A Father of 10 (+1)
I’m sitting here at the Riverton Library in Utah and watching an adorable brother and sister (not more than 3 years old), sheepishly follow behind their mother. The little boy saw a colorful book on one of the lower display cases and reached out to touch it…bringing down the entire display, crashing to the floor. The look on his face was one of shame. His mother looked at him sharply and his tiny little shoulder rounded as he squeaked “I sorry.”
The woman behind the help desk casually walked over, knelt down with a huge smile on her face and whispered ‘Looks like it crashed, huh. Well, that’s ok, it was time to change the books anyway, you go with your mom.” The librarian was greeted with appreciation from both the mother and the little boy, who had the huge world of wrecking a display taken from off his bitty shoulders.
That librarian has class.
The whole scene got me thinking about being a dad. Being married to the absolute love of my life, and having the goal of a dozen children. Kathi says she wants 13 now, but we’re currently debating on that. Now, I’m a religious minded person. I link everything back to God, but I don’t want to preach on this subject. Instead, I wanted to simply share my thoughts on being a father, and especially a father of 10 (with one on the way). It has given me some serious experiences (which never seem to end), and have forced me to look at life from perspectives I would never have considered otherwise.
First off, there’s nothing better in my mind, than being a father. I was fortunate enough to have my best friends born to me as my own children. We have seven girls and three boys. When I meet someone and they find out I have ten children, they gasp and ask ‘how many of each?’ I sometimes remark, “Oh, they’re all human.” or “We have all boys but seven.”
No, I don’t have anything against my beautiful girls. Not many men get kissed by eight girls twice a day, every day. They find me during my morning ritual of rushing, or scream when I’m almost at the door. If I’m unfortunate enough to get out of the house and forgotten anyone, I’m sure to hear it when I get home, or from a disturbing phone call as soon as I reach the office. However, the boys are easier. Yeah, Simon, my 3 year old son wants a kiss form dad, or he demands a phone call from me later to reassure him he was not forgotten…but other than that, my sons are joyful chaos.
Just what a rough dad needs.
One of the aspects of parenthood that some don’t understand, is that each child is unique and brings a separate joy to my life that cannot be duplicated. I cried and embraced my father and father-in-law when Ditto (Cesilea) was born. Yet you would have thought a male child had never existed when Evan was born, the way I ran around the hospital, screaming triumph. Evan is the second child, just turned 16 and weighs in at 240lbs of muscle.
Did I mention my wife is Samoan? Yeah, I have incredible looking kids, with the OOOMPH to back it up.
Kathi and I pondered over the children late last night, and sometimes I think my life would simply crumble if I didn’t have all of them. With all the diapers, screaming, arguing and rebellion comes the laughter, love, kindness and triumph of a lesson learned when the day is done. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this wide world.
…unless they were REALLY bad….
BTW, if you’re looking for some fun father/parent blogs, check out some of my favorites, such as the Good Father Blog, and Father of the Blog.
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