Our last vacation found us camping at a state park in Texas. It has been an annual event for us over the last several years. In the spring, we set out with our good friends, all the necessary gear, and plenty of food. We enjoy all sorts of outdoor activities, but especially love the fire pit at night.
One of the activities that everyone enjoys is biking. Everyone has his or her own bike to ride in and around the park. With little exaggeration, every spare minute seems to find someone jumping on a bike and heading off for a trail. You can probably imagine that there have been a number of accidents along the way varying from the nearly tragic to the customary scrapes and bruises.
My wife was the accident victim this particular trip. On a seemingly simple ride over a familiar stretch of smooth, paved road, she took a mighty tumble. Due to the fickle and quickly changing Texas springtime weather, a jacket is often employed. While biking, my wife's jacket was removed and secured to the bike. In the blink of an eye, with the jacket caught in the front wheel, my wife found herself catapulted towards the road face first. The sight of the fall and the apparent injury was extremely distressing to our daughter.
Seeing "Mom" on the ground, coupled with a badly skinned up arm was almost more than she could handle as a youngster. The overwhelming emotion she experienced and displayed reminded me of my own heart and its similar hurts in the past.
You see, dads are not always as strong as they try to act. Strength and leadership are important parts of daddying, but sometimes those are compromised when it comes to our children. My daughter's hurt vividly reminded me of just that. Upon seeing my daughter's tear-filled eyes, I immediately remembered a couple of instances where I had similar reactions.
Once my two year old son had a friend over and they were playing together with toys in his room. A glance to his room saw this friend sitting atop my son and beating him with a toy as he lay there face down on the floor and crying. Another time also involved my son. He was no more than three or four years old. As he was again playing with friends, an older boy (about seven) hit him with a baseball bat. While it was a toy, plastic bat, I had walked outside just in time to see this boy take a huge swing and hit my son right in the stomach. My son fell to the ground and tried to catch his breath.
What was I, "Super Dad", feeling at both of those times? While I had to deal with my immediate anger, other emotions took over quickly. I felt just like my daughter when she saw her mother...helpless. My heart jumped into my throat. It was almost as though I was the one who had been hit. I hurt because my son hurt. And, I wanted to protect them from something that had already happened.
It was (and always is) a miserable feeling of helplessness. I can remember each time like it was just yesterday. My mind's eye can see it unfolding afresh and anew as I think about it. The truth is, my eyes get a little watery and my heart hurts all over again.
That's what a dad's goes through. As the protector, he's often reminded of the fact that he cannot always protect the way he would like. At those times, his heart shows its tender side and it helps him identify with his daughter's heart.
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