Father’s Day

My mom and dad have told me about the day I was born, the day my dad became a father.  The doctor delivered me and my mom said to my dad “Is it a boy or a girl?”  And my dad said “It’s a girl . . . and she’s beautiful.”  Oh, I used to love to hear that story when I was little, loved that I was being described as “beautiful.”  I’ve seen the pictures of the day I was born and I was most definitely NOT beautiful.  I was all smushy and red-faced and pointy-headed.  But in that moment when my dad saw me for the first time, he saw me as beautiful.  And there have been many moments since then, in the last 38 years, when he has found a way to make me believe that I am extraordinary even when I’m feeling my most . .  . ordinary.

I remember one day when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old.  It doesn’t snow much in Austin and it looked like snow that day, so the school had all the parents come pick the kids up from school right before lunch.  It happened to be my dad’s day off, so he picked me up and we went down the street to have a hamburger.  We got a table surrounded by windows and as we sat there and ate our burgers, it started to snow.  I guess maybe it had snowed before then in Austin, when I was younger, but I don’t have a memory of it.  That day, watching these big, perfect snowflakes fall, is my first memory of snow.  My dad grew up in Pennsylvania so he knew snow, knew it well.  But I was absolutely in awe of it that day.  I don’t know how long we were there, but long enough to have the cars and the parking lot get all covered up with snow.  And I ate my fries, drank my milkshake and sat there with my dad, looking out the window.  He didn’t hurry us to go; he just let me sit there and watch.  I loved that day.

That’s my Dad up there, on the day my little girl was born.  He’s a pediatrician, so he was giving her the once-over, checking her out for me.  See how my dad’s hand is on my then-2-year-old son’s shoulder?  So he’s holding my brand new little baby girl with one hand and putting his other hand really sweetly on her big brother’s shoulder.  This was when my boys met their sister for the first time and my dad knew it was an important moment.  So did my husband, who is the one standing behind my dad taking the picture. 

Being a good dad is no easy task.  Finding a way to be both really strong and really sweet can be near impossible, but dads find a way to do it.  They learn to strike a balance between being a tough, capable man and being an open, loving father.  Those of us who have fathers we admire and those of us who married men who later became fathers we admire . . . well, we need to hit our knees and offer prayers of thanks to God for putting these men in our lives.  And in our children’s lives.

I know many people who don’t have a father to call today.  Some of these fathers have died, some of them were never known in the first place, and some were known for a bit and then faded away.  Some fathers have disappointed their kids in so many ways that the walls are just too daunting to try and break down.  That is the thing about fathers.  They are human.  They are mortal, no matter how invincible they may seem to their children.  And they are flawed, no matter how perfect their kids expect them to be.  They have weaknesses, just like the rest of us.  

But I do know so many fathers who are exceptional.  Fathers who are heroes because they try so hard and they love their children so fiercely.  Fathers who, even with all the inevitable missteps and mistakes, continue to make their kids feel extraordinary each and every day.  Fathers who get it just right when it matters most.  Fathers like my husband, who loves his children even more than he ever imagined possible, more than he could have fathomed that day that I showed him that pregnancy test with those +++ signs on it.  I think back on those pregnancies when I had months of having my babies in my belly, time to get to know them and fall so in love with them before they were even born.  And now he knows them so well, too, and is so in love with them also.  And they adore him, which is why we spent the whole morning drawing pictures for him, making cards, taking a lot of time carefully writing out “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”  They are very excited about Father’s Day (which may also have something to do with the fact that we traditionally eat lots of chocolate donuts for breakfast on Father’s Day, but is mostly because they love their daddy so very much).

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads I know.  Keep up the good work.

Tags: Fathers Day, Happy Father's Day