Ok, enough chit chat. What’s today’s question?
What Makes a Good Father or Grandad?
That’s a beautiful question because most of us have wondered about it, even if we didn’t always say it out loud.
New fathers and new grandads receive plenty of advice about diapers, car seats, feeding schedules, and sleep deprivation. Those things matter, of course. But years later, very few people remember who assembled the crib correctly.
They remember who was there.
When I was younger, I thought fatherhood was mostly about providing. That seemed to be the model many of us grew up with. Work hard. Pay the bills. Keep the train on the tracks.
After enough birthdays, it starts to look a little different.
Children—and eventually grandchildren—have an amazing ability to remember the smallest things. Not necessarily the expensive vacation. The Saturday pancakes. The fishing trip where nobody caught anything. The chair Grandpa always sat in.
Funny how memory works.
I’ve noticed that little kids are not terribly impressed by résumés, job titles, or retirement accounts. They seem much more interested in whether someone will read the same book four times in a row and still do the funny voices.
Frankly, they may have this whole thing figured out better than we do.
A good father or grandad isn’t a finished product. None of us ever receives a certificate saying we got it exactly right. Most families are built out of ordinary Tuesdays strung together over many years.
The surprising part is that ordinary days quietly become family stories.
There will always be moments of uncertainty. Every father I’ve known has wondered if he was doing enough. Every grandad I know occasionally realizes he’s still making it up as he goes along, just with grayer hair and a slightly larger supply of snacks.
Or at least softer candy.
In the end, children rarely seem to need perfection because perfection is hard to hug. What they often remember is presence, patience, laughter, and the comforting feeling that somebody was always glad they walked into the room.
That may be one of life’s quietest gifts: discovering that love usually looks less like grand gestures and more like being there again tomorrow.
And the day after that.
Years from now, those children probably won’t tell stories about a perfect father or grandad.
They’ll tell stories about their father.
Their grandad.
And that turns out to be more than enough.
# # #
A Like is a quick clap. A Restack is the standing ovation.
Steady on,
Bill Black
Porch Caretaker, Humble Observer
If you’re reading like you’re unwinding, these help:
I wanted to reach out and let you know that I included this post in my weekly roundup! I hope this blesses you as much as your post blessed me. Here’s the link if you’d like to check it out: https://fiztrainer.substack.com/p/what-stayed-with-me-week-of-june-45a
Love this very sentimental and so very true 🦋 Thanks for sharing 🙃