Father's Day

My dad is celebrating his 35th Father's Day. I called him this morning, early, while he was starting the day with his lovely wife, attending a neice's high school graduation party. Mornings were Dad's time of the day- the best time of the day, he always told us. Weekends when we were growing up, he would make breakfast and knock on our bedroom doors. While our school friends slept in until noon, we would wake up by 7am. The three of us kids and our bleary-eyed mom around the table while he made pancakes that looked like Mickey Mouse, poured hot coffee or flipped crepes. To this day, neither I or my siblings will sleep in on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and I shake my head and pity people who miss out on the best part of the day.

I could sit and write memories of growing up with Dad. I could reflect on the lessons he taught me and the care he took (still takes) in raising his children to be strong and gentle and wise and generous and hard-working. But that is a project that would take all day, or more- I would still be writing come next Father's Day. I see children all the time who are abused or neglected, or just not particularly valued by their fathers, and I am continually reminded of how lucky I am. I grew up in the bosom of a loving family, and, even when times were very difficult, that love could always be counted on. Unfortunately, that is not typical, and not a day doesn't go by that I am not thankful for it, and for my dad's hard work to build and maintain it.