When my kids were little, I had a job as a trade-school instructor. One night I was up late in our study grading papers and writing my course materials for the next day.
From the living room came the sweet voice of my then 6-year-old daughter, with a plaintive note in it. “Mommy? Why won’t Daddy come up and say goodnight to us? Doesn’t he love us any more?”
I dropped the papers on the desk, went out, gathered my two kids up in my arms, and carried them up to my daughter’s room. There, I sat on her bed with them, read them stories, told them stories, sang them a lullaby, and carried my son into his room to tuck him in for the night.
Returning to my daughter’s room, I turned off her light, tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and then sat there. In a few moments, she asked quietly, “You do love us, don’t you Daddy?”
“Yes, Sweeting, I do. And tomorrow I am going to make sure that I can come and say goodnight to you every night, until you leave home to live on your own.”
“OK.” Fifteen seconds later, she was out for the count, sound asleep, and I tiptoed out.
The next day I went in to the school and quit my teaching job. My own kids were more important to me than someone else’s. And my wife backed me 100%. I never regretted it.
Recently, my daughter reminded me of that incident. “That was when I realized how much you and Mommy must love us, Daddy. I’ve held onto that thought all my life, and now I’m using that same idea with my own son. I hope he also understands.”
When my kids were little, I had a job as a trade-school instructor. One night I was up late in our study grading papers and writing my course materials for the next day.
From the living room came the sweet voice of my then 6-year-old daughter, with a plaintive note in it. “Mommy? Why won’t Daddy come up and say goodnight to us? Doesn’t he love us any more?”
I dropped the papers on the desk, went out, gathered my two kids up in my arms, and carried them up to my daughter’s room. There, I sat on her bed with them, read them stories, told them stories, sang them a lullaby, and carried my son into his room to tuck him in for the night.
Returning to my daughter’s room, I turned off her light, tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and then sat there. In a few moments, she asked quietly, “You do love us, don’t you Daddy?”
“Yes, Sweeting, I do. And tomorrow I am going to make sure that I can come and say goodnight to you every night, until you leave home to live on your own.”
“OK.” Fifteen seconds later, she was out for the count, sound asleep, and I tiptoed out.
The next day I went in to the school and quit my teaching job. My own kids were more important to me than someone else’s. And my wife backed me 100%. I never regretted it.
Recently, my daughter reminded me of that incident. “That was when I realized how much you and Mommy must love us, Daddy. I’ve held onto that thought all my life, and now I’m using that same idea with my own son. I hope he also understands.”
I’m sure he will, in time, Sweeting.