A couple mornings ago we were on our way to school. We got held up in traffic by a school bus coming our direction. The bus driver had his Stop sign out, so we waited for the young passenger to get on board. We were treated to a sweet scene when a dad walked his little girl to the bus. He checked that her coat was zipped up all the way, tugged her hood down to protect her from the chill, adjusted her backpack and planted a kiss on her tiny pink cheek. After she got on the bus, he continued to wait until the bus took off, so he could wave. The bus folded in it’s sign, and we were on our way. Neither one of us mentioned anything about the dad and his daughter.
That night, while I was fixing dinner, Will came into the kitchen and asked me if I’d noticed the dad who walked his daughter to the bus that morning. Of course I’d seen the whole thing, but I asked, “What made you think of that?” “Oh, nothing. I was thinking that guy is a really good dad.” I found it interesting, and a little sad, that he remembered the scene from this morning. I had to admit that I’d been thinking of that all day, too.
Will often comments when he sees a father that he admires. He’ll say how neat it is that the dad appears to actually enjoy his son’s company. Or he’ll say how cool it must be to have your dad want to throw a football with you. It’s as if he’s on the lookout for the right qualities that make a great dad. We’ll be at the park, see a guy playing catch with his son, or another father pushing his daughter on a swing, and Will says, “I wish I had that.” I can tell his heart aches to have that kind of relationship.
The fact that he’s looking for those qualities in someone else indicates that he’s pretty much given up on his dad ever stepping up to the plate.
