Fatherhood, Fate and a Franciscan Saint

My father’s name was Antonio, or Anthony, and had a great affinity for the great saint of his own namesake, who’s feast is celebrated on the 13th of June. I lost my father at the age of five, difficult enough for any child trying to make sense of the world, and a wound of sorts, was wrought in the notion of fatherhood itself. In time, I was blessed enough to fall in love with a woman far too good for me, and bound to a vocation far too good for me, with the seeming inevitability of fatherhood to shortly follow.

To have lost a father so young, and to become one, is a bittersweet prospect, and I had to wrestle with all manner of questions, qualms, notions and nonsense. Nothing in life is ever simple (except everything of course, in its own way). God’s providence nonetheless, remains for me a quality of as much beauty as mystery. When fatherhood was finally bestowed upon me - with a daughter as beautiful, wondrous and baffling as she still is, seventeen years later - it was on the feast of St Anthony.

The presence of a loving God, whose delicate hand chose that day, for that purpose, for this reason, is still a great joy in my life. As such, the presence of two fathers was with me, when I too joined their ranks. One day, just like every other father, I hope to earn the honour I’ve been bestowed.