Journal

Father’s Day

4 Comments

I’m grateful for the good father I had. As I grow older and (in my own estimation) wiser I imagine that I can see more of the particular challenges that he faced, and the hurdles he both cleared and failed to clear. This passing-of-judgement in hindsight doesn’t mean I’m any less grateful for my Dad. He stepped up and did the Dad job the best he knew how. He was a great man, and I miss him.

He’s been gone almost 20 years now, so while there’s no emotional scab to be picked there is certainly a scar. I know its shape intimately, having poked at it for the better part of the last two decades. The scar is shaped like “what am I supposed to do in THIS situation, Dad? Oh. Right. No problem… I’ll figure something out.”

My Dad loved being a dad, and I guess that’s the part I always try to remember. Well… that and the fact that heart disease killed him at age 56. There’s a reason I’m kind of obsessive about staying fit and getting fitter — I love being a dad, too, and I’d rather not stop before I have the chance to see what being a grand-dad is like. But I digress…

That bit about loving being a dad… that’s the important part. If there are men in your life who are like that, let them know you appreciate them and the job they do. And if you happen to be one of those men, I bow to you in sincere appreciation of what you’ve undertaken.

Keep up the good work, Dad.

4 thoughts on “Father’s Day”

  1. Based on some of your previous posts, my experience of you is that you’re a good one. Your children should have the same kinds of memories as you do.

    1. The praise of the praiseworthy is beyond praise.
      And that’s Tolkien at ya!

      I never knew my dad, he died when I was 7….
      I recall knees and veiny legs like stiltons….

      My Mum was Dad and Mum to me. for half a century.

  2. Based on some of your previous posts, my experience of you is that you’re a good one. Your children should have the same kinds of memories as you do.

    1. The praise of the praiseworthy is beyond praise.
      And that’s Tolkien at ya!

      I never knew my dad, he died when I was 7….
      I recall knees and veiny legs like stiltons….

      My Mum was Dad and Mum to me. for half a century.

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