Good night, Father-Boy!

Last week, my Lovely and Brilliant Wife posted her thoughts about large families and vocations. I have to admit, even though I was the one who originally made the joke about our sixth-born becoming a priest, I hadn't really given the matter any serious thought.

Part of it is my Protestant background. My grandfather was a Baptist minister, and my mother always kind of hoped that I'd be a preacher, too. (I've made some steps toward diaconate formation, but I think she's not sure if that's the same thing or not.) In my family, the pastorate and paternity were far from mutually exclusive. The idea that a clergyman son would mean no grandchildren simply isn't (pardon the pun) an issue.

The thought of one of my kids being a priest is, frankly, a little frightening. First, of the six that have been born so far, three are girls, which makes the question moot for them. But what of the boys? Well, Number One Son is a faithful Catholic, but he'd make a terrible priest. Really. If ever there was a kid born with "engineer" tattooed on his forehead, he's it. He'd be the ultimate square peg in a vocation centered around mystery and the unquantifiable. The priesthood is no place for him.

Number Two Son is also unlikely to be a priest, as he's being raised mostly by his mother, who is not Catholic. And this is also where my own prejudices come in. He's named for my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather; he's the first to carry on my last name (Number One's is different), and if he didn't have children, I would feel like the family had been cut off.

But Number Three Son is a definite possiblilty. Granted, he's only a year and a half old, but already I find myself picturing him in vestments and collar. His favorite thing is to pray the "Our Father" with Mama; he lets us know he wants to pray by tapping his shoulders to cross himself. (My wife is teaching him the correct way to do it: "In the name of the Father (tap)... and the Son (tap)... and the Holy (tap) Spirit (tap), amen (fold hands)." In contrast, my oldest daughter learned the Sign of the Cross as "Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet, Watch." My own fault; I taught that to her when she was ten.

It's a little scary thinking of little Dai as a priest. First, I never met a priest until about six years ago. The priests I know at our parish are in their 70s and 80s. How can this baby ever be old enough to be a priest? And although my clergy experience before then was with Protestant pastors, they were still authority figures. How can I respect the authority of someone whose hiney I've whupped? Can I picture someone behind the altar that I've had to pull down off the bookshelves?

Then, too, what do you call a priest twhose diapers you've changed? "Father?" Hah! That's my title! "Kiddo" seems kind of disrespectful. I think maybe a compromise from The Waltons is in order: "Father-Boy."

But what about grandchildren? Well, with six-point-three kids, I don't think my future status as a revered patriarch is in any real jeopardy. My quiver runneth over already. I can imagine one or two of my kids not producing the number of grandchildren necessary to pay me back for their raising. Still, it's hard to imagine knowing that a child of mine will never have his own children. How do you threaten him when he misbehaves (approximately once per heartbeat)? "Just wait till you have parishioners of your own!" Doesn't really carry the same vindictive weight, does it?

On the other hand, there could be some real advantages, too. As my wife pointed out, John Paul the Great was raised by a single father, and gave him some of the credit for his vocation. Father of the pope... yeah, I could see that. (Would that make me the Holy Grandfather?) Pope Dai the First has a nice ring to it. And even if he never makes it that far up the ladder (which I'm not giving up on yet, thank you), I have no doubt he'll still be a model of devotion and strength in the church, a boost to a dad's ego if there ever was one.

All right, so the reasons it seems like a good idea are selfish. But half a century ago, it was almost expected that one son in the family would go into Holy Orders. Today, it's far from automatic even for cradle Catholics, and for an ex-Prod like me, it's on a par with thinking of myself as an underwear model: scary and almost unimaginable.

Mostly, I need to remember that God gave me this kid (and don't think I haven't had some things to say about that!), and what God does with him is emphatically not up to me. I'm just the caretaker; God will call Dai to the priesthood or not, as He sees fit. My mission – whether I jolly well accept it or not – is to raise him to be as Godly a man as I can manage, without trying to second-guess the real Father. If Dai marries and reproduces, good. If he celebrates Mass instead, also good.

But if so, I hope those parishioners give their Father hell! It's the least they can do for Father-Boy's old man.