How a Son Sees His Father at Every Age

At five years old, your dad is your superhero. He's the strongest and cleverest man on the planet. He lifts you with one arm, fixes anything that breaks and knows the answer to everything. Nothing is scary next to him. Not the dark, not monsters, not thunder. You want to grow up to be exactly like him at five years old. At 10 years old, dad is the defender. He's the one you run to when someone hurts you outside, when the bike breaks, or when you need a yes for something that matters, he's still a hero. But he is no longer a magician. You start to notice that he gets tired and that sometimes he does not know either, but behind him, it's still safe. At 15 years old, dad understands nothing. His advice is old. His rules drive you mad and his jokes are not funny. You tell him you don't get me and leave me alone. You are sure you are smarter than him and would do fine without him. And you never notice how much your silence hurts him. At 20, dad is somewhere in the background. You're busy building your own life with study, friends, first love, first money. He calls you and you decline with, I'll ring you back later. He texts and you answer in one word. And every single day he waits for a simple, hey dad, how are you? And he doesn't get that text. At 25, it turns out he was right. The advice that annoyed you works and the warnings came true. What sounded like nagging was experienced all along. You start calling him yourself, asking and listening. He was never behind the times. He had just walked the road before you and he was trying to save you from the potholes. At 30, dad becomes a person. He's not a superhero or God. He's a man who was scared, who got things wrong, who did not know the right way either. He worked the job he hated so you could have a childhood and he kept his own pain quiet so you would never carry it. You finally see him as he is and you love him more for it. At 40, time is running out. You notice the gray hair, the slower walks, the pauses when he loses a word. It hits you that he will not be here forever. So now you count the visits. You hug him harder, say the things you put off for years. One day there will be nobody left to say them to. After he's gone, dad lives inside you for good. You catch his gestures, his phrases and his look in your own mirror. You raise your own children and suddenly understand every choice he made and every silence he kept. He never really left. He is in your voice when you tell your children, don't be scared. I'm right here. So call him today if you can, not tomorrow and not on a holiday. Say the things you keep putting off or just ask dad, how are you? Those words mean the world to him more than you know.