The use of a father

Sometimes, fathers leave. 

Some are then mourned while others are only cursed, but all absent fathers are missed. 
In trying to answer the burning questions left in now-abandoned hearts, good-intentioned souls list the benefits of fatherhood for a child: 
physical protection, economic provision, and a male role-model. 
The rest, it is all too often assumed, can be fulfilled by Mother.

Is this true?

Is Father essentially only the starting gun in a child’s life and, thereafter, a “help?”

I think of my father. How has he been useful to me?

This is an absurd question. Immediately I am repulsed by its utilitarian ethos.

What then, is Father? Who is Father? 
My father teases me like a brother, like a Father. My father discusses world politics with matter-of-fact blunt truth, like a lifelong friend, like a Father. My father kisses the top of my head like a lover, like a Father. My father walks with me in the dark, like a guard, like a Father. My father receives my affectionate embrace, like a child, like a Father. He is not singular in his actions, but he is not the same as the others. My father is neither lover, friend, brother, guard, or child.

What then, is Father? Who is Father? What makes this man my Father?

I must begin, obviously, with life itself. From there, his base genetic material flows to me and brings with it his illnesses and ailments of mind and body, as well as his strength. He also provides material possessions; it is true, such as clothing and shelter. But we are dealing with persons here, not possessions. 

Who is the person of Father? Who would I be without my father?
I cannot consider myself without him. Father is much more than protector, provider, or teacher. What have I learned from my father? This is a strange question to me. He has taught me many things, I suppose, but I do not see him as Teacher. He is Father.

By his life, his love, he has shown me what it is to be a man. My father has shown me that people are simple and selfish, but with love, with God, we can change. We can do amazing things. But we must be patient. My father has shown me that worry is useless, what is needed is trust. My father has shown me that I can stand on my own two feet as long as I am on a firm foundation.

But all of these lessons that lead to valuable life skills are still nothing. These thoughts and ideas are ants compared to the lion’s share of what he has truly, really given me. His presence in my life cannot be confined to what he gives or says or does to me.

My father is the man I love. 

By loving him, I come to see him ever more as he is. By loving him, I have learned to cherish quirkiness, joy, history, plurality, perseverance, honesty, manliness, womanliness; more importantly, I have learned to cherish myself. Every time he listened to my questions, thanked me for making dinner, apologized for his temper, reprimanded my carelessness, shared about his history, or held my hand as I fell asleep, this man taught my heart where it came from. He has made me to feel safe and confident, not because he gave me a house and an education, but because he gave me love. By his choosing, daily, to be a present father, I have the opportunity to be present to him. I have the opportunities that so many lack, to serve, obey, impress and be praised by, a good man. I become who I am in loving him and receiving his love.

Let me imagine… without him? Without him I have no world. Without him my mother is alone. Without him my heart burns to know, why was I not good enough to be present to? Why does my creator not wish to cherish me? How can anyone be trusted to keep their promise if the promise of a child means nothing to this man? How am I to succeed in this world that leaves women abandoned?

How can I ever thank my father enough for never leaving me? He is the anointing of my life, the sweetness in my smile, and the temper to my glass heart. I love him because he has first loved me, and when I see his graying, bespectacled face I want to cover it with a million kisses. His weariness fills me with a pulsing need to serve him. His dedication overcomes me with gratitude. I want to give, and give, and give, to this man who has made me a woman. 

How is he useful to me? This is an absurd question.