Fatherhood ain’t easy. Even in its simplest form—a father and one son or daughter—it can get hairy. And I’m not even including the traditional roles of father as teacher, mentor, coach, provider, protector. Add other children and the complexity expands like a sponge in the ocean. Imagine teaching a class of undergraduates who then go home with you at the end of the lecture. You need pressure valves to release the steam. Mine are boxing, the rosary, and gin. Granted, these may not work for everyone. You have to find your own valves.
There’s another dimension of fatherhood I’d like to consider. I’m talking about father as a morpheme. A morpheme is the smallest unit of meaning in a language—the smallest piece you can break a word into that still makes sense. Father is a morpheme in compound nouns like grandfather, godfather, stepfather, and father‑in‑law. It is a free morpheme, while the others are bound morphemes. The root, the stem, is father. Everything else revolves around that.
Theologically speaking, I like the idea of a free morpheme and others that are bound, although far be it from me to suggest that grandfathers need to be set free.
I know this because I am one of them—the grandfathers, I mean. I am nonno. And I can tell you there is a fundamental difference between the morphemes father and grand. I discovered the difference while working with executives who wanted to move from the C‑suite—that is, from operations—into the boardroom. Fatherhood is hands‑on. You’re on the factory floor, adjusting the machinery, talking to shop stewards, meeting with the finance team and sales reps, doing everything to make sure production schedules are met. You do all of this with an eye on the stock price, competitors, and customers.
A grandfather doesn’t do any of that. Or, if he does, it’s only for a time, say to weather a crisis. Once the crisis passes, he steps back to let the execs do what they’re paid to do. He goes back to board meetings and eighteen holes. I don’t play golf, but that’s the idea. Often, however, it doesn’t work that way. When it doesn’t, it’s usually because the grandfather qua board‑member has gone rogue. Instead of setting policy and offering guidance, he’s snooping around and adding a pinch of something or other to the stew when no one is looking. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but his actions may disturb the delicate balance of the company.
I serve as another bound morpheme, that of father‑in‑law. I have two sons‑in‑law and one daughter‑in‑law. All three require different strokes, acting as branch‑division heads with separate relationships, supply chains, and resources (i.e., their families of origin). They are sensitive to my getting too close, so I have to assure them that I am aware of my status as a board member. Sometimes all that’s required is holding my tongue or leaving the room. Still, the rivalry persists, even if hardly noticeable.
The one bound morpheme that needs more attention is godfather. I have three godchildren whom I never communicate with. That’s not a good thing, but that’s what the rosary is for. I haven’t forgotten them. Of course, I would help them with whatever I could if they asked. Two are thousands of miles away. One is a galaxy away. I haven’t forgotten her, either. She may need the most prayers.
I am not a stepfather, at least not officially, but I am a quasi‑step‑grandfather. How’s that for a bound morpheme? If you don’t know what that means, rest assured you are not crazy. It simply means we’re dealing with in‑law relationships in which nothing has been determined permanently. I have learned enough to let those involved figure it out for themselves. When they’re ready, they’re ready. At this point, I have nine grandkids. I’m not looking to add more in a free‑agent deal. If that happens, great, but I can’t count on it.
I have to say there’s a certain working‑class attitude at play here that allows for the ambiguities of life and the reality of relationships. I think that’s a good thing. But working class or not, it’s complicated.
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