Ahhh, Father’s Day. Another moment in time, when the internet turns blue and fishy and funny with pix of Dad and son in the boat, Daddy and daughter at the Valentine’s dance. Daddy giving away lacy, up-do daughter on her most important day.
But, where are the Hallmark cards saying thank you for teaching me how to be independent, not on purpose. Thank you for teaching not all those literary words, but all the sailor words. Thank you for the genetic pool of snap-to-judgment, saying-it-louder-is-better.
Thank you for the self published book “How to dress down a human in 3 seconds”.
Thank you for filling my love tank with cynicism, sarcasm, selfishness. For conditional love. And your phenomenal makeup advice “Take that blue sh.. off your face”.
I looked. Those cards aren’t there. Funny cards. Sappy cards. BBQ and remote relinquishing cards. Well written, wonderful, Wowza cards. Those are there.
So, we call, we chat, we discuss the weather. He loves to his ability. He loves as much as he was loved. Then, there’s a glimpse. Sharing a story. And I get it. Share’s a hurt from the past. And I get it. Tells a tale of an Algebra teacher. And I get it.
Years of asking myself why do I do what I do. And I get it.
Years of researching my own child’s disabilities. And I get it.
I get the caliber of a man that he is, and the one that he could have been, and one I wished he would have been.
And I give him grace. And I pray for him.
And I give me grace. And I pray for me.
And I hug my boy. And I pray for my boy. For him to be the father. That fills his children’s love tank with precious things.