Every year in late June “Father’s Day” rolls in. Years back it was the grandfathers and my dad. Then it was just my dad, then my dad and I. Finally it was just me with my two girls. Now the girls are very grown and very far away, and not just in miles.
These days “Fathers Day” has a whole different meaning and context to me. It mostly takes place in my mind. I think back to my own father who quite frankly had to put up with all my nonsense of thinking I knew it all, when I actually knew nothing at all. I am sure if he’s out there somehow he chuckled seeing that in print. However, I mostly think of my time as a dad. How it defined my existence and lifted me to soar even when so many other things weighted me down.
This is not about whether I was a good father or a real bad father, but that I was one. Changing diapers in the middle of the night, singing songs to try to get the girls to go back to sleep, and of course all those “stories,” a parent must come up with on demand. The long drives with laughs and those stops to buy $.50 worth of candy that the kids craved are all priceless memories now. My point is on “Father’s Day” I feel I need to thank my kids for giving me such joy in those formative years. They know I love them and I know they love me and of course we will all always have issues, but we also had that very special time together, those formative years. I never realized then what life would be like afterward, that there would even be a life afterward.
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The clock ticks, the sunrise’s come and go and my sand in my hourglass is coming to an end, sooner than later, but such is life. On “Father’s Day,” I will not be at a table with my two girls anywhere, but in truth they are in my mind everywhere everyday. The point is for me every day is “Father’s Day.”