Father’s Day
Father’s Day. My day. Me as a member of the father class. I like being a father. I mostly liked coaching. I loved cheering. And I read to them every night. I was a good diaper changer, I knew how to feed, and I could pat babies to sleep. I could even handle the kids while my wife got alone time. I was hit or miss as a disciplinarian, and I could have used a touch more calmness.
I stayed employed, put food on the table, and provided shelter. Keep in mind, however, that my wife worked during long stretches. So, it wasn’t a one-man job. I just did dad things. I kept the car running, tended the yard, and tried to put on a brave face on if and when things got hard. Basically, I was following my father’s lead. He was a man of the old school, born in the depression, served in the military, put food on the table, and always made sure I had a baseball team to call my home.
I wish they would have had classes for fatherhood. It sure would have helped. But I just jumped into the pool and it was sink or swim. I had some ideas about how I wanted to proceed, but a touch more guidance would have been a good thing. Professional help. But that was then, and this now, and the kids still talk to me. My father, however, is long gone, I still miss him, and I wish he was here for me to say, “Happy Father’s Day.”