View From a Pew: Through a Son’s Eyes

A son does not see his father the same way all his life. His vision changes as he grows—but the impact never fades.

When a son is five, his father is a giant. Dad can fix anything. Dad knows everything. Dad is stronger than fear, louder than thunder, and faster than trouble. At five, a father is a superhero without a cape.

And in those years, what matters most is presence. A hand to hold. A lap to sit on.
A voice that says, “You’re safe.”

At ten, Dad becomes a coach. A referee. A teacher of right and wrong. This is when a son learns how to lose, how to win, and how to behave when nobody’s watching.
At ten, a father is shaping character without even knowing it.

At fifteen, things shift. Now Dad doesn’t know everything anymore. Now Dad is “old school.” Now Dad’s advice feels like rules instead of wisdom. But here’s the truth— even when a teenage son stops listening, he never stops watching.

At twenty, Dad becomes optional. The son is grown—or thinks he is. He’s chasing independence, identity, and sometimes distance. This is the age when a father’s words echo louder than his presence, because what was planted earlier is now being tested by the world.

Then something happens around thirty. Life hits. Bills stack up. Responsibility weighs heavy. And the son starts hearing his father’s voice come out of his own mouth. At thirty, Dad starts making sense.

By forty, the son sees his father clearly—for the first time. Not as a hero. Not as a villain. But as a man. A man who tried. A man who failed. A man who showed up the best way he knew how.

And if the father is gone by then, the questions come late and heavy.

That’s why that old song, Cat's in the Cradle, still cuts so deep. Because it reminds us that time doesn’t slow down for intentions. Love delayed feels like love denied. And children grow whether you’re ready or not.

From this pew, I’ve learned something sacred: A father is not remembered most for what he gave, but for when he stayed.

Dads, your son is watching you at every age— watching how you handle pressure,
how you speak to his mother, how you deal with disappointment, how you pray—or don’t.

And sons— if your father was present, honor him. If he was absent, don’t let the wound define your destiny. Sometimes God allows the lack so you can become the example. Because fatherhood is not about perfection. It’s about presence across the seasons.

And my prayer is simply this: Lord, help us understand that how a son sees his father today will shape how he sees himself tomorrow.