I’m writing to honor Jim Parsons on Father’s Day. He’s a good dad. This was evident to me recently. I’d gone early that morning to fetch Jim’s older sons to work in my yard. Jim greeted me, bleary-eyed. The baby had been wakeful all night. He and his wife had taken turns tending to her.
He wished he could take all night shifts with the baby and let his wife sleep. He was grieved that he couldn’t. But I understood why he couldn’t. Him has to work. The Parsons have eight children.
Not slipshod about parenting, Jim puts lots of effort into it. He gives big chunks of himself to his kids every day. He puts God and family first. The Parsons are in church several times a week.
Apparently Jim isn’t sleeping during the sermons. His unselfishness is apparent to me. Recently his birthday was coming up, and he wanted to take his four sons camping. It was his birthday but he wanted to treat his boys.
Mundane details about his children are monumental to Jim. For instance, one recent sunny day, the Parson boys were working in my yard, and Jim called, asking me to remind his sons to use their sunscreen.
I remember when my husband and I were expecting our first child. We were foot loose and fancy free as a married couple, until our baby girl was born.
I remember holding her in my arms for the first time. She looked up at me, totally needy, totally dependent on me, and I realized she would be my constant companion for years to come.
In the whole of my young life, I had only held one or two babies. Suddenly, I had one! And I was terrified. But after time passed, my diapered responsibility became the apple of my eye.
Jim Parsons has weathered eight diapered responsibilities, and it seems to me, each of them is the apple of his eye. Fathers, like Jim, don’t grow on every tree.