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As long as I can remember, I pictured my father as someone who always had good advice for me. Known by many as an accomplished teacher, coach, businessman, and all-star athlete — I just knew him as my dad.
He had the ability to tell elaborate stories and was a great joke teller. He also had a way of asking me what I was thinking without always having to ask me “what are you thinking?” It showed he cared… a lot. He passed away suddenly nearly 4 yrs ago, 2 weeks shy of his 49th wedding anniversary, and like any son, I grieved… a lot. Not only for all the times we didn’t spend together, but for all the times we didn’t spend together. This is not a typo, it’s repeated intentionally, for emphasis. (more on this in a minute…)
He would often ask me, on the phone, when he called, “how is my #1 son?” Or jokingly, “I forgot I even had a son”. Which to me was a reminder to call him more often. I knew what he meant, and it was with love, he said it… always with love.
In fact, we would never end a conversation without saying the words, “I love you.” This is more special to me than anything we didn’t say. This brings me back to the aforementioned “repeated for emphasis statement” — For all the times, I didn’t call, I didn’t reach out… I just didn’t… although I know he knew I loved him, I still feel regret for not responding, and SEEing him as often as I could/should have. This would have probably meant the world to both of us.
As a father of 4, there are times when I don’t reach out… I just don’t. OR — I do reach out, and they, my own family, do not reach back out… they just don’t. Many times, they are preoccupied with their own pursuits… art, drumming (really loud), keyboard, playing with dolls (really loud), binge-watching Netflix and Anime for 17 hours straight, or just sleeping the day away. Forgive me, while I take a moment to shamefully reminisce (yes, I realize it may be split infinitive, but let’s move on).
Heck, I GET IT!! Growing up, I would spend all day in my room playing with my Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, building awe-inspiring cities out of blocks and my Erector set (the cars need to have a working elevator for their garages, right?), expanding my own universe while creating intergalactic adventures with my Star Wars characters, taking my sister on crazy raft rides around our pool while making up my own narration and navigating the imaginary waterfalls, falling boulders, dangerous sea monsters, and fastest ever moving rapids that I could create all for her amusement just like a thrill ride at Disney World, making forts together, and listening to her “Karaoke herself” through yet another Whitney Houston song playing on a real-life record spinning for 997th time on a real-life record player — I truly didn’t mind though, I was always in admiration of her talent and creativity, still am. I remember spending entire Saturdays… making pretend DJ shows with my most prized possession, a silver-plated, Mono radio with a super cool cassette player — with a built-in microphone, of course, so I could talk AND record my voice at the same time, like a real DJ — (my first official/unofficial “boom-box”), just… waiting… anticipating the MOMENT that I could be lucky enough to catch the FIRST note of my favorite song by Duran Duran, or Huey Lewis, so I could rejoice as I proudly hit the Record Button, and finally catch it all on tape… shout out to ALL the 80’s kids out there! Or… going to the neighbor’s house around the block, swimming in his pool and playing, all day playing… while doing my best not to catch his cute sister, catching me, noticing her out of the corner of my eye. Play “Marco Polo” again, sure, no problem.
Then getting ALL the kids, that seemed to come literally out of nowhere, and play kickball in the street for hours till suppertime… no cell phones, no social media, absolutely no worries… just all kinds of YES! without a care in the world… SO, I GET IT — Kids need to be kids and have space to grow, play, learn, and understand what their world should look like for them.
But, I always thought, I would be the one with the great stories of my childhood, the one with the wizened words of grandiose, sage advice to pass down to my children… Words so profound it would leave lasting impressions they would cherish for years to come, the one that could make them laugh with a good joke… the one to always say I love you. But somehow, I am not that man, I am a different man, but not THAT man. I want to be that man for them. THAT Father, the one who always had the right thing to say, at the right time. The man who took the time to truly understand his children, and know that he thought the world of them. To look in the mirror and KNOW that the man facing back was the person who would have earned the right to call himself, FATHER, not just a good dad. I DO love my children, very much, as any father would, but since I don’t always say it or give of myself like I KNOW I should, I feel that I have let them down in that department. There is time, and they say time heals all wounds, and in time you will know… but time is also fleeting — brief moments of bliss, spontaneous discovery, and moments of WOW, somehow get jumbled together and tempered with the ordinary, mundane, morass of life, they just do… it’s a loss felt ever so slightly, even at the moment — but JOY comes in the morning!
One such moment involved my youngest. In a moment, co-mingled with her behavior, and my short-sidedness, I called her ridiculous. This hurt her feelings more than I knew at the time. Later, when I realized the impact my words had on her, I corrected my statement by telling her FIRST that I loved her, and I thought the world of her, and I meant to say that I thought her behavior was ridiculous, and not her personally.
Her response was unlike I have ever seen and took me by Complete Surprise. She took her arms, spread them towards the sky like a flower, and said, “I bloom like a flower inwardly and grow out and upward” Just… like… that…astoundingly poetic and perceptive coming from the heart, and the mind of a 6, soon to be 7 yr old.” How my daughter ever came up with THOSE WORDS, in that MOMENT, I’ll never know, but I DO know this — I will never forget it. Having the rare opportunity to glimpse Heaven on Earth, and feel even, for a moment, the joy of true fatherhood… Maybe, it’s a step on the right path, to better days to come.
God, I hope so!
Each new day brings fresh opportunities. More chances to wipe the slate clean, to start with a fresh pair of eyes, the chance to listen with a renewed set of ears to their wishes, their complaints, their hopes, their dreams, and their deepest desires. To play an all-important role in parenting.. to be the Father I know I could/should/can be…
If ONLY I knew… what… to… say.
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Previously published on medium.com and is republished here under permission.
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Photo credit: Pixabay.com