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The father of the groom

Tomorrow my son gets married.

Joe.

  • My young lad who was brought us such a complex mixture of joy, laughter, frustrations, tears.
  • The smiling toddler who could charm the socks off anyone and drive his parents to distraction with his outrageous tantrums.
  • The enigmatic schoolboy who could reach dizzy heights of performance and achievement, yet waste hours playing mindless computer games.
  • The intrepid unicyclist who powered from one end of the country to the other.
  • The budding thespian who would have us all in fits of laughter with his unique blending of Shakespeare, Star Wars and Lord of the Rings…

So I, a proud and (at times) perplexed father can look back over the past 23 years with love and gratitude, and look forward to seeing how this next stage of his life pans out.

 

Of brides and grooms

Two and a half years ago, my daughter Esther got married. What a different experience that was. Esther, in her bubbly, outgoing, organised way, had everything in hand, had discussed all the plans with me as they unfolded, I felt engaged and involved, a part of the proceedings. The bride, quite rightly, is the centre of all attention. As her father, I had my feelings of overwhelming emotion and pride as I walked her down the aisle and ‘gave her away’. I had my moments of nostalgia and fun as I gave my speech as the father of the bride. I had my fatherly feelings of nurture and protection: would Rob really be good enough for my daughter? Would he truly love and cherish her? What joys, challenges and adventures would life send their way?

With Joe’s wedding, everything somehow feels very different. It’s not just their different personalities, but somehow Joe and Rebecca seem to have just got on with the preparations, and I, with the exception of the occasional dip into the paternal wallet, have been somewhere out of the loop.

Tomorrow, all eyes will be on Rebecca, and rightly so. She will be the one walking down the aisle, on her father’s arm, the centre of attention – a beautiful, bubbly, fiery, red-haired bride (they do say that men tend to find something of their mother in their choice of partner!). Joe, by contrast, is almost an appendage – a bit of a sideline to the main show, important, but not centre stage.

And the father of the groom?

I will have my moments of emotion. I will still feel a mixture of pride, joy, wonder (is he really good enough for her? Will they truly love and cherish each other? What joys, challenges and adventures will life send their way?) But I will do so very much off-stage, cheering them both on, wishing them every blessing in their new life together.

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On watching my children move away from home

 

Last week, my daughter Esther cleared up everything in her room (well almost), packed it into her car, and left home to start her new life as a working and soon-to-be-married woman in Nottingham.

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This week, while I am engaging with child protection specialists from around the world at the ISPCAN congress in Calgary, my son Joe, has cleared up his room and set off for his new life as a working man in Harpenden.

My two children – those little babies whom I held so close in tender moments of fatherly love; or threw into the air, screaming with delight; those lively, growing individuals with whom I shared fun family games, and exciting holidays; those independent, strong personalities who caused such anguish with their stroppy moods and sullen teenage grunts.

As I helped Esther carry boxes down to her car, and again this morning as I sent an email to Joe, I found myself once more in a jumble of emotions: fatherly pride at the amazing young people they have grown to be; tears of nostalgia, joy and heartache as I think back on their wonderful childhoods and all we shared as a family; sadness that Helen isn’t here to share it with me and to encourage them on their way; strong hopes for their futures and all those hold: all the love, the joy and the pain of being a parent.

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And I shall return to a different home and a new phase of our family life – filled with a sense of blessing at the privilege I have been given to be a father.