The Quiet Wonder of a Good Dad

He makes all the difference.

Me and Dad, 1986. It’s the pink jellies for me.

I played softball as a little kid. My best friend’s dad was my coach every year, and my dad—who was his buddy—often joined us in the dugout to bang on the galvanized steel roof and cheer in his loud, baritone voice for a bunch of ten-year-old girls like we were Chipper Jones at the ‘95 World Series. (An event I also watched my dad scream about 🤣.)

My father was handsome, athletic, and incredibly kind. All of my friends loved him, the moms liked to look at him, and the other dads wanted to be his friend. While other girls might find their father’s deafening bellows from the dugout the epitome of cringe, I never felt anything but pride. When I hit my first home run and rounded third base, my dad shot out of the dugout and scooped me up onto his shoulders almost as soon as my foot hit the plate, shouting “That’s my baby girl!”

It wasn’t until I was older that I realized how special it is to have a father like that.

According to a 2023 survey by the U.S. Census Bureau, one-in-four children in the United States is living without a father figure in the home, leading them to face higher risks of poverty, behavioral and psychological problems, crime, and even infant mortality.¹ When fathers are absent, girls face more unplanned pregnancies. Boys are more likely to become addicts. The loss of this crucial parental figure echoes keenly across generations.

But why? What is it about an absent father that creates such a lasting void?

The world we live in still elevates men above women in a variety of different ways. Even though women are enrolled in college at higher rates, top leadership roles are by and large held by men.² Then there’s the obvious physical advantages that many men have over their female counterparts. No matter where you come down on how or why these things occur, historically we know that dudes have ruled the vast majority of the world. And that power is a mighty and fragile thing, capable both of withstanding life’s fiercest storms and of being the catalyst for many such catastrophes in the first place.

Great power cultivates, or it destroys. The one thing it can never, ever be is neutral.

Every woman I know has lived her life acutely aware of the men around her, whether they are friends, family, or strangers. We understand that the odds are stacked against us, especially when it comes to situations in which we might be physically vulnerable: walking to our cars at night, running alone at a park, going on a first date, even getting into an Uber. As a young girl who was tall for her age and often mistaken for being older than I was, I learned quickly that some men were trustworthy and some men were dangerous. It’s no stretch to assume the difference between the two has a lot to do with what kind of men raised them.

There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. Many boys with terrible fathers go on to break the cycle of trauma, abuse, neglect, or addiction and become devoted, caring partners and dads. The opposite is also true. But the statistics are overwhelming:

When a man has no one to show him what it means to wield his power with tenderness, humility, compassion, and justice, he will use it instead to dominate, diminish, and destroy.

Without good fathers, we all suffer.

My siblings and I have a group chat with our dad where we send memes and corny jokes on the regular. Sometimes, he’ll send over a Facebook link (he is a Boomer, after all) with some sappy, sweet video of a father and his kid. These reminders are connections to our own experiences growing up as Tom Barclay’s children, spoken over with praise, encouragement, and a sideways look that would have my smart-ass sat before a single word was uttered. Dad had strong boundaries and loud opinions about what was right and wrong (still does 😆), but within those boundaries we were incredibly free. He modeled faith, love, humor, and a genuine interest in both the well-being of his kids and the things we loved, and because of his example I never had trouble believing in the goodness of my heavenly Father. My dad’s faith, passed down to me through the most important developmental years of my life, has quite literally saved me.

Nowadays, I watch my husband with our own children and feel deep gratitude for the men who came before us. For Pierce’s father, who has worked hard every day of his life and has been happily married to my mother-in-law for over fifty years. For my dad’s many sacrifices and all our conversations about relationships, God, and so.much.teenage.nonsense while he sat in his big, leather chair or worked on my Camaro in the driveway. Because of the presence of our good, imperfect fathers, Pierce became the very best of men and I—thanks be to God—became the kind of woman who would choose him.

What I wouldn’t do to give every young girl the same experience. The sad reality is that I can’t, but I can offer it to our daughter, who is eleven-years-old and on the cusp of some major developmental milestones. Soon she’ll be dating, driving, and making plans for her own future, and before we know it she’ll be packing up her car and heading off to college. We will have to wave her off (with many tears and prayers!) and trust that what we gave her all these years will be sustenance for the long road ahead.

It’s the biggest act of faith, being a parent. It’s not for the faint of heart.

And the dads who show up and stick it out are the ones who reveal the great good that healthy masculinity can accomplish in this world.

When I think of how the masculine has been shaped by American Christian culture into a sort of gun-slinging, John Wayne, grab-’em-by-the-horns machismo and then contrast that image with the Savior of the world who called Himself “gentle and lowly in heart,” I can’t help but roll my eyes a little. Now, there’s nothing wrong with a good ol’ Western film or a John Wayne aficionado—my beloved father being one of them—but some of the best men I’ve ever known don’t fit that mold.

Like my husband. He’s a tall guy with a voice fit for radio, but he’s quiet until you know him well. Most people would never imagine that the laid-back, reserved man chilling on the couch at a party is the same one who runs into our daughter’s bedroom when she’s on the phone with a friend and shouts their name in a high-pitched voice, cackling like a schoolgirl in order to reach peak embarrassment levels. He studies the Word, remembers all the tiny details of the things we love, and is funny as hell. Generous, humble, and unpretentious, Pierce looks a lot more like the Jesus found in Scripture than what author Kristin Kobes Du Mez referred to as “the evangelical cult of masculinity.”

Regardless of their size or shape or taste for classic American films, the point is that good dads are a wonder. We need them, and we need them desperately.

Recently, Pierce found out he’d be receiving a bonus from work. This good news came after his first evaluation at the job he took last April following the loss he suffered the previous fall, so it was more than a financial blessing. It was tangible proof that he’s in the right place, and that his faith in God during those chaotic six months of uncertainty when we had no idea where we’d be living or what would happen next was not misplaced. It was a tiny seed planted in some of the hardest moments of my husband’s life, coming to bear fruit at last.

When we got the news, I remembered all those moments of prayer outside with Pierce, seated on the bench he built by the creek. Quiet moments, pregnant with waiting and questions. I remembered watching him get up every morning and go downstairs to his office to spend the day applying for jobs, updating his resume, making calls, and listening to worship music. I remembered Pierce’s daily faithfulness to his Father and his daily faithfulness to us.

“If you get married one day,” I told Lucy, holding back tears, “choose the man who works hard and lives up to his word. Attraction is important and those first sparks are wonderful, but appearances change over time and life will keep throwing you curve balls. Choose the man who has character and integrity. Choose someone who shows up for his family.”

“Choose someone,” I told her, “like your father.”

In the end, he makes all the difference.

1. https://www.fatherhood.org/father-absence-statistic

2. https://www.npr.org/2024/06/13/g-s1-4038/women-outnumber-men-colleges-earnings