Happy Father's Day. First of all I want to thank all of you for this wonderful community here. I feel truly grateful to be a part of it, and my blessings have exponentially multiplied since I joined it. And I want to thank Reverend Margaret, Darius, Kelly, June, and Linda for making this the best and most gratifying job I have ever had.

I was deeply honored when I was asked to speak today about being a father. First of all because I have only been with you for such a short time unlike last year's speaker, Ray Osborne. To be honest, I wasn't sure I was up to the task. Secondly, because out of all the things I do, I believe that being a father is my most important job, even if I don't always live within the reality of that thought. I believe it is important because I know that when I'm gone from this place, my children are reflections of me, that continue on. They influence THEIR children, and indeed others and even the world in my stead. Chances are that if you are good to them, they will be good to others. And if you're bad to them....well. This makes it the greatest responsibility I have; and one that I worry that I don't always live up to.

After I was asked to speak today, I left my mind open to inspiration. I had a vague idea of what I would like to say, but no focus. It was while watching a friend in Camino Real Playhouse's production of "Into the Woods" that I found my focus. To butcher the plotline of that musical for my purposes today: the show is about your actions and responsibilities and how they affect the world around you, using fairy tales as the setting. Rapunzel's mother, the Witch, struggles through the show at first, trying to hold on so tightly to her child that Rapunzel is cloistered from the world, locked in a tower. Her efforts obviously fail her when the outside world inevitably intervenes and she loses her to it, not only physically, but emotionally as well. The Witch struggles through the rest of the show in bitterness of the betrayal by her daughter, only to realize in the end, that is was SHE who committed the betrayal but not allowing her freedom. And she sings a song about it, as they are want to do in musicals. That song as I was listening to it became the title of my talk: "Children Will Listen".

As parents, how many of you uttered the words "would you listen to me" or something like it to your children? Pretty universal stuff. One of my biggest frustrations as a parent is trying to impart what I know to my kids. Not that I'm especially wise, but they are a blank canvas and if you don't splash some paint on it once in a while, someone else will. And it seems like they ignore me a great deal of the time. Either they're busy playing while I'm talking, or Autumn will ask for a chocky milk in the middle of my point, or they do the opposite of what I just said right after I said it. *And don't get me started on Gavin; that little boy doesn't seem to understand a word I say.* But I know that they DO listen, even if sometimes their inner impulses push them to ignore it outwardly. I have heard them playing with their toys, where the daddy or mommy toy will tell the kid toys almost exact words out of my mouth, sometimes to my satisfaction, and many times to my horror. I mean, I don't really sound like that do I? I know I said that more gently than I just heard the King doll repeat it. But the truth is, my words are laying the foundation that my children WILL build their world on, just as surely as the words of my parents did the same for me.

I'd like to talk a little bit about my father for a moment. I grew up the last child in a family of 5 kids, but a 13 year age difference between me and my next youngest sib made it seem at times like I was an only child. My father is Retired Major Edwin R.Keyes of the United States Marine Corps. A pilot who flew more than a dozen types of aircraft during what he would consider military aviation's Golden Age. His service was sandwiched between the Korean War and Vietnam, and never saw air combat, but he traveled the world, and the family moved with him between many USMC Air Stations. All 5 siblings were born at different bases. Only two of us were born in the same state and even that was bookends to a stay in Hawaii where another sibling was born inbetween. I, like my middle sister, was born in North Carolina, myself at Camp Lejeune. I was born after my father retired the service, so my experience was radically different than my siblings. I have only ever lived in 2 states--there and here: my father still lives in the house where I grew up. I had stability where they didn't. I was the last child--the baby of the family, but I was practically an only child because by my earliest memories, my sibs were largely grown up and gone. So I had my parents singular attention. And the parents that raised me were much older than their's: they were both 41 when I came into the world. Older, wiser, been there and done that with the others. Definately more layed back from what my sibs tell me. I hear stories of water, snow and food fights from my family that always bring a smile to my face, but they are not part of my own memories. My relationship with Dad was much more intimate than theirs. I, like my brother lived in Dad's great shadow, but I was able to put down roots outside of it where my brother still seems to struggle with Dad's approval to this day. Who really knows what the difference is between us in that regard, but it could be the difference of Dad's age and experience or just not having to compete with others for his attention. Dad was always mischievous while Mom was usually the rock of the family. Not that she couldn't be talked into a good water fight now and again. I get that little kid quality from my Dad. I love to play jokes on Ang and my kids and have a good time. I have more toys than my kids, though they get much more expensive as you get older. My siblings say I was spoiled as a kid, and maybe I was. Dad had a great job after retiring that gave us much more disposable income especially for 1 child instead of 5. But really all of us were spoiled equally with a few things in common; we had our same two parents our entire lives. It taught me one of the biggest truths I live by: the first gift you can give to your children is to marry well and stay with that person for the rest of their lives. Dad married well and divorce was never discussed; never an option. And I thank him and Mom for that. Dad also taught me that life is about opportunity. You may find yourself in situations you never expected or circumstances you are uncomfortable with, but you make what you can of it and move on. Life is NOT waiting for you and there is no time for whining for what you don't have, wishing for more, or even sitting on your accomplishments. You take reality at face value and you do what you have to do.

I listened to those lessons. I heard what my father said, good and bad, even when I had to dig through the flotsam of human conversation to get to the point. I have used his beliefs as a rough draft for my own; discarding those elements I don't agree with and running with those that I do. As much as I would love to take credit for the person I am today, I know that I can only take so much credit. I see so much of him in me and because of this, as a father, I understand how important it is that the part of you that your children see in themselves is something they treasure. So I go into parenting with a strong sense of duty. I have an important job to do. And it's hard not to get caught up in the severity of the task at times but I have that childish side that won't let me. Just like Dad. That is his legacy, and I hope, my own.

Unlike the Witch, I understand that the point of parenting is creating people that will flourish on their own. A seedling that grows in the shadow of the tree that bore it is stunted; wanting light, earth of it's own, and freedom to grow. It will never reach it's full potential because it will spend it's existence grasping for resources. And a seed dropped in a river could end up in an environment far away but also inhospitable to it's growth. So I know that parenting is a balance between protecting them from the world, but also from ourselves. But I feel that more important than protecting them is teaching them. If I always hold Michelle's hand and not let her cross the street unless there are no cars, I have protected her successfully. But what if she finds the street on her own? If I stay away from alcohol and drugs so that she isn't exposed to them at home but I never talk about why, what happens when she is exposed and I'm not around? If I show indifference to violence and suffering, and even honesty and integrity, what will she think or feel herself about them? And children know the truth. I don't kid myself for a second about that. My father told me when I was young that the refineries on the side of the freeway were cloud makers. I knew it wasn't true, but my 8-year-old brain couldn't dispute it. It was images in a book of dinosaurs some weeks later that provided me the evidence I need to challenge him openly. So too does Michelle know when I try to get one by her. "You're kidding, aren't you?" she'll always ask with a silly speculative look on her face. But what if it wasn't trying to kid? What if its a lie and its mine and they know it? And they will. Then they will learn that the world is less than they thought it was. What if I tell them to be good people but I yell at the poor customer service rep that only works for the company that is causing my pain? That will be my legacy to them.

After all, what do ultimately leave your children when you're gone? Money in a trust account? Property? The true legacy is the memory of what kind of person and father I was and what I taught them by it. When they're young, they'll remember that I didn't get them a pony. But if I do my job, when they're older they'll remember I left them a legacy for their children. And that their children will listen as well.