Father's Day

For years now, Father's Day has been a... 'problematic'... observance for me.

Not that I think fathers don't deserve it--they emphatically do--and not that I had any problem rendering honor to my father; our relationship may have been strained for much of my adult life, but for all my adult life I have respected and honored my dad, and I have loved him since I was first me. I'll grant that Dad made it difficult to make a fuss on Father's Day, but in my heart I honored him regardless.

No, my problem with Father's Day is envy.

My most lasting aspirations--the ones that have been consistent and persistent since puberty--are to be a dad and a spouse. My reasons have evolved over time, but my desire to fill those two roles has been a constant. From about the age of 23 through 40, the litmus test I've applied when deciding what to make of my life has been, "Will this make me a better husband and dad?" I haven't always made good decisions, but that question was always part of the decision-making process.

So every Father's Day that I haven't been a father has been a bit bittersweet; I've been glad to honor dads everywhere and sad that I am not among their number. The longer that's been true, the more bittersweet it's been.

And this isn't about being the guy who gets a tie on Father's Day... this is about being a dad. I couldn't care less about being a father on Father's Day; I just want to be a father. I'd like to be something like half as good a dad as my dad was to me (although for a long time I didn't know how good I had it--it's funny how experience has a way of informing opinion).

Once I passed 40 years of age, I rotated among acceptance, desperation, and resignation--I knew that I was already past a likely age for becoming a dad, especially biologically, and that as I grew older it became less and less likely that I ever would. My focus shifted; while adoption of a spouse's children was never off the table, as I aged it became more and more the hope I had.

At 50, desperation is pretty much out. These days I alternate between resignation and acceptance. I'm trying to make acceptance the default setting...

Despite my own angst over fatherhood, I love Father's Day. I think dads--the ones who build snowmen with you and take you fishing and help you fix your car and listen to your stories and sing at your school's talent shows and kick your ass when you're too stupid to realize how stupid you are--are often taken for granted, and deserve at least the recognition of a Hallmark holiday. At least...

So here's to dads everywhere, and to Dad--my dad--who isn't around any more to make it difficult for his kids to fuss over him. This is the second Father's Day since Dad died, and I find myself missing him when I least expect to.

I love you, Dad.