The Thoma family doesn’t go out to dinner very often. It isn’t just that dining out has become quite expensive. Instead, it’s that we’ve always been more interested in family dinners at home. Any time we’re required to share a dining space with others, it seems the genuine Thoma frivolity becomes unfortunately inhibited. At home, we can be us, laughing as loudly as we’d like at whatever we like. We play games. We rib each other. Sometimes, we even throw stuff. We don’t make a mess. We’re not messy people. But we do things at home we surely wouldn’t do in a restaurant.

I should admit that in restaurants, Jennifer is the governess. She maintains the boundaries. I certainly know where the boundaries are. However, my threshold for public tomfoolery is a little higher. I can easily become a part of whatever hilarious thing Harrison or Madeline might be doing that requires a little more volume or risk. Thankfully, Jennifer anticipates this and brings us back into orbit. She doesn’t quell the fun. She maintains its appropriateness.

When things are no longer in tomfoolery mode but instead require actual discipline, it’s often the other way around. Jennifer is much gentler. I stand at the borderlands’ edges, allowing nothing illegal to cross. Ultimately, my sons are expected to be Godly men, and my daughters are expected to be Godly women.

Looking back at what I’ve written, two things come to mind.

The first is that fathers and mothers—men and women—are very different. I probably don’t need to tell you this. Or maybe I do because it sure seems these roles are more than confused these days. Men are portrayed as inept and effeminate ninnies in movies, TV shows, and commercials. Women are depicted as hardnosed boss-girls who shepherd the men around like children, but that’s only when they have need of them. The genuine give-and-take of naturally complimentary roles has been lost to artificial ideologies meant only to disrupt. Perhaps worst of all, the ability to define the actual roles has already been sacrificed at confusion’s altar. What is a woman? What is a man? Fewer and fewer can answer these questions, lest they give a truthful answer and be canceled. In fact, the answer is becoming more elusive, not only relative to gender but to species. For example, a 22-year-old man who thinks he’s a female cat is running for a seat on the Board of Commissioners here in Livingston County. I have a quick story about this.

I was picking up my daughter, Evelyn, from volleyball practice at the Hartland Community Education building when I drove past this candidate and his friends having a picnic-style demonstration on the facility’s front lawn. There were only a handful of people with him. It was by no means a grand event. Nevertheless, he placed signs near the facility’s driveway, one of which read, “Protect trans students like you protect your guns.” If I hadn’t been in a hurry to get Evelyn home to Linden and then back again to Hartland for a church meeting, I may likely have stopped to ask for clarification. This tendency does get me into trouble sometimes. Just ask Jennifer. She shifted into governess mode a couple of times yesterday at a conference in Detroit to keep my tomfoolery at bay. However, one particular gent in a breakout session who insulted me for being Lutheran rather than Catholic did receive a word or two. Actually, he received four.

Still, I believe in conversation, especially for the sake of invalidating untruths. I certainly had more than my fair share of questions before I rounded the first turn in the parking lot to fetch Evelyn that day. In particular, I would have asked the 22-year-old cat woman with male genitalia if “Protect trans students like you protect your guns” meant registering trans students with the government. Next, I would have asked if that meant red flag laws, too. In other words, if a trans student behaves in ways that make me nervous—like, say, demanding drag queen story hours at the local library—I could call the cops and have him, or her, or whatever taken away and locked up, letting the situation get sorted out in court before allowing him (or her, or whatever) to go home. Along those same lines, I’d have asked if he thinks we should keep all trans students locked away in safes to help keep children safe.

This is only one thread in gender confusion’s fabric. But this fabric is so easily unwound when the hard truth pulls on it. Speaking in an elementary sense, the fact that two men cannot create a child excludes such madness from any real claim on Father’s Day. Inherently, the word “father” assumes and requires “mother,” so whether a man and woman procreate or adopt, fatherhood remains innately a man and woman thing, not a man and man thing. The same goes for Mother’s Day.

I told you two things came to mind. The second is the blessing of home.

Everything I described begins in the home. If a child’s home is unsteady or confused, then everything beyond it will be, too. Beyond this, I once heard someone say that home is a pre-heaven of sorts. Indeed, home is a place where your seat at the table is certain. The rule of forgiveness secures it, and everyone there is family. Oliver Wendell Holmes said something about how our feet may leave home, but our hearts never will. This is to say that we’re forever rooted in a lifeblood sort of way with our home. Who we are, what we’ve learned, who taught us, and why—all these things go with us. And yet, even as they’re carried away on two legs, they are forever bound to the source, no matter where we might be. In my opinion, this is just another way of highlighting the significance of fathers and mothers and that no matter where a child goes, he can never really shake loose from the home his parents made. Good or bad, it’s forever a part of him.

Wrapping this up, I say, since it’s Father’s Day, grab hold of confusion’s fabric and pull. Do what you can to dispel gender confusion. Treat your dad like the manly man he is and ought to be. Rejoice and publicly share those things that show dads to be the God-given heads and protectors a family needs and requires. Maybe even take a chance at grabbing this world’s absurdity by the jugular. June certainly would be the month to do it. Women, demand alongside Saint Paul that the men in your life “act like men and be strong” (1 Corinthians 16:13). Husbands and fathers—the gents crafting the next generation of men—insist beside King David, who instructed his son, Solomon, “Be strong, and show yourself a man” (1 Kings 2:2). Even better, demonstrate manliness for them. Demonstrate it for your daughters, too. Be tough when toughness is required. Be courageous. Most of all, shepherd them toward Jesus, and along the way, do everything you can to hold the line on truth while invalidating untruth. My guess is that when they eventually leave home, and they will, no matter where they go, their hearts will be permanently sourced by something far stronger and more certain than this world’s sin-draped irrationality.