When I grow up I want to be a fireman. (Tommy, an eight year old inner city child)

That was the newspaper’s “Quote of the Day” and it didn’t make any sense to me.
What was so significant about this child’s statement? I probably read it three more
times until I realized I had been reading it incorrectly.

He hadn’t said, “When I grow up I want to be a fireman.”

He had said, “If I grow up I want to be a fireman.”

Then I understood why it was the quote of the day, that day back in 1983. It was
sad that a child would be wondering whether or not he’d ever get to grow up at all.

Baruch Hashem most of our children look forward confidently, with bitachon,
to growing up. They dream of becoming morahs, rebbeim, professionals,
entrepreneurs, and mommies.

Have you ever asked a little boy what he wants to be when he grows up and heard
him answer, “I want to be a father.”

I’m not sure that my father-in-law, may he live and be well, was ever asked that
question when he was child. I suspect he may have wondered, in the late 1930’s
before he escaped Europe, whether or not he’d get to grow up at all.

He became a businessman, a craftsman, his shul’s founder and president, and
chazzan. He worked hard for his community and his livelihood. He’s retired now.

He retired from being the chazzan, temporarily, a long time ago.

Can you imagine why the long time chazzan of a shul would suddenly announce
that he is not willing to doven at the amud for the foreseeable future? There had
been no disputes, no complaints, and he was feeling fine. Why would someone so
invested in and dedicated to his shul become unwilling to lead the dovening?

He hadn’t really become unwilling to lead the dovening. He had found something
more important to do instead. He explained that when his son became a first
grader, it was more important to be a father dovening next to his child than a
chazzan dovening at the amud. This way he could help his child keep the place,
and be there for his child to lean on when keeping the place was hard and he
needed a break.

The Torah describes the gathering of all the people for Hakhel. We were
commanded to bring the men, the women, and the taf. Bring the taf? If you bring
the tinokos they’ll sleep much of time. If you bring the y’ladim they’ll play together
much of the time. Who demands more of their parents’ attention than taf, the so
called “terrible twos and threes.” Bring the taf? Why bring toddlers to Hakhel?
Wouldn’t their learning be better if the parents could focus on the Torah being
taught at Hakhel without the distraction of toddlers?

Rav Nosson Adler explains that yes, parents could learn more at hakhel if they
didn't have to attend to and be distracted by their children. The lesson is that
parents are expected to sacrifice some of their own growth in Torah in order to help
their children. (Iturei Torah, volume 6, page 196)

Fathers are expected to make sacrifices for their children.

What does that mean? Doesn’t every father work hard in order to provide for his
children, isn’t that what his life is mostly about?

Here are one father’s thoughts on this subject:

This may sound like such a cliché, but it’s really true. My children have so much
more than my brothers and sisters and me ever had. They have new clothing
instead of hand-me-downs, their own machzorim instead of the worn-out shul ones
we used to use, summer camps instead of stick ball on the street, things we never
even dreamed of let alone asked for when we were growing up. You’re asking me
when I spend time with my kids? I spend so much time working so I can give all
this to my kids; when do you think I could spend time with them?

We’ve heard this somewhere before, a very long time ago. The bnei Gad and
the bnei Reuven presented this idea to Moshed Rabeinu. They said they’d set up
ranches to provide support for their children. Rashi points out that they were more
concerned about their possessions than about their sons and daughters, since they
spoke first about their livestock and then about their children. Moshe Rabeinu told
them that the children have to come first.

The message for us is that what we do together with our children is as important,
sometimes more important, than what we do for them.

But boys don’t grow up dreaming of becoming fathers, learning what to do with
their children. They only learn what to do for them.

Women grow up understanding that being a mom, being with your children, is part
of your life even when there are other parts.

You may have heard of a magazine called Working Mother. Did you ever notice
that there’s no magazine called Working Father?

In his office at the Magazine Innovation Center at the University of Mississippi
journalism school, Dr. Samir Husni keeps a stack of magazines including American
Dad, and Fathers and Dads.

All quickly died.

“The biggest problem is that American dads don’t think of themselves as dads. They
think of themselves as men,” Dr. Husni said in a telephone interview. (New York
Times, February 10, 2013)

So what can you do? You’ve tried to spend time with your son. You’ve attempted
to engage him in conversation.

How was school?

End of conversation.

Here’s the alternative. Tell your child something that happened to you today first,
or something you did, or noticed; even something you think is insignificant. Show
your child that he’s significant by telling him something, anything, that was part of
your day.

You’ll be subtly teaching him that you want to hear something from him, even
something he considers unimportant about his day, because he is important to you.

It’s true; you don’t make a living at being a parent. You make a life.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor with
specialties in marriage, relationships, and parenting. He works with parents and
educators, and conducts parenting seminars for shuls and organizations. He can be
reached at 718-344-6575.