I recently purchased a book with one particular reason in mind and that was to become better at what I do!  What happened was a completely different result and I haven’t even come close to finishing the book. I was not prepared for what was contained within the second chapter, a mere 14 pages into this new book because it was at that exact moment that I was reduced to tears!

Father Forgets is a classic journalism piece that I was simply not prepared for. The moment I finished reading this piece, I knew why it had brought me to tears and had so profoundly moved me. I was guilty of some of the same habits W. Livingston Larned had just so eloquently described. It was amazing to me that in 22 years of being a parent I hadn’t recognized  some of these habits or mannerisms in my own behavior. I do know that today, at this moment, I have a greater and even stronger appreciation for each of my children and that will not wane no matter where they are or how many birthdays are behind them or ahead of them – Thank you boys for being who you are! 

I have copied and included the Article; Father Forgets written by W. Livingston Larned below. I hope you will appreciate the article as much as I did

Listen, son; I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.  There are things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. 

I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.  At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Goodbye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”

 Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came Up the road, I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before you boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive – and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, form a father!

 Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.  You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding – this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

 And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: “He is nothing buy a boy – a little boy!”

 I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.”

– W. Livingston Larned

I couldn’t ask for better boys !!!

Love Always Dad !