A Father’s Day Tribute

This tribute isn’t about my own father; rather, it’s a tribute to the parenting I have witnessed my husband carry out over the past 20 years.

I married a man with two pre-teen children, and was fascinated to witness and learn about how different his way of being a dad was from what I knew, or thought, it meant to be a father.

From my own family experience, I thought fathers were rather remote, inaccessible figures, mainly responsible for being the breadwinner and stern disciplinarian (I mean, who didn’t quake to hear their mother shriek “Just wait ’til your father gets home!”).  Heaven forbid you confide a problem, because that would just result in a lecture about how you’ve screwed up, and you’ve made your bed and will now have to lie in it. 

It wasn’t my dad’s fault, but he just wasn’t equipped (and didn’t seem interested, frankly) to find out who his children really were, and to find ways to foster and nurture their unique personhood.  I believe he loved us, but he didn’t know us, and he didn’t let us know him.  I learned more than I ever knew about my dad when I heard the tributes paid to him at his memorial service.  It was very sad.

From the beginning of our relationship, I could tell John delighted in being a dad and was overjoyed by his children.  It was apparent in the details he spoke about that he really knew their individual personalities, as well as what they enjoyed doing most, what they were good at, what they were likely to be interested in, and what made them laugh.  He truly was a supporter and champion of their developing lives and spirits.  He wanted them to know and believe that their lives and careers could be anything they chose. 

He joyously invested all the love, time, attention, energy that goes into raising happy healthy kids, as well as ensured they always had everything they needed financially, including many opportunities that would expand their horizons and life experiences.

It must have been gut-wrenching for him to discover his first marriage was over and his family would not be joining him after all, in the distant town where he’d moved to accept a job promotion.  Seeing his children for a weekend would now require 35 hours round trip of driving – and that’s exactly what he did. 

In order to be able to afford more frequent visits, he got his truck equipped with propane fuel capability (which was a lot cheaper than gas back then).  A weekend visit would involve leaving work on a Friday afternoon and travelling 17 hours straight.  He’d spend Saturday and most of Sunday with his kids and, on Sunday afternoon embark on the 17 hour trip back – arriving just in time for work on Monday morning.  I can only imagine it was the pure “love fix” he got from seeing his children that enabled him to endure such exhaustion.  I don’t know of many men who would have done this.  It it had been me, I’m not even sure I would have done it. 

His children have never been, and never will be, far from his thoughts.  He has been the caring, reliable, accessible father who you can call with a problem and know he will listen and give you his best advice tailored to you, and then leave you to make your own decision because he trusts your judgement. Or, if wanted, he will get right on a plane and come to where you are to help with whatever situation you’re facing.

I realize it’s many of the things that make him a great dad that also make him such a great husband.  He nourishes and champions my spirit the same way he does his childrens’.  I know there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for us.

Happy Father’s Day, John.  I love you.

Todo bien.  (It’s all good.)

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