Choosing Fatherhood

Fatherhood didn't just happen when

my son was born.  I had to choose it.

By Howard Matsuura



"Dad, if I were on 'I Want to be a Millionaire,' you'd be the friend I'd call, because you know something about everything," said my 11-year-old son, Drew, as we watched the show one night. Priceless.

The credit card commercial implies that if I spend lots of money to do things with my son, I will enjoy moments like this. In my case, though, it was a decision to enjoy fewer luxuries that led to the incredible closeness I have with him.

When Drew was born, I was a 43-year-old attorney with a private practice in downtown Honolulu. I had a successful career, a beautiful wife, great in-laws. I had everything -- except time. When I left for work early in the morning six to seven days a week, my son was sleeping. He was sleeping when I came home from work, too, at 9 or 10 p.m. When I held Drew in my arms, I'd look at him and think, "Who is this little boy?" My colleagues told me they also regretted having so little time for their kids.

My own dad was a career military officer who fought in World War II, the Korean War, and in Vietnam. When he wasn't at war, he'd be on temporary duty somewhere in Southeast Asia for six to nine months at a crack. When he was home, he taught me all about nature and animals -- things he loved. But he was rarely home. When my father died, I was 18 and hardly knew him. I wanted Drew to know me.

One day, I decided that I needed Drew in my life and he needed me. I closed my practice and accepted an entry-level position as a judicial law clerk, the kind of job you get right out of law school. It didn't pay a lot, but I finished at 4:30 p.m. and could go home and bathe my son, feed him, and watch him grow. Drew was 2 1/2 years old then.

Over the years, I've changed jobs a few times. I'm still not practicing law, taking instead those positions that allow me to be a father, a baseball coach, and a friend. Most days, I leave the office around 5 p.m. to have dinner and spend time with my family. I rarely work weekends. The minute Drew sees me, he runs up and hugs me. That's worth everything.

The other night, we gazed at stars and discussed the speed of light. We actually started talking about this on New Year's Eve while watching aerial fireworks. I explained how we see the flash before we hear the sound because light travels faster than sound. And that star up there, I said, is so far away that by the time its light reaches us, the star itself might be dead. I also get to teach him about waves, soil erosion, and the life cycle of sea turtles. We brought home a caterpillar and watched it eat milkweed leaves, metamorphose into a chrysalis, and become a magnificent monarch butterfly. We talk about friends, honesty, and all kinds of things. And his mom and I are there for each of his baseball practices and games.

I remember like it was yesterday the first time I saw him catch a pop fly. I was there; he knew I was watching. We still talk about it. All those firsts, you gotta be there.

Printed with permission from Howard Matsuura, an involved parent (by choice).  March 22, 2005

On Parent Involvement
There is no topic in education on which there is greater agreement than the need for parent involvement.  Teachers and administrators want to know how to work with families in positive ways and how to involve the community to increase student success.  Families want to know if their schools are providing high-quality education, how to help their children do their best, and how to communicate with and support teachers.  Students want to succeed in school and know that they need guidance, support, and encouragement from their parents, teachers, and others in the community.  Despite strong agreement on the importance of these goals, most schools still need help in developing comprehensive programs of school, family, and community partnerships.  Learn what you can do.