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 …