I’m Fixing to Make a Confession
I’m fixing to make a confession.
They say confession is good for the soul, and Lord knows, my soul could use some help. The trouble was, I just didn’t know where to start, or to whom I was going to confess to, and which of my many sins I was going to fess up to. I knew I would have to pick and choose because nobody would sit still long enough to hear me confess them all. If I did that, confessed them all, surely somebody would be calling the law on me.
It must have been some kind of Father’s Day blues that got me wanting to cleanse my soul. After talking and spending some time with all my children, and then suddenly realizing they would all soon be gone again, had sunk me into a funk and the only way I can think of to climb out of it was to confess all my transgressions.
One of the cards I got from one of my boys said, “Here’s to my daddy, who spanked me when I was bad, and I turned out pretty good, because he did what he should.”
The one from my daughter said, “You could write a book on being a father, and what it’s like to have perfect children.”
I think they ought to call it Daddy’s Day instead of Father’s Day. None of my children ever called me father. They all called me daddy, and they would say things like, “Daddy, I need twenty bucks!” or, “Daddy, the principal wants you to call him!”
Daddy’s Day is always an inspirational time to me. It can also be a witty and humorous time, which is the part I like best.
This little boy’s dad took him to church with him on Father’s Day, and after the service he said to the pastor, “When I grow I’m going to give you some money.” “Well thank you,” the pastor replied, “but why?” “Because my daddy says you are one of the poorest preachers he’s ever listened to.”
This little girl was sitting on her grandfather’s lap on Father’s Day while he read her a story. From time to time she would reach up and gently stroke his weathered and wrinkled cheek. Finally she asked, “Granddaddy, did God make you?” “Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, “God made me a long time ago.” Then she asked, “Did God make me, too?” “Yes, indeed sweetie” he assured her. “God made you just a little while ago.” The little girl stroked his cheek once again before she said, “God’s getting a lot better at what he does!”
But beyond the humor, the inspirational and sentimentalism of the occasion gets to me, too. That’s what’s got me wishing I had been a better father than I was and that maybe a confession of all my shortcomings and failings would somehow make me a better father as well as a man.
Mahatma Gandhi said, “Confession of errors is like a broom which sweeps away the dirt and leaves the surface brighter and clearer.”
That’s what I wanted to do—sweep away all the bad things and leave things brighter and cleaner, and the only way I knew how to do that was to confess. However, as noted earlier, there were so many errors of my ways, and there was also so little time, that I knew I would have to pick out one of my worst sins to confess and let it stand for all of them.
At just the moment I had selected the deepest and darkest secret of my life, the one I was going to confess to, my Cousin Elroy and his brood showed up at my house and joined in the fellowship with my children, spouses and grandchildren.
Later on, I called everyone’s attention to myself and announced that I had a confession to make, that I wanted to wipe my conscience clean in order to be a better person in everyone’s eyes.
Things got real quiet and every eye was fixed on myself, with Elroy sitting immediately to my right, when I began to speak.
“One regrettable time when I was in Little Rock in 19—-”
My dear Cousin Elroy, besides being a blood relative, and who had always been my shield and protector, had been with me on the occasion I had begun to speak of, and once again he saved my hide when he quickly interrupted me by whispering into my ear, “I don’t believe I would be fixing to confess that!”