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by Phil Callaway
One of the joys of writing books and syndicated articles about the crazy things that go on in your house is that readers write asking for advice. For instance, here is a letter from Dave in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada:
Dear Phil,
Over the years I’ve enjoyed reading the stories you write about your children. But I hope you’re exaggerating. You see, my wife is due in a month, and I’m a little frightened. No, I’m a LOT frightened. In fact, sometimes I’d give anything to back out. I’m 21, and it’s like my life is over. Friends of ours had their first 
child a year ago, and they’ve hardly slept since. They rarely get out anymore, and when they do they have these monstrous bags under their eyes. They think he’s the cutest little guy on earth. I think he looks like ET. The husband changes diapers with a clothespin on his nose, and I’m sure I’ll be worse. I won’t have a clue what to do when the baby arrives. I haven’t picked up a kid in my life, and I’m scared to death I’ll drop this one. What I’d like to know is this: What can I do to prepare for fatherhood? Please answer—and please hurry.
Sleepless in Saskatchewan
Here is my response:
Dear Dave,
Congratulations! You are about to be welcomed into the Guys Who Can’t Believe We’re-Dads Club. When I got married, fatherhood was the farthest thing from my mind. In fact, I found kids disgusting. My older brother had a few. One Thanksgiving dinner I watched them stuff peas in their ears and corn down their diapers. They blew things out their noses, and then they wanted a kiss. And—you guessed it—their mother gave them one.
I was on the sofa sleeping off a turkey hangover when my 1-year-old nephew waddled into the room and brought a ripe diaper to rest on my forehead. I made a vow that day: I will have children just as soon as cows produce root beer.
But then one night my wonderful wife stood before me in some rather expensive lingerie and said, “Honey, let’s have kids—tons of them.”
And it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Eight months later I found myself in prenatal class. I was twenty-five years old when they taught me how to breathe, Dave. The instructor handed me a tennis ball. “Rub her back with this in the delivery room,” she said. “It will provide peace and serenity, a sense of oneness with each other and the universe.” I thought to myself, I bet Solomon never went to prenatal class.
May 31, 1986 was a Saturday. My friends played softball that day. I paced a hospital hallway with my wife. Or at least I think it was my wife. But whereas Ramona had always been rather sweet and soft-spoken, this woman was more like Attila the Hun in a hospital gown.
“RUB MY BACK!” she commanded.
I pulled out the tennis ball.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she hollered.
This continued for about—well—fourteen years. Until I found myself face-to-face with the first miracle I’d ever witnessed: my firstborn son. I held him close, Dave. I touched his tiny fingers and counted his toes—all 10 of them. I looked into his eyes. They were blue like mine. “Stephen,” said my wife with the widest smile I’d ever seen on her face.
And something happened then.
As I looked into those blue eyes, it was like someone smacked me upside the head and said, “Callaway, for the first 25 years of your life you’ve been a hypocrite. You’ve been close to the church but far from God. You are holding in your arms the one little guy you’ll never be able to hide it from. If you think he won’t see it, you’re naive. If you think he won’t learn from what he sees, think again.”
People ask me when I became a Christian. I say May 31, 1986. You see, that night, for the first time in my life, I bowed my head and said, “Dear God, I’m sorry. Make me real. I want my precious little boy to hunger and thirst after righteousness. I want him to love Jesus with everything he’s got. If he won’t learn to from me, he has two strikes against him already.”
And I meant every word, Dave.
It’s been slow going sometimes, but I believe God heard that prayer. Five years later this same little boy looked up at me one night and said, “Daddy, I wanna be like you,” and tears came to my eyes.
I don’t have all the child-rearing answers for you, Dave. But I do know this: If you want your child to love God, you love Him first. If you want your son to obey, be obedient to the still small voice of God. And if you want your life to be changed forever, have children. Tons of them.
P.S. Don’t forget the clothespins.
~ Phil Callaway is an award-winning author and speaker, known worldwide for his humorous yet perceptive look at life. He is the best-selling author of fifteen books including Laughing Matters, Who Put My Life On Fast Forward?, I Used to Have Answers…Now I Have Kids, Making Life Rich Without Any Money, and Honey, I Dunked the Kids. Phil's writings have been translated into languages like Polish, Chinese, Spanish, German, Dutch, Indonesian, and English (one of which he speaks fluently!) (Read an article about him.)
*Article used by permission
Related Reading
To read more about life balance, check out Who Put My Life on Fast Forward?
Visit Phil Callaway's website
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Check out Phil's book, Golfing With the Master where Phil demonstrates how you can enjoy the great game of golf while enriching your life. A great Father's Day gift idea!
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