On (Young) Fatherhood

One day, I'll write a book for my children, explaining what I went through to raise them-not to heap guilt upon them for all the personal, physical, and financial sacrifices I had to make to protect their health, safety, and happiness, but to give them an honest account of how fatherhood changed me for the better and worse and to urge them into following my path, if at all possible.

Only 27 and already with two boys, I've found myself a member of what appears to be fast becoming a rare group, that of the young male married with children. Recent statistics suggest that the average U.S. male foregoes marriage until he's 28. From 1970 to 1999, according to one source, more and more men are waiting until their 30s and 40s to have children, with the number of first-time fathers under 30 declining by 18%.* This is indeed a dwindling group of men.

There are many reasons for the decline, I'm sure. Obviously, those waiting longer to marry will inevitably delay having children. Culture, like always, is a likely culprit, as we find ourselves bombarded with television shows painting vivid pictures of families without fathers, families in which fathers are determined to and allowed to behave like benign teenage boys (or worse), and families in which fathers are beaten into a role of ineffectual idiot by domineering wives. We young males, too, share some "blame," so to speak. Effective fatherhood takes a grown-up, and we are not all that often eager to grow up, especially in a world that prompts us to eschew any outward signs of maturity and aging. Instead, we try on identities as frequently as we did in adolescence. We lose ourselves in video game characters, drool over other men's athletic feats, chase career status or women, and perfect our "man-caves" in failed attempts to fit into clothes designed for someone else.

I tried these roles and more, always looking for something to adopt and adapt that would inwardly, calmly, answer one burning question: who am I? But it was fatherhood, even more so than marriage, that finally did this. Becoming a father instantly stripped me naked-emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally. It fired the first shot, scaring away those false soldiers of identity that I had gathered around me and leaving me to finish the revolution with a powderless horn. And this, from the moment I timidly cradled my firstborn son, I set about doing. I had no choice.

First, came the newfound capacity to love. To be certain, I do love others-my wife, for one. But it has always been with a different kind of love, one of companionship, of friendship, of respect, a Biblical love born of certain needs stirred in people by an omniscient God. It is and always will be, however, a conditional love. It demands reciprocity, whether we want to admit it or not.

With children, it is a love given by God based on nothing-a reminder of His perplexing love for us. This love is at once cheering and saddening, soothing and maddening. While I rejoice with my children in their past, present, and future triumphs, I grieve for the sorrows in life that I know await them. While I will revel in their many acts of genuine searches for Christian counsel and celebrate their many good judgments, I will physically ache when I watch their missteps. But all this must happen. It is a result of our inability to handle the freedom first given to us by God through Adam. It is a reminder of what He experiences on a daily basis quite literally a billion times over. Children are God's cleverest blessing. They bring us to realize our own blatant wickedness and confront us with the reality of God's unconditional love.

Second, came the newfound understanding of what it means to assume the role of provider. All I do as a father is provide-love, money, clothes, food, discipline, medicine, advice, teaching, protection, time, and on and on and on. To provide these things, I must sacrifice things, such as my time, my money, my sleep, my hobbies, etc. Yes, I receive things in return, but they are not necessary to my health and survival. I am not wholly dependent upon my children for what they can provide me. But they are of me. This sacrificial love is difficult to become accustomed to, especially when, as a young male, I often see many more young males who are not required to practice such love. They keep their time, money, sleep, and hobbies. Or, if they don't, they quite often expend them at their own choosing.

Third, came newfound (and great) responsibility, and with it, heightened awareness of my every action. Here, I not only have a child who relies on me for his physical wellbeing, but also one who relies on me for his emotional, intellectual, and most important, spiritual wellbeing. Just as a child physically neglected will either grow up malformed or perish, so will a child neglected emotionally, intellectually, or spiritually grow up malformed or perish in these areas. And not only must I expose my child to what is good behavior in every aspect of life, but also I must behave in the same manner. Otherwise, what importance will he assign to the object of my affection? How likely is he to internalize my guidance?

It must be added that in the spiritual category, God holds me accountable for my performance, which might be the most terrifying thought a father can have. I-not my wife, not my parents, not my pastor-am responsible for doing all I can to keep my sons on the path of righteousness. To take this seriously is to carry an enormous burden.

Finally, came clarity and prioritization. In the past I was Chim, the writer. Or I was Chim, the college student. Or banker. Or party animal. Or whatever. It all depended on who I felt like I needed to be to fit in at that moment. Because of this, I ended each day more confused about who I was and who I wanted to be. Now, it's clear. I am Chim, the father. I don't have the luxury of choosing any differently, because I know that behind me stand two boys completely unable to survive on their own. Until they reach an age when they can reduce their dependency, they are my priority.

Perhaps this sounds a bit depressing. After all, it seems to have completely removed my freedom and individualism. I am defined by my children. Admittedly, if you're not a parent, it would be hard for me to come up with a convincing argument to the contrary, I suppose. But having children has forced me into roles that one can't otherwise experience. I am both god and slave. Every day, the fates of two humans rest in my hands. Simultaneously, I am their humble servant, responding to their beck and call. Walking in these two realities has defined me. It has taught me selflessness, patience, and humility. It has introduced me to a responsibility greater than any other job I might have. It has matured me. It has brought me untold laughter, warmth, and happiness. Fatherhood has unraveled a little more the wondrous mystery of God's love. Fatherhood has given me a purpose. It has given me identity-something that everyone seems to be searching for.

*Harry Fisch, M.D., The Male Biological Clock, 2005.