I wasn’t going to write a Father’s Day post (sorry honey, sorry dad). It didn’t even cross my mind …
does that make me a terrible wife? A terrible daughter? A terrible person?
But then I came across this amazing post from one of my favorite bloggers. And as I wiped away the tears after reading her eloquently written prose, the guilt settled in …
I mean, it’s not like my husband’s a terrible husband. He isn’t. He’s a wonderful, caring, giving man. And a man who does the laundry. I mean, what’s not to love?
It’s not like he’s a terrible father. He isn’t. In fact, more often than not, he’s a more patient father than I am a mother. A man who, when the kids were little, would take them on Mother’s Day so I could have time to myself. And a man who, when the kids were little, would take them on Father’s Day. Because he defined Father’s Day as a day for him to spend time with his kids …
Mike lost his father when he was young. Just a boy. In fact, he surpassed his father’s age last year …
When we first married, I know Mike was worried about being a father. Not because he didn’t want kids. But because he wasn’t sure what that meant; how to act …
When we first had Sam, I know Mike was worried about being a father to a son. He could draw on a few distant memories of time he spent with his dad. But beyond nine years of age, he was at a loss …
I like to imagine Mike’s father looking down on him. Smiling that smile only a proud father can wear. Because that’s what he’d be of his son. His little boy who has grown into a wonderful man. A wonderful husband. And a wonderful father who is beloved by his children … and his wife.
Happy Father’s Day, honey!
P.S. I’d like to send some Father’s Day love to my father – a bull of a man and a pussycat of a father (to me, anyway, his baby) — who is still going strong ….
P.P.S. And I’d like to send a collective “Happy Father’s Day” to all those dads out there …
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