As a young man, the thought of becoming a father unsettled me.
I didn't feel competent in manly skills. I don't hunt or fish. I'm not particularly handy. Something as simple as installing a ceiling fan sends me to the Yellow Pages to hire an electrician. I have no physical prowess. I'm not sure I could bench-press our poodle.
See, low fatherhood potential.
I exhaled a sigh of relief when my older son quit Cub Scouts because I feared the embarrassment of finishing last in the Pinewood Derby. I think I could have created a wooden car that defied the laws of gravity and stopped halfway down the track due to wind resistance and misaligned wheels.
When I was a kid, my favorite superhero was not Superman or Batman, but - wait for it - Casper the friendly ghost.
I must radiate goodie-goodiness. The other day in a meeting, a manager mused, "Well, who didn't drink before they were 21? Well, maybe not you, Mark," she said, looking dismissively in my direction. "You're such a Boy Scout."
Not true, actually. But whatever.
The point is, I'm not a classic American-dad type. I'm not particularly strong or skilled. I don't project manliness.
Yet, I don't feel like a failure either. Ultimately, the proof of fatherhood - or motherhood - is not your resumé but your results.
With our older son set to finish high school, this has been a year of reflection. The staircase wall in our house is filled with framed photos of our two sons, now ages 13 and 18. As I climb the stairs every morning to wake them, I remember them at different life points. Before orthodontics. Before their voices changed. Back when the older boy still called me "Gaggy."
When I look at them now, in the fullness of time, I cut myself a break. If I were a failure as a father, would these two boys have turned out so well? Maybe not.
I've come to believe that it's not masculinity that defines fatherhood. Ultimately, the only two things that matter are: Do your children feel loved? And do they develop the tools to face adulthood?
I can confidently say "yes" on both counts.
Our younger son says "I love you" at least four times a day. And he means it.
At an age when lots of boys withdraw into a tunnel of adolescence, he wears his heart on his sleeve. We have recently started holding hands and saying a goodnight prayer together. We pray for safety and offer up gratitude: for our material blessings, for our health, for our dog, Boise.
When his time comes - if it comes - he will be the most loving dad ever. He's built for compassion, plus he is funny and smart. And I'll take funny and smart as life skills over strong and brave any day.
Meanwhile, our older son doesn't realize it, but he has already acquired two skills that others chase for a lifetime. He has the entrepreneurial chops to survive in any environment. In a culture that values salesmanship above all, he is a gifted salesman. How many 18-year-olds can say that?
Also - and this is important - he has found his own path to faith. At 18, his feelings about God were not implanted by parents, so much as imparted by his peers. As such, it's a much more durable belief system. And that's good.
So I guess my advice to new fathers boils down to this: Love your children. Give them space. Then, love them some more.
And, whatever you do, don't sweat the Pinewood Derby.
Mark Kennedy / Staff file photoView other columns by Mark Kennedy
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645.