We had a difficult time naming our son. His middle name was a quick and easy decision. He is named after his Grandpa, my dad (more on that to come) but it was really important to me that our son have his own first name. No matter how great our son's namesake is, it was really important to me that he be identified by his own name because, as much as I would like him to be like his grandfather, I want him to carve out a place in the world with his own name. So, we named him Timothy which means "honoring God'. If I were only allowed to pray for one thing for my son, it would be that he would choose to live his life bringing honor and glory to God. That he would know God as his father and that he would live a blessed life as a result of honoring God in all he says and does. I wish I were better at that.... I desperately want my son to be better than me.
Timothy's middle names are William Josef. William means "determined guardian" and Josef means "God will add, God will increase". As amazing as both those meanings are, we did not give Timothy those names because of their meanings. We gave him those names because of the man with those names who came before him. In my humble opinion, my dad is an amazing man. He came to Canada when he was 19 years old with a grade 8 education and unable to speak any English. He worked hard and made a life for himself, and for his family. He always provided for our family, usually more than we needed. He taught my sisters and I to be strong, smart, loving, determined, educated women (with my mom's help, of course ;) ). I appreciate the life that my dad provided for me and the example that he set. But more than all of that, as I look back at my life and at my current life, I appreciate who my dad is as a person and what he means to me. My dad loves me. Never once in my life have I ever doubted that. As an insecure kid, my dad would sit me in front of the mirror before school and make me say "I am just as good and just as smart as all the other kids". I eventually believed it, not because I repeated it so much, but because I knew my dad believed it. My dad moved part of his construction company to western Canada when I was younger and as a result, he had to miss my birthday one year. The next year, as my birthday drew new, he was out west again. I cried. He caught a plane and came home for my birthday. When I was in Jr High, I began to get involved in sports. My dad came to the majority of my games and cheered so loud that other parents in the crowd were concerned that he would have a heart attack. When I was pregnant with Lillian, we had some devastating news that she might not make it full term. The day after I found out, my dad had a bad accident and ended up in the hospital with a fractured skull. Two days after that I got some test results back that indicated that Lillian was most likely ok. It was not a 100% guarantee and I was still feeling a little nervous. I went to the hospital to visit my dad that day. After telling him about the results, I remember very clearly my dad looking at me and saying, "Those are good odds. I'd take them". That was the moment that I felt like everything was going to be alright.
I trust my dad because he has never given me any reason not to. I love my dad because he has always shown me love through the time he spent with me. I talk to my dad because he always wants to talk to me. I love being around my dad because he always smiles when I walk into a room. I love asking my dad for advice because he always gives me his best. I love giving my dad gifts because he never expects them but always appreciates them. I once found a folder in my dad's desk that had notes and pictures that my sisters and I had given him over the years as we were growing up. My dad and I do not often hug. We rarely tell eachother "I love you". But, there is no doubt in my mind that my dad loves me, my mom and my sisters.
I want my son to be like that.
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