Every year, when Father’s Day rolls around, the mushy poems, odes, and tributes spring up all over. Heart-wrenching stories will fill our e-mail inboxes. The department stores will tell us that if we really love our Dads, we will buy that tie, those golf clubs, or even that snazzy jet-ski. Don’t get me wrong – I like a tribute to Dad as much as the next person. It’s just that – well, why don’t people make that much fuss about their Dad’s the rest of the year? Especially if on any other day, it wouldn’t be expected, and stands a much better chance of being a pleasant surprise. My Dad is about 3500 miles away. I haven’t seen him in about 3 years. My Grandfather is about 3500 ½ miles away – I haven’t seen him in 8 years. Visiting is a major logistical exercise, but I think of em both a lot. I miss them a lot, too – and I’m not just saying that because I know they read my articles. We just aren’t a particularly affectionate family – I think they know I love them. I feel like they love me too. We just don’t have a need to prattle on about it, or to set aside a special day, once per year, to reassure each other. It’s just the way we are. They know, I know. We all miss each other, and always hope that the cards will allow for another fishing trip or two. Nuff said. The menfolk in my family aren’t big on Oprah, I guess. We’re not in touch with our sensitive sides.
If anything, I think we should have “Being a Father” Day. In my mind, it is inferred that the current holiday is all about “having a Father”. You don’t have to “do” anything to have a Father – so why should we have a special day to remind us, that we have one?? On the other hand, being a Father – now there’s something to be commemorated! Now, some Dads make it look easy, but for most of us, I think it is an undertaking with an awesome amount of responsibility. It appears to me, however that some Dads don’t treat it like it is. And that is a crying shame. I’m not trying to judge, but when I weigh my observations against my own feelings, there is a real big gap sometimes. Children drowning in pools – what’s up with that? Or dying in parked cars. Or kids looking like .. well, not looking like young ladies, when they are at the mall. Or not being polite. Or not being respectful and kind. Maybe a day every year to remind Dads just how important they are in the lives of their children would be more productive than a day to phone our own Fathers, that know we love them anyway…
Just over 7 years ago, my life changed forever. Mikaela was born. She arrived via C-Section, and I had to wait just on the other side of a solid door. I heard her cry. The nurse brought her out, all covered with yucky stuff, wrapped in a little white, striped blanket – and handed her to me. I was petrified. My eyes welled up. So powerful was the moment – that I was now responsible, forever, for this little being – the gravity of it was overwhelming. I’ve been scared ever since. Scared that I don’t read to her enough. Scared because I’ve put off teaching her to ride a two-wheeler. Scared because I get mad and holler at her sometimes. Scared when I haven’t heard her for a few minutes. Scared because she was just there a second ago, and now I can’t see her. Scared because I’m too strict. Scared because I’m not strict enough. Scared that if she’s this stubborn now, what the heck will she be like when she’s 14? Scared that I don’t spend enough time with her. Scared that she won’t be a responsible parent. Scared that she won’t recognize the value of hard work. And integrity. And kindness. And honesty. Scared that she’s not really “just going through a phase”. Scared that the decisions I’ve made for our family have been the wrong ones. Decisions that have resulted in her not meeting her Great-Grandparents in Canada yet. Or her Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins. Scared that the decision to home school her was not the right one. Scared that the “Cat’s in the Cradle” song will play out in my own life – I’m too busy today, she’s too busy tomorrow. Now, granted – most of us make these decisions all the time. I think what is important is not what our final decisions are, but that we recognize the gravity enough to worry about them. Some never make them. Some never seem to worry one way or the other. Others seem to make them flawlessly, and make the whole “father thing” look easy.
So, in that context – maybe it’s not such a wild idea for us to change Father’s Day from what it is now to a day where we reflect on being Fathers. Maybe if there are Dads among us who think that being a Father is no big deal, they could take one day per year and just worry. They could reflect. They could take stock of how they are doing. They could ponder on what needs a little polish, when it comes to fatherhood. They could really notice their children, and wonder how they are going to turn out. I get the impression from experienced (retired) fathers that if you put a lot of heartache and effort into the task now, the pain and frustration softens with age. Much like Boot Camp, which is a terrible trial at the time, but years later, you only seem to remember the good times. I mean really, if one day a year isn’t too much to reflect on having a father – could it be that big a deal to take that same day, and reflect on being a father?
The other day at work, I was having a particularly daunting day. I was in an irritable mood (hard to believe, I know), had a flu bug thing dragging me down, and half the factory seemed to be in my face. It was one of those days where, if you could, you’d pack your stuff up, and walk out the door for good. Anyway, the smoke seemed to clear for a few, and I plopped down at my desk, and noticed my message light blinking, on my phone. After punching in the code, I heard my daughter’s sing-song voice over the speaker. “Ummm, Hi Dad, this is Mikaela. So how are things going over there? I miss you, Dad. I just wanted to call and see how things are going. Love you. Bye.” Once in awhile, just for a second, I stop worrying so much, and notice just how proud I am, to be her father. I don’t tell her that enough. I’ll have to remember to do that, on Father’s Day.
A reprint from a piece I had in a local paper a few years ago.. ~Desert Rat