What dads do

I am the sixth of seven children, the fifth girl. When my mom was at the hospital delivering me, my brother, Joe, an only boy among four girls, was anxiously standing by the phone awaiting the news of my arrival and so hoping for a little brother. A boy was expected; the name “Michael” selected. It was looking to fall Joe’s way.

Alas, the phone rang, Joe picked it up, and before anyone else could respond, he clunked it back into the receiver with great 6-year-old dismay and said — and I quote — “Another dumb girl!” Thus, my welcome into the universe.

That story has been told repeatedly in my family with great affection, because, of course, I was anything but another dumb girl. I have my father to thank for much of my understanding that, despite my brother’s initial proclamation, not only wasn’t I dumb, I might just be something special, something to celebrate.

For example, when contemplating graduate school, I was swaying dramatically back and forth between pursuing a life of writing or a life in law. My father had been a judge for nearly 20 years and an attorney for another 20 years before that. Two of my siblings practice law and most of my siblings married lawyers or someone serving in a legislature. The law was something I had admired and appreciated my whole life.

As I talked with my dad about this decision, I was filled with anxiety about making the right choice. What if I chose poorly? Would my life be ruined?

He listened and after a thoughtful pause, he said, “Of my children, I think you would make a very good lawyer. You love to reason and to make an argument and you would be very good at that.” He paused again and I thought he was finished, but then he added: “But when you write, I don’t even know where that comes from.” His voice was sincere, reverent, a little pleased. “It seems to me,” he went on, “that that is something very special.”

I have often thought of that moment and wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier for my father to encourage me in law, something he knew so well and had mastered himself. Instead, he gave me permission, not only to be who I was and to pursue the unique gifts I’d been given, but perhaps even more important, to be different from him, to choose a life that would be vastly unlike his. He anointed me that day with the kind of affirmation and exhortation only a father can bestow, and it has shaped my life for the better in countless ways.

I read somewhere not long ago that scientists have figured out a way to fertilize a woman’s egg with a little help from chemicals using only matter from the bodies of women — sperm is no long necessary. Men are obsolete — or so the article quipped — for life to continue. Leaving the medical ethics of such an experiment aside, let me speak directly to fathers everywhere: You will never, ever be obsolete. Your children will always need you to speak your blessing and affirmation over them, to help give their hopes and dreams life. And in this way, you are in the image and likeness of God the Father. What could be more necessary, more sacred?

Father of all creation, thank you for the gift of my father’s life and the infinite ways he has given me life and blessing. I pray that all fathers would know the great sanctity of their fatherhood and the inexhaustible ways that they bestow life and priceless benediction.

Kelly is the award-winning author of nine books, including the just released “Love Like A Saint: Cultivating Virtue with Holy Women.” Visit her website at lizk.org.