Sunny told me something tonight on the way to my softball game. She went to pick up the kids from preschool yesterday and there was a guy behind her walking to the same classroom. He was about my size with a cap pulled down kinda low as I’m prone to do from time to time. Sunny walked into the kids’ classroom to pick them up and Joshua came streaking toward her like he always does. Running toward the door at full speed, he started yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” at the top of his lungs (again, like he always does.) The thing was, I wasn’t there. He thought the guy at the door was me. Sunny told him, “No, that’s not Daddy,” and when Joshua realized his mistake, he just turned and walked away.
There’s a part of me that gets really upset about this. Don’t get me wrong: I’m certainly not upset at Joshua. I have no reason to be. He’s two for crying out loud. This won’t be the last time something like this happens and it’s really not that big of a deal. But there’s something about the thought of him using the word “Daddy” and applying it to someone else that just rips my guts out. I can’t stand it. I don’t know who that dude was at the door, but he ain’t Joshua’s Daddy. That name is reserved for one person and one person alone: me. Nobody else will ever fill that role for them. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but nothing fills me with more pride than to hear my kids call me Daddy. The thought of my son honoring someone else with that title is unbearable.
And then I thought: I bet that’s how God feels when we fail to recognize Him as Father. Yeah, I’m pretty sure about that.
already & not yet 
Good blog.
Absolutely right.
This is not true across the board, but I’ve observed the following in a lot of cases: You know what’s extra special about the name Daddy? For the most part, kids know their dad by appearance, voice, etc. They know their momma as someone who fulfills their daily needs. So, when they see or hear someone who they think is their Daddy, ~normally~ it is their daddy. But, when a child is somewhere and mom’s not around, but they get fed or hugged, or played with, a lot of times they call that person Momma. Like I said, it’s not true all the time, but it hurts when it happens.
You won’t like some of the names he’ll call you 12 years from now.But you’ll still love him.
Mike,I’m already dreading those days. But I know they’re coming.Jamey,The Israelites believed that God’s name (Yahweh) sounded like the sound of breathing. So for them, the first time you said God’s name was when you breathed your first breath. And you died when you stopped breathing — or when you stopped saying the name of God. We’re wired to reflect His glory, to acknowledge Him as Father.
Jason, Just wait…Sorry, couldn’t resist the urge, i know you hate that.By the way, I noticed you replied to both Mike and Jamey in one reply, instead of two separate ones. What gives?
Lane, that’s really funny. I laughed out loud.And I decided to mix it up in my super-sized reply. Don’t want to be accused of padding my comments.