FATHER’S DAY • QUALITY OF LIFE • LFT
Happy Father’s Day
A reminder that high standards matter, but open arms matter too.
There are very few pieces of writing that hit me every single time I read them. One of them is Father Forgets by W. Livingston Larned. No matter how many times I read it, it makes me stop and think. Not just as a son. Not just as a future father. But as a coach, a friend, and someone who genuinely wants the best for the people around him.
The older I get, the more I realize that one of the hardest things in life is balancing high standards with compassion. I am hard on myself, and because of that I can be hard on others. Not because I dislike them. Not because I think less of them. Usually because I see potential. I see what they are capable of becoming. But sometimes potential becomes the only thing I see, and encouragement slowly turns into discouragement. That is why this piece hits me so hard every time I read it.
Father Forgets
By W. Livingston Larned, 1927
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.
These are the 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 in front of your friends 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, from 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 slid 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 my 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 but 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.
My Takeaway
The line that hits me hardest every single time is:
“I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.”
I am hard on myself, so naturally I can be hard on others. I see potential. I see what they are capable of becoming. The problem is that sometimes I become so focused on where they could be that I fail to appreciate where they are.
The father realizes he was expecting a child to think and act like an adult. How often do we do the same thing? How often do we expect people to know things they have never been taught or become frustrated because they are not where we think they should be? Sometimes we are judging people based on our experience instead of theirs.
The other part that gets me every time is when the son runs in, throws his arms around his father, and hugs him after being criticized all day. No resentment. No scorekeeping. Just love. That is a powerful reminder that people often need support more than correction.
And this is the same for all the dog lovers. Maybe you worked extra hours and the dog is still excited to see you and that bowl of kibble no matter what. Have the same compassion for those who love you unconditionally.
Quality of Life
Life is hard. Fatherhood is hard. Relationships are hard.
One of the biggest lessons I take from Father Forgets is that no matter how high our standards are, our arms should always be open. Our children, family, friends, and clients should know they are welcome. People may forget exactly what we said, but they rarely forget how we made them feel.
Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers, future fathers, stepfathers, grandfathers, mentors, coaches, and father figures out there. Take a few minutes and read Father Forgets. Then hug your kids, call your dad, thank a father, and remind the people you care about that they are loved.
Find Your Limiting Factor
Fatherhood is demanding. Life is demanding. The better you take care of yourself, the better you can take care of the people who depend on you.
The fastest way to improve your quality of life is to identify your limiting factor, then coach will come up with a plan to attack it so you can be the best version of you for you and others.
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