A Meditation on Father’s Day
By Jared Elzey, VP of Programs at Nurture the Next
For context, my wife and I have three kids; a son who is 12 and twin daughters who are 10. I don't work directly with families like most of the amazing team at Nurture the Next. My job is to encourage them and making it easier to fulfill what they feel called to do.
For Father's Day, I'd like to highlight a statement I came across shortly before our daughters were born. It's from an author of a book about parenthood. I don't remember who, where the interview came from, or the book, but the statement was this:
Parenthood is the process of being replaced.
It's a blunt statement about mortality. It's not a comfortable meditation. Most people avoid spending any time on it. But the message stuck with me and became my meditation as we raise our kids. By becoming a father, I've learned that parenthood is mortality in a broad sense; previous identities need to make room for this new one, some need to die, and many are reluctant to give way. Many future identities that had always seemed compatible collapsed in the face of my new relationships with my kids. Parenthood is a process, a path lined with metaphorical memorials and ending at a very real gravestone.
My mom died after our daughters turned one, and my dad a little after they turned eight. In my experience, fathers have a harder time accepting this perspective than mothers, maybe because of societal constraints around masculinity, fatherhood, and entitlement. That, in turn, can create alienating and destructive relationships. But embracing that my role as a father includes being replaced by my children has offered me an ever-growing source of compassion and attention to the moment.
The average human lifespan is 4,000 weeks. Precious little of that will be spent in the physical presence of my children, and that's a best-case scenario. I don't know which morning will be the start of my last day, so how can I squander this time with them on what, in the end, are petty complaints and superficial concerns? I cannot wait for a better tomorrow in which I will be a better dad because I don't know how many tomorrows there are. Even if I get a full life, I will at some point be replaced as the person that shapes their days- by them. What will matter is the relationship I've cultivated with them.
That will characterize whatever remains of my 4,000 weeks.
Fatherhood was my way into this perspective, but any caregiver's relationship with a child offers the same chance. This belief connects me to Nurture the Next.
Suppose we broaden our focus to realize that adulthood is the inevitable process of being replaced by the next generation and that they, too, will experience this mortality. How can we spend any energy on what is petty and superficial? How can we choose to do anything but help make things better for them so they can do even better for those that follow them when we're gone?
That is how I interpret our mission.