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Many
of my happiest childhood memories are of Daddy. When I close my
eyes, I can still see him in his funny slacks, sitting on the floor
decked out in a plastic nose and glasses with a stethoscope around
his neck. I learned to sing loudly out of joy even if I was off key.
I learned that when it comes to ice cream, “you can’t beat
chocolate.” At one birthday party when I was knee high, Dad devised
a scavenger hunt for a gaggle of girls. In between sickening
quantities of hotdogs with mustard, we hunted through the acreage
for various treasures. One thing on that list was a “four leaf
clover” and we found a patch of hundreds of four leaf clovers. I’ve
never seen anything like it again. Surely it was some sort of lucky
mutation, but I was sure Daddy could make magic and I’ll always
remember that lawn spilling four leaf clovers like some kind of
leprechaun fairy tale.
I
was an inquisitive little girl and pestered my father with more than
my fair share of why questions. I was also a bit of a rabble-rouser
at school and church, challenging my teachers with an arsenal of
inquiries. But Dad didn’t raise a stern eyebrow: he simply said that
learning was all about asking questions.
Then
again, it wasn’t all peppermints and clovers. Dad could be
infuriatingly protective and stern. When I was a teenager, any
fashionable earrings I put on were condemned as “fishing lures for
men.” Dad took some Old Testament verses a little too literally, in
my opinion then and now. Though in truth I didn’t even date once
before I left home, every male friend was scrutinized and deemed
inappropriate. Cinema and music were forbidden unless they depicted
the gospel, and then from the correct sect only. This was extremely
limiting to a free spirited writer-to-be who loved Michael Jackson
and Cyndi Lauper.
Of
course, when Dad made fields of magic clovers and took me for ice
cream, he was still a baby by any reasonable standards. Becoming
middle aged yourself really humanizes your parents. How can any
parent do everything right? A lifetime of wisdom is still not
enough. Parents aren’t perfect- neither yours, nor you. But Dad did
his very best, and now that he is a senior citizen, I find myself
getting choked up just thinking about losing him. Who will run the
family? Who will look after me? At 38, I’m surely not old enough to
look after myself. To whom will I turn to guidance? Who will build
bat houses with my nephews? Who will take me for chocolate ice
cream?
In
June, we celebrate fathers. Father’s Day is precious to me as I
celebrate Dad. When I’m bragging about my great Dad, I sometimes get
self-conscious because the obvious is pointed out: not everyone had
a great Dad. Some didn’t even get one. Some fathers couldn’t hack
the pressure. Some were cruel. Some were absent. Some were mean to
Mom. What’s to celebrate?
Well, I can assure you I got the short end of many sticks, even if
the Dad department worked out for me. Relationships are tricky, and
sometimes it is actually healthier not to have one than to stay in a
bad one, and that includes relationships with parents. The obvious
thing here is to celebrate Father’s Day nonetheless, to encourage
yourself or your brother or your child to be the best Dad he can be.
Dads need our help. They have tremendous challenges thrown at them.
Some have been at war. Others have struggled to support a family- or
several families. Friends who are fathers need your celebration and
support, too. We cannot change the past, but we can stand up for the
children of the future by supporting their fathers, today. |
