As a kid, I remember my dad spending a lot of time with me. We played board games, basketball in the driveway, built a tree house and worked together every Saturday. I recall his lectures about men needing to do things that aren’t always fun. I remember waking up each morning to find him sitting in the brown chair, ready for the day, coffee in hand and reading his Bible. Every day! I remember seeing him at each of my high school cross country and track meets, sometimes shouting at me to run harder. The funny thing about all those memories is that I don’t ever recall thinking, at the time that my dad was so great. He was simply my dad. He was there. He was present. Shoot, at times he was downright annoying. He was just my dad.

Fast forward a few decades. The reflections of my dad are the same, yet different, because now I see them through the eyes of a father. When I think about the birth of my own son, I remember how I was overwhelmed with love. My tears fell softly on his blanket the first time I held him in my arms. It was at that moment I realized how much my dad must love me.

A few years later when Finn was four, he was helping me with some home improvement projects. Armed with tool belts, we worked side by side. Finn, always eager to help, reached down and squeezed the caulk gun with all his might, shooting caulk all over the floor. Instinctively I yelled, “Finn! Agh! Don’t DO that!”

It was at that moment that a flood of memories rushed into my mind of similar comments my dad made to me. Comments usually followed up with apologies. I remembered how he would say to me, “Joel, I want you to be a better man than me someday.” I didn’t pay much attention back then, but, wow, I’m listening now.

With all this happening in my mind, I noticed my son shrinking away from me. Teary-eyed, I heard him say, in a timid yet resolute voice, that he wasn’t gonna help me anymore if I was gonna yell at him. I immediately stopped working. I bent down and hugged him and with tears in my own eyes, I apologized. I told him I don’t like getting yelled at either and promised I would try real hard not to do it again. My son bounced back quickly and asked to work the saw, to which I gently told him, “Nice try, kiddo.” I didn’t bounce back as quickly.

I have plenty of memories of my dad as I was growing up. He wasn’t perfect nor was he always cool. (Seriously— black dress socks with his running shoes!). Even though I didn’t realize it at the time, he was an amazing dad and still is today. He was there. He was real. My dad taught me the value of hard work and of apologies. He showed me that being present is far more important than being perfect. I’m thankful for how he helped to shape me as a man and for how he supported me in every way. There are so many reasons why I love him.

Now that I’m a dad, I hope to teach my son many of the same things. I hope my son remembers hearing me say, “Finn, I want you to be a better man than me someday.”