Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Unsung Hero (12/07/06)
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TITLE: The Love of a Father | Previous Challenge Entry
By Michelle Knoll
12/14/06 -
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The father's proud expression softened into sadness as he thought on those words again: his son. "My son," he half mumbled to himself, as he put away the polishing rag. Well, actually, his wife's son. Though he loved that boy with all his heart, he was never able to get away from the fact that the boy was not truly his. Granted, he was the only father the boy had ever known, and the bond between them was very strong. However, there was still this "distance," though neither of them really wanted it.
Perhaps it was because there were others who just wouldn't let them forget that they weren't blood relation. The neighbors in the village where he had met his wife would always make them uncomfortable when they visited. "So," they would ask him, "how is your oldest doing?" Or they would emphasize, "He looks so much like your wife." They had a knack for reminding everyone that the boy didn't really belong to him. The comments stung his heart, and brought pain to his wife. He had made the choice to remain with her, though everyone that knew his family had been so opposed to the idea. Even his own parents hadn't really understood why he was so intent on marrying her, once they had found out her baby wasn't his. He tried his best to explain, but they just couldn't seem to grasp the situation.
The father knew the villagers' statements also stung in his son's heart. Still, the lad always remained kind, with a grace that far exceeded what any other person could have possibly mustered under such conditions. His attitude only served to make the father even more proud of him. Dwelling on this caused the smile to return to the dad's face.
"You're daydreaming again..."
Hearing the familiar voice behind him quickly brought him back to the present. He hadn't realized he had been standing motionless, lost in thought.
"I was just admiring your work. This is a fine piece of furniture, son, and it will bring you a pretty price." The dad smiled at the boy standing in the doorway.
The lad walked from the doorway over to where his father was standing. Studying the table, he commented, "Yes, it came out nice, didn't it? But only because you taught me so well."
Their eyes met as the father looked down at the son, though he didn't have to look down very far. At sixteen, the boy was almost his father's height. "Those eyes," the father thought. "They seem to belong to someone so much older, someone full of so much wisdom."
The father glanced down at the floor of the workshop. "Well, I haven't taught you all the things I feel I should have." He always felt so inadequate as a father, with all of their children, but especially with this one. Even though the father had gained much experience through the years, he still felt like…like such a failure.
"Dad, why do you belittle yourself? You've been a great father," the son spoke reassuringly. "You've taught me plenty, and I'll never forget all you've said. You'll always be my hero."
Those words melted the dad's heart, and seemed to echo throughout his whole being. Smiling at his son, he thought, "Yes, your hero. Your unsung hero."
Mary had been standing at the door, watching and listening. She so admired Joseph for the way he loved Jesus. No man had ever been a better father, especially for one not of his own flesh.
"Come on, you two," she chuckled. "Time to wash up for supper."
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