know that I have at least one biological child. So, perhaps their real question is “Do you have the same feelings towards him as you do your other children?” The answer is simple and easy: My feelings towards Ty are nothing like my feelings towards Mia or PJ. The problem with the question though is that there is an assumption that my feelings towards PJ and Mia are the same. Of course, this is a horribly false assumption. I do not have the same “feelings” towards any of my children. So the answer to this question would be a resounding “No.” However, when I consider the original question, I am not sure that the answer “no” is correct.
So, I reflect back and perhaps the question is really “Does it feel normal to have him around yet?” I then contemplate “normal.” What is normal? I don’t think there is anything “normal” about our family and our life together. He’s part of our routine now. But it doesn’t feel normal because he doesn’t do things like the other kids. But then again, would any child? Would a newborn infant that had half of my genetic make up feel normal? Not a chance. But the question implies that a newborn infant that was half of my genes would be “normal.” So, in that case, I do not see a difference in the normality of the two and the answer would be a resounding “yes.” However, once again, considering the original question, I’m not sure the answer “Yes” is a perfect fit. Are you still with me?
So, alas, I am stuck reflecting upon the original question “Does he feel like yours?” So, before reflecting upon the concept of a person being “mine,” I have to move tangentially and consider what it feels like for anything to be “mine.” I am also forced to make a distinction between that which is mine and feels like mine and that which is mine and does not feel like mine. <Yikes> My favorite analogy concerning ownership is to describe the feeling when a twelve year old boy works all summer to earn money to buy a bike. That bike feels more like his than if someone gifted it to him or if he found it mystically discarded by someone into his possession. Now, it didn’t exactly take a lot of effort to get the first two kids, but boy did it ever take a lot of effort to get Ty. So, I am faced with a problem: Does Ty feel more like “mine” than PJ and Mia? Surely not. But what am I left with?
I’m left with a conundrum. In order to give a response, I must consider the concept a person being “mine.” If something is mine, it can only ever become “not mine” if either I bequeath it to somebody else, disown it, or it is taken from me. Now, if I were to die, I have not bequeathed, nor disowned, nor had my children taken from me. Why? Because my children aren’t truly “mine.” No matter how God has worked to add children to my family, I am simply a (can’t think of a great word) steward/caretaker/teacher/<insert other here>. So the direct answer to the actual question is “I have no idea” because I don’t know what it feels like to have a child be “mine.”
So, I am left with an “I guess.”