Each year of the past few, I've blogged on (or about) Father's Day, and this one is no exception.
As my own son goes from "immobile lump" to "noisy toddler" I am - as is natural - forced to reassess my childhood understanding of my own father's actions.
I am forced to reassess his decisions in the light of my own; his ideas, in light of my own; his actions, his words, his beliefs; as I take on more of the same responsibilities, fears, challenges, and joys that he shouldered, my every thought, decision, emotion, comes under that same light of ruthless scrutiny.
My father was deeply flawed, but nonetheless, the smartest and toughest man I have ever known.
It hurts my soul in an undefinable way that I cannot have those discussions with him sons are supposed to have with their fathers, when they've grown up, and, going through those same moments of choice, are forced by reality into a more visceral understanding of what fatherhood really means, and the truth of the things they remember from childhood.
I'm never going to have the chance to tell him that NOW I understand why he made the decisions he made.
He's never going to have that validation - however slight - from me.
I hope he's listening.
You were right, Dad. About a lot of things.
I never knew; couldn't have known.
I hope you know I do now.
When he crawls out of his bed, comes over, climbs across Daddy like I was an inconveniently placed hill, flops into a heap next to me, sighs, and goes to sleep, I know.
When I turn him upside down and he giggles, I know.
When I have to tell him "no!" and his face crumples all up in that silent "I am SO going to cry now" face, I know.
When I leave for work and he says "bye-bye, daddy go work!" I know.
When I come home and he says "Daddy!" and runs for a hug, I know.
When he runs his tricycle across my foot three times, just to see if I will notice, I know.
When I play Guitar Hero (badly) and he grabs his toy guitar and comes to sit with me and play along, I know.
When he gives me a dead serious three minute speech in monkey, ending with an obvious question, and I say "I don't speak monkey," and he walks off waving his hands in the air, I know.
When he watches Willy Wonka and at the end of the movie says "You get nothing! You lose! Good DAY sir!" along with Gene Wilder, I know.
When he listens carefully to his mom yelling for ten minutes about something, waits until she's done, and says "aw, shit," I know. (I know we're gonna have to be a lot more careful.)
When he announces that any food he likes is pizza, because he likes pizza and therefore good food equals pizza, I know.
Right or wrong, every move he makes - and every reaction on my part - serves to show me, over and over, all the places where my father was right. I don't agree - even now - with everything he did; but I sure understand it a lot better.
So, tomorrow's Father's Day.
If you HAVE a father but you AREN'T one yet... you'll get it once you get there.
If you ARE a father... thank you. No matter the degree of success you achieve, thank you for trying.
If you HAVE a father and ARE a father... I bet you're learning some sharp lessons, aren't you?
If you DON'T HAVE a father and AREN'T one... I am so, so sorry that you're missing out on this experience.
If you DON'T HAVE a father and ARE one... Do your best. One day your son WILL understand, even if you're not there to see it. He WILL.
I never knew why my father tried SO HARD to get it right.
I do now.
I hope he knows it.
