Life is often ironic, so it is perhaps fitting for me as an adult married male who has never been a biological parent to write about fatherhood.  Of course, fatherhood is a whole lot more than biology.  Becoming a parent is relatively easy.  Being a father, however, is infinitely more difficult. 

My Father

Fortunately, I have a number of fine examples of fatherhood from which to draw inspiration.  My own biological father is truly a gentleman — in both senses of the term as one word or two.  His love and guidance formed the spine of my own character.

When I was fifteen, my father and I engaged in an epic battle of ping-pong games.  I don’t think my mother had any idea what she was getting into when she gave us the ping-pong table as a Christmas gift — and she certainly never figured we’d be taking over the unfurnished living room of our new house for a nightly war to decide who washed the dishes.

Somehow, though, one night of permission led to another and another.  Finally, it was easier to leave the table set up in the living room instead of following the routine of backing the car out of the garage, setting up the table, playing our game, and then folding up the table and pulling the car back into the garage.  Also, dad and I were guys — we figured a living room was for living in.

As a young man serving in the British Royal Army Artillery Corp in North Africa, my father had been the regimental table tennis champ — The King of Ping.  Using crude, sandpaper-covered paddles, he’d been the terror of the tables.  Obviously, he still hadn’t lost his touch.

The thing about these games was even though I was desperate to win and the competition was intense, my father never made me feel bad about losing.  Despite being a teenager with all the baggage that term engendered, I did not share the animosity with my father that most parent/child relationships experienced.  I knew without a doubt he loved me, and that made his gentle teasing about the loser washing the dishes so much easier to take than the vicious teasing of my peers.

As part of our nightly ritual, dad and I would clear the dinner dishes, setting them in the sink for the loser to wash.  Then, with Mom in the family room watching the television or sewing, and not complaining too much about the constant pock-pock noise and shouts that accompanied our games, dad and I would proceed to the living room, choose our bats like duelists choosing pistols, and begin a warm-up rally to decide who served first.

There were many variations to decide upon before we played.  Some nights, we played using the Asian style of gripping the bats as if we were holding pens.  We would sometimes play left-handed, which since dad was openly ambidextrous didn’t give me much of a chance.  Other nights, we would play palming the face of the bats, twisting our hand, wrists, and arms into awkward positions to play backhand shots that left us laughing till tears ran down our cheeks.

It was the serious games, however, each of us playing our own style and concentrating on winning, that were the most exciting.  Being forced by the official rules to win by two points often led to extended games going ten, fifteen, or twenty points beyond the standard twenty-one.  The more we played, the harder we fought the matches.  Somehow, though, dad always pulled a win out in the end, and I went off to wash the dishes.

Over the months we played, I’d done more than simply wait for dad to give me a learn-by-playing lesson each evening.  Buying the right equipment hadn’t made a difference because dad gained the same advantage.  Our relative skill levels remained the same.  The only change was, I was now being beaten while using an expensive rubber-covered bat instead of a cheap sandpaper-covered paddle.  I knew I had to do something more if I ever wanted to stop washing the dishes.

I started where I always start — with books.  Books are the backbone of my life.  They are more than information, or stories collected on paper and held together by paste.  They are intimate friends who have grown and changed along with me, always providing refuge, support, and solutions.

Books on table tennis, however, were not exactly roaring up the best-seller lists.  The few I was able to find were written at least two decades earlier.  But, despite their age, they still contained the basics of strategy and technique I needed to learn.

Armed with this new but untried knowledge, I wandered into the local Parks & Recreation facility.  There, older boys held sway over warped green tables sporting jerry-rigged nets stretched across the middles.  Tuesdays and Thursdays, five tables were distributed around the hardwood basketball court after school — much to the disgust of the round ball enthusiasts.

Two afternoons a week, every week, I took my bat and subjected myself first to humiliating defeats, then to defeats, then to tough losses, and finally to consecutive wins over opponents who underestimated my developing skills.   Each night however, my father successfully fought back against the increases in gamesmanship I kept bringing to the table. 

He never discouraged me nor belittled me.  He praised me in my defeats, acknowledging I was pushing him to his limit (even when I wasn’t), and encouraging me to keep playing.  After every game, he would shake my hand and hang around talking with me while I got the dishes wet and soapy. 

At the time, I never realized how much more he was teaching me beyond the skill to bat a white sphere back and forth across a green particleboard surface.

Games at the Park & Rec were supposed to help me beat my father.  The reality of the situation, however, was that playing with my father helped me beat the older, more experienced players at the Park & Rec.  Like The King of Ping before me, I was the terror of the tables at the recreation center, but still couldn’t pull my first victory off at home.

Eventually, however, the inevitable occurred.  During one particular match, every skill, both physical and mental, I’d spent months learning suddenly switched on like an electric current running down my arm.  I slammed a service back for an immediate winner.  Suddenly, the score of the game was dead even at twenty-twenty, it was my service, and my fate for that evening — for that lifetime — was within my control.  I had to win by two points, but somehow that was unimportant, lost amidst the changing of the guard somewhere within the black hole of male relationships.

I can’t be sure, but I think my father also felt the shift in our universe — recognizing and adapting to it without skipping a heartbeat.  My service spun across the table.  Dad spun back a return.  I hit a slam shot.  Dad slammed a return.  The rally went on and on and on, but the outcome was already foretold.

When I won that point and the next on a sweet service ace, the game was mine.  I was jubilant.  Months of me washing the dishes every night, and suddenly my father was going to have to wash them.

“Well done, lad,” my father said smiling and shaking my hand.  “Time for me to wash the dishes.” 

This last phrase was said with a casualness I will always remember.  There would be many more table tennis games, and dad would still win most of them.  But a line had been crossed, and there would be more nights when he washed the dishes.

But this night, this time was special.  I knew enough not to crow over my victory, but I didn’t understand the sense of loss tying my stomach in  knots as I watched my father, a strange smile on his face, turn on the faucet and get out the dishwashing soap. 

I know now I wasn’t learning about playing table tennis, or winning, or losing, or persistence, or anything else that might be apparent on the surface. 

I was learning about being a man.  Even more, I was learning about being a father.

Other Examples

I also have a son, Greg.  He’s now twenty-four and married, but he came into my life when he was six-and-a-half.  This was the perfect age as far as I was concerned.  I missed all the changing of dirty diapers, midnight feedings, and making impossible attempts to deal with a colicky disposition, which have never been a driving urge within me to experience.

At six-and-a-half, we had no problems communicating.  As far as I was concerned, he was already at my intellectual level.  Over the years, he has taught me many lessons in fatherhood — especially the difficult ones such as humility, sharing, prioritizing another’s needs over your own.  He even taught me the need for sharing the Barcalounger and the remote.

Most importantly, I have had the unconditional love, guidance, and example of our Father in Heaven.  His unfailing presence in my life, and everything he does for me daily, are constant reminders of his love and how I must do everything I can to emulate that love within my own family.

Elder L. Tom Perry tells us fatherhood is an eternal calling, and as such it is a main target of the misery arrows fired from the bow of the adversary.  Satan’s quiver is full of barbed and poisonous weapons.  Witness the media’s relentless ridicule and demeaning of modern husbands and fathers in their God-given role.  Unlike in the past when “father knew best,” today’s television fathers are portrayed as either drunken, philandering abusers, or complete idiots who have no clue how to conduct themselves within the family unit.

Another arrow is the ongoing attack on the basic unit of the family, especially diminishing the pivotal role of husbands and fathers as the leaders and anchors within that unit.  In the work I do as a police detective, I see the fatal results of this lack of influence every day.  And even when a father is involved, many of them have been led into thinking they have no accountability when things go wrong within the family unit.  Somehow, their inadequacies are always somebody else’s fault or responsibility.

A Proclamation to the World

In The Family: A Proclamation to the World, our church leaders have stated plainly; “by divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.  The proclamation goes on to warn “individuals who violate covenants of chastity, who abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God.”

I am struck most in this message by the phrase telling fathers to “preside over their families in love and righteousness.”  All to often in the sordid daily duties of police work as it pertains to domestic violence, physical and sexual child mistreatment, and substance abuse, I come across husbands and fathers who preside over their families through fear, physical superiority, and a belief in their own entitlement.

The 121^st section of the Doctrine and Covenants refers to this unrighteous exercise of the powers of the priesthood every father needs to heed: “We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion.”

This, then, is the antithesis of love and righteousness.  How many of us have worked for supervisors who believe they have been promoted so those below them in the pecking order can serve them?  How does this make you feel when you work for somebody with this attitude?  As the supervisor of twenty detectives, I believe it is my duty to serve them, not their duty to serve me.  My job is to make their jobs easier, to help them grow, progress, and successfully fulfill their objectives.  By helping them to achieve these goals, the reward is far more satisfying and long lasting.

D&C 121 continues by telling us: “No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned.”  Given the urgent admonitions in The Family: A Proclamation to the World, we as fathers must recognize it is our responsibility to serve our families, not to expect or demand they serve us.  Our leadership must come through service.  The higher the calling — and fatherhood is arguably the highest of all callings — the more willing sacrifice is required to fulfill that calling.

The greatest of joys is in seeing others happy.  Knowing pleasure is fleeting, but happiness is eternal, we must push beyond the temptations of petty selfishness and the seeking of momentary personal pleasures.  We need to be magnanimous in our selfishness by gaining the true lasting happiness through putting service to others first.

What Would We Seek in a Father?

As fathers it is important to think about those things we would want our Father in Heaven to provide for each of us, and then endeavor to provide those same things for those over whom we have stewardship.  Elder Perry is clear on what the Lord expects us to do in our role as fathers — we must be leaders, teachers, and providers.  Elder Perry tells us fatherhood is leadership — leadership undertaken specifically with the assistance, counsel, and encouragement of our eternal companions — specifically our spouse and children. 

One of the greatest attributes of the best leaders is their ability to listen, to be flexible in setting aside their own selfish desires to do what is best for those they are leading.  Fathers, please listen to your spouses, listen to your children, listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost.  Spend a whole lot less time dictating, and a whole lot more time listening and praying.

Where prayer is concerned, it is also our responsibility to lead our families in worship.  As in all things, your actions here will speak far more loudly than your words.  Preside in family prayer situations, at family home evenings, through giving a father’s blessings, and through living close to the spirit in order to teach your children correct principals and give proper direction in family life.  In the same way we pass on the temporal skills we possess to our children, it is even more important to pass on the spiritual skills we possess.

As we keep reminders in our homes of our temporal interests, awards, tools, sports equipment, hand-crafted items, photos, so too must we have spiritual reminders — pictures of the temple, pictures of Christ — as constant reminders of what is most important.  Even the placement of these items can be important.  A clearly visible picture of Christ by the computer, for example, can help keep actions in that dangerous arena righteous.

President Joseph F. Smith counsels us, “brethren, there is too little religious devotion, love, and fear of God in the home; too much worldliness selfishness, indifference, and lack of reverence in the family, or it would never exist so abundantly on the outside.  Then, it is the home what needs reforming.  Try today, and tomorrow to make a change in your home.”

Unequipped

Some men have not been equipped by the examples and teachings of their own mortal fathers.  If this is so for you, then you must turn — as all of us must do — to our eternal Father for guidance.  Ask for His help in setting rules and guidelines for your family that support the Lord’s agenda, not your agenda.  Your home is your sanctuary, but it is also the sanctuary of your family. 

Love and respect must abound, but this can only be accomplished by a father showing love and respect for his family in order to receive their love and respect.  A father who rules as a dictator will only receive recalcitrance and resentment in return.

In a First Presidency’s message on fatherhood, President N. Eldon Tanner tells us as fathers to show love for our wife and children by constantly endeavoring to find reasons for praising and encouraging them.  All too often, men have the mistaken belief that by praising and encouraging others they are somehow diminishing their own importance. 

I had a boss once for whom it appeared to be genetically impossible to give a compliment without immediately following it up with a criticism to blunt the praise — just in case you got to feeling too good about yourself.  Fathers should never do this to their family members.  The adversary wants you to concentrate on the negative, to allow the faults in your children or spouses to loom far larger than their many blessings.  The adversary is also more than willing to blind fathers to their own faults, which are most often far larger than those possessed by other family members.

Concentrate on the blessing and strengths of your family members, ask for and — just as importantly — consider their advice.  And if shortcomings need to be addressed, first go to the Lord on your knees and pray for his guidance through the Holy Spirit to handle those issues through love and guidance as opposed to frustration and anger.

Will we as fathers fall short of these ideals.  Of course, we will.  We will all fail at being perfect.  But if we are not failing, we are not trying, and not continuing to try is the true failure.

Daily Struggles

If we continue the daily struggle to fulfill our responsibilities as fathers, regularly seeking guidance through prayer, and repentance and forgiveness for our failures through the ordinance of sacrament, then we are doing what the Lord requires of us.  The atonement is the Lord’s promise to us.  He has done his part to help us achieve eventual perfection, but we must also do our part.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks had this to say on the subject of parents:  “The most powerful workers for peace may be faithful mothers and fathers.  Some of the most terrible crimes committed against humanity are the acts of persons who have been scarred and twisted by the sins of others — often their own parents or others who cared for them.  Parents who lovingly care for their children or shelter foster children and raise them in righteousness are working for peace.  So are parents who teach their children in the way King Benjamin counseled, to forgo conflicts and ‘to love one another, and serve one another.’”