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By Dale Kiefer
Anyone old enough to recall the death, if not the life, of president John F. Kennedy can probably tell you where they were the moment they first learned of his death. Plunged into mourning, a traumatized nation huddled around televisions and radios in homes and beer halls across the land to witness the grim spectacle of his funeral. For most of us a single image from that protracted period of mourning is burned indelibly in memory: a young John Jr. bravely toddling forward from his mother's side to salute his father's flag-draped coffin. Barely old enough to comprehend his loss, little John reminded us all of the depth of the tragedy. His loss was our loss. Although I was a young child, barely older than John Jr. at the time, the image of his salute resonated with me, as it did with countless millions around the world. Our grief was compounded by this heartbreaking reminder: We had lost a beloved leader, but John and Caroline had just lost their daddy. The bond between a parent and child is sacred. Anything that violates that bond - be it illness, accident, neglect, or assassination - is nothing less than tragic. If you are not a Boomer you may not feel much of a connection with the Kennedys. I've heard complaints from some too young to have experienced the Kennedy saga personally. They've griped about all the fuss over John Jr.'s death. Perhaps one day they will understand. Perhaps one day they will have children of their own. Fatherhood makes you softer. There's no use denying it. To have a child is to become vulnerable, perhaps even sentimental, where once you were merely disinterested, or even cynical. As a father, what once would have failed to affect you as an unencumbered young man suddenly has the power to tug at heartstrings you didn't even know you had. It's no coincidence that mythical, steely-eyed heroes like James Bond are single, unattached men. Can you imagine Bond with a baby? Of course not. How would he kill with detachment when the need arose? How would he act with brutal decisiveness if his judgment were clouded by conscience or sentimentality? Nothing can be leveraged against his loyalty because he has no ties to anything but his mission. Call me sentimental; there's no denying it. Having children all but turned me into a simpering softie. I cried when president Kennedy died. And I'm crying now that his only surviving son is gone. I have a new perspective on the value of a father's love, and the pain that must have lived deep within young John Jr., growing up without a dad. Go To Page: 1 2
The copyright of the article Fatherhood can break your heart in Expectant Fathers is owned by Dale Kiefer. Permission to republish Fatherhood can break your heart in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.
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