Every day is Father’s Day
We had a bunch of family over yesterday for Father’s Day and the weather was picture-perfect. It was great to have folks around to share the day with, including family from MA and AZ, and there was burger- and hot dog-grilling, horseshoe-tossing, frisbee-throwing, wiffle-ball playing, and swing . . . um, swinging. Anyway, the day could hardly have been better* and as a new member of fatherhood myself, it was great to look around at the other fathers present and see wonderful role models all the way around, from my own father, to my brother, to my in-laws and more. It is an honor to be considered in such company.
But as I sit here the next morning, with my little girl in her bouncy chair beside me, smiling at me with utter joy every time I look at her, I am reminded, as I am every single day, that I am a father not by any inner virtue of my own, but solely by the virtues she has bestowed on me. Even when she won’t go to sleep at night or she wakes up the moment that I pour the milk on my cereal or she wants to play endless rounds of the ‘kick-the-blanket-off’ game or she cries for no reason we can figure out . . . I am still her father, and so lucky to be so.
Then I am reminded of the fathers who cannot be with us, either on Father’s Day or any other day. Rather than dwell on their physical absence, however, I would rather think that they are always with us and that they are smiling down on my girls every day.
Because every day is Father’s Day.
* Well, except Lillian and I are still fighting the sick I’ve been sharing all week and my wife is finally succumbing, but even so,