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	<title>Comments on: Fatherhood</title>
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	<link>http://www.mckeeth.org/2004/10/fatherhood/</link>
	<description>Jim McKeeth's blog about everything else</description>
	<pubDate>Fri, 05 Dec 2008 01:02:29 +0000</pubDate>
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		<title>By: Elizabeth</title>
		<link>http://www.mckeeth.org/2004/10/fatherhood/#comment-8</link>
		<dc:creator>Elizabeth</dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Nov 2004 15:46:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.mckeeth.org/2004/10/fatherhood/#comment-8</guid>
		<description>It's a belated comment, for which I'm sorry.  I read this weeks ago and meant to reply when I had time to be thoughtful.  -- an indication, I suppose, of how rarely I get such time.  

Both the post and the comment that followed say so much about what it means to be a parent.

I remember the first time I looked at Mary feeling the predictable overhwleming joy -- and that it rode in on a crest of sadness.  For the first time in my life I was completely and utterly vulnerable. I knew that if anything ever happened to her I could never be okay again.  Who cares about your damn jacket when your kid is bleeding?  Who cares about ANYTHING when your kid is bleeding?  If your kid isn't okay, you're not okay.  How terrifying that two years of this has exhausted me and God willing, I have a lifetime of it ahead.  She'll be seventy and I still won't be okay if she isn't okay.</description>
		<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>It&#8217;s a belated comment, for which I&#8217;m sorry.  I read this weeks ago and meant to reply when I had time to be thoughtful.  &#8212; an indication, I suppose, of how rarely I get such time.  </p>
<p>Both the post and the comment that followed say so much about what it means to be a parent.</p>
<p>I remember the first time I looked at Mary feeling the predictable overhwleming joy &#8212; and that it rode in on a crest of sadness.  For the first time in my life I was completely and utterly vulnerable. I knew that if anything ever happened to her I could never be okay again.  Who cares about your damn jacket when your kid is bleeding?  Who cares about ANYTHING when your kid is bleeding?  If your kid isn&#8217;t okay, you&#8217;re not okay.  How terrifying that two years of this has exhausted me and God willing, I have a lifetime of it ahead.  She&#8217;ll be seventy and I still won&#8217;t be okay if she isn&#8217;t okay.</p>
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		<title>By: Anonymous</title>
		<link>http://www.mckeeth.org/2004/10/fatherhood/#comment-7</link>
		<dc:creator>Anonymous</dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Nov 2004 12:52:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.mckeeth.org/2004/10/fatherhood/#comment-7</guid>
		<description>It is interesting that you chose to send me this story.  IT almost makes me cry.  Believe it or not, this is one of my fondest memories of him.  

Since when I actually fell we were alone on the top of the mountain, I was the one who told Dad his jacket was being ruined as he carried me down.  What he said was that I was more important than his jacket.  You and I both know that we rarely had nice things growing up and that there was even more care to be taken around something nice for Dad's (this was something Mom impressed on us).  At the time, being told I was more important that a jacket was better than being told that he loved me -- I was being shown that he did. 

Thanks for sharing this with me.

Amanda (I don't have a Blog account that's why I'm posting anonymous)</description>
		<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>It is interesting that you chose to send me this story.  IT almost makes me cry.  Believe it or not, this is one of my fondest memories of him.  </p>
<p>Since when I actually fell we were alone on the top of the mountain, I was the one who told Dad his jacket was being ruined as he carried me down.  What he said was that I was more important than his jacket.  You and I both know that we rarely had nice things growing up and that there was even more care to be taken around something nice for Dad&#8217;s (this was something Mom impressed on us).  At the time, being told I was more important that a jacket was better than being told that he loved me &#8212; I was being shown that he did. </p>
<p>Thanks for sharing this with me.</p>
<p>Amanda (I don&#8217;t have a Blog account that&#8217;s why I&#8217;m posting anonymous)</p>
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