A Belated Father's Day Fun

 My brothers and I are pretty lucky. We have two parents, who very much love each other and who very much love us. They are just the right blend of real and crazy that makes for a healthy perspective, a sense of home when you’re with them, and encouragement to discover our adventures, whatever they may be.  In the age of Modern-Family-esque acknowledgement of different make ups of families, I’m aware that parents come in many varieties, and that’s a great thing. So, too, I’ve learned that dads can take many forms. There’s stay-at-home dads, working dads, laid-back dads, safety dads; burly dads, baby-wearing, hand-holding, monster-playing, tea-party-going, soccer-playing dads. There’s dads with ponytails, balding dads, muscle ones and comfy ones. You get the picture. 

I grew up with a Dad who gave shoulder rides, who loved to fish, who swam with us to the sandbar, who rarely bought my mom jewelry, but instead helped us paint watering cans for her and wrapped gifts that made her laugh as soon as she opened them even if no one else ‘got it.’ As kids, we never felt second to work, despite a demanding job. Dad played kick ball, pushed us on the swing set, read to us, listened to our stories. He let us play with tools in the workshop, patiently digging out splinters or returning items back to their succinctly organized place. He taught us how to measure, saw, drill, hammer, create. We had a dad who told us to suck it up, who pulled sleds, who picked up the phone at 1am to talk his daughter through any troubles.  We had a dad who did laundry, cleaned up after dinner, who wasn’t afraid to be strict and always presented as a team with mom when we pushed back. Dad taught us to ride our bikes, watched our games and told us how many assists we had at the end of each – how many times we had helped someone else score. He understood forensic events, was at our concerts, our plays, our moments.  He’s cheered us on through our weddings, our houses, and our pets.  And now, he’s Pops. I see the girls learning and loving the same things from him. It’s hard not to feel enormous gratitude when you sit back and see that kind of gift.

It makes one’s standards a little high. But here I am, lucky again. I watch Sheaff. I watch Adalyn and Bria light up when he gets home and climb on him like he’s a jungle gym. I’m thankful that when each girl has gone through a mom-clingy phase, he’s there to patiently share the load and create that special relationship with them, rather than what might have been the easier route of just sitting back passively.  I feel joyful when I see their tiny arms wrapped around his neck; I know how safe he makes them feel.  I love that they too will know the sounds of saws, hammers and cussing to figure out an angle or how to make something level in an old house. I smile every time Addie tells me she’s going for a run like Daddy or when Bria squawks “Da!!!” at him during playtime upstairs. When he reads to them at bedtime, my heart feels that surety of gratitude that my kids will be as lucky as I was. Sure, our stories won’t be the same; our experiences won’t match up every step. But I know they will understand patience, kindness, laughter and being goofy from their dad. They’ll know work ethic and service. They’ll know loyalty. They’ll know good food and good people. They’ll know electronics, god help me. They’ll know adventure. And they’ll know love.

If I’ve learned anything from my people, that’s all you really need.