Father's Day

Father's Day in my house growing up was the stereotypical celebration in honor of our patriarch. There were homemade coupons promising ONE FREE CAR WASH, and GOOD FOR ONE ROOM CLEANING, there were horrible neckties, and there were the hushed voices of children doing their best to play quieter than normal because today Dad deserved an uninterrupted nap.

When my parents were finally able to have me, after struggling a bit like Corey and I have, they struck a deal. They knew that they wanted my mom to stay home because they were both from families where the mom was a housewife (as most were at that time) and they felt that the interaction was imperative to development. In a time where women were becoming decidedly more independent and accomplished, this meant bucking the trend of two income-ness and embracing the past "Leave it to Beaver" style of life.

At five years old, I didn't understand this compromise. I understood that sometimes my Dad was on business trips and couldn't make it to recitals. I understood that he would come home after a fourteen hour workday and not want to have a tea party. I also understood that "Wait until your Dad gets home" was not meant to draw me into a comfortable remembrance of the last time my Daddy and I played with dolls. It was meant to scare the crap out of me.

As I grew up, it slowly dawned on me that my mom was the classroom mom, the unofficial cheer coach, and the lady at EVERY practice, concert, trip, game, play, and recital BECAUSE my dad was at work, not in spite of it. Even when I probably would have chosen to have her around less (that's what the teenage years do to you, after all) the light bulb started to flicker when I realized that other people's moms were at work. And while my mom deserves tons of credit in this area, my Dad is also the unsung hero of my developing life.

He was appreciative of his ties and coupons (although I think he appreciated the naps exponentially more) and never complained that my mom got to be the one in the middle of everything. I'm sure he was secretly thankful to not be on the receiving end of pubescent breakdowns and boy talks, but I think he was also quietly mournful at missing afternoon track meets and evening driving lessons.

I don't think I understood completely though, until our wedding. My mom had the idea that both of them should walk me down the aisle to give me away. I was fine with it, but my Dad put his foot down. HE was my father, and HE would be giving me away. Although my mom was a bit hurt, it was perhaps the first time I witnessed his refusal to share the role he had stepped into 28 years ago. As he escorted me down our aisle in the rain, I saw in his eyes not only the pride of a father but the unmistakable knowledge that those years had simply flown by without his permission or awareness. The sacrifices he made were necessary to them, appreciated by me, but no less painful because of that knowledge. It was a hard compromise for him to make, and he did so without letting any of us know how difficult it was.

I understand now Dad, and I appreciate every fourteen hour day.

For these reasons and more, I simply cannot wait to have children and witness my Dad's transformation from martyr to grandfather. I'm certain he will stuff their pockets with candies, bandage their cuts as if they had taken shrapnel from a wayward air strike, and make mud pies for hours in the backyard, just as my Papa did with me.

And if it is possible, he will enjoy being a Grandpa even more than he did being a Dad (that is my hope anyway). I just hope they still make Daffy Duck neckties.

Happy Father's Day to my Dad and to each father who has made sacrifices, noticed and unnoticed, so that their children may have the lives he envisioned for them.