With Father’s Day around the corner, my yearly reflection is in high gear. I have two sons, both grown and on their own. Of all the things I have been called in my life, Dad is by far the greatest.

When my oldest son was seven years old, I was principal of a new school, totally consumed with the daily tasks that seemed never-ending. On a daily basis I was overwhelmed, stressed, and filled with self-doubt. While working at home one evening, my son asked,” Dad, what would you like for Father’s Day?” In a seemingly dismissive tone I replied, “Just draw me a picture.” When I thought about it later that evening, it seemed perfect.

For many of us who leave our homes in the morning to shouts and shrieks of little voices, it is easy to breathe a sigh of relief when we are on our way to work. Yet, there is no better end to a hectic day than to arrive in time for dinner to the cry of “Dad, you’re home!”

Those of us who are home with our children on a regular basis, often fail to appreciate the wonderful opportunity we have been given. We become part of the daily cartoons, re-reading the favorite book again and again, and falling asleep with our little munchkins since they wanted us to lay with them “for a few minutes” at bedtime.

   We can easily get derailed and wrapped up in the various work and life stressors, frequently dismissing the energy our children exude because “we’ve had a rough day.” We lecture our children about toys being left on the floor, failing to realize that the workbench several feet away has been messier for a much greater period, all the while, the laundry piles get larger.

Years ago, I was told that the key to being a good teacher is to never stop being a student. Therefore, when I look back at my childhood, I come face to face with the image of myself as a rambunctious and hyper boy waiting for his dad to come from ten days at sea as a deep-sea fisherman. My father was the model that I could only hope to resemble because we always knew we were the most important part of his life. Perhaps, from his gentle caring way, I learned that what it takes to be there for our children requires more than just showing up in time for dinner.

If someone had asked me 20 years ago what my greatest possessions were I may have referenced a house, car, wardrobe, books, and other items in keeping with the time. These were the ‘medals of success’. Now, as I open a large beautifully bound scrapbook on a bookshelf, I see various pictures drawn and coloured by my boys just for me. At the top of each, in crayon, is written, “To Dad”. Certainly, no Order of Canada could be held in higher regard than those treasures that were drawn … just for me.

As reflection pulls me back in, I see the end of a strenuous evening of the boys at play. Lego pieces litter the floor, with bedtime stories read and teeth brushed, the boys would head off to bed. My then 3-year-old would go into his own bed, yet most nights around midnight he would make his nightly pilgrimage and wind up in my bed. My 7-year-old, who grew more independent with each passing day, would say goodnight then ask if I would like to lay down with him “just for a little while.”

As parents and guardians, we seem to search through the struggles of raising our children for validation and fulfillment. It is a constant effort to provide direction and guidance, when, at times, it is us who need direction and guidance most.

We have come to realize that there are no magic words we can utter that will give us the perfect coping mechanism for the trials of parenting. Rather, we must each search for the “medals” our children have presented to us and display them proudly.    My nightly ritual was simple: I would go into my boys’ rooms, pull the blankets over them again, with the realization that it was up to me to be the difference in their lives, just as my father was for me.