Writing about Father’s Day is bittersweet. My father died of terminal bone cancer when I was thirteen. He never saw me graduate high school or college. He never got to teach me how to drive a car or change a tire. We never attended a father/daughter dance, and he never walked me down the aisle.
He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was a good man and a good dad. He got up every morning at 5AM. While my mom made breakfast he’d sit at the head of the table and drink coffee. They spoke in hushed tones about each other’s plans for the day being careful not to wake us. It was their time together. When my dad came home from work at 5PM, it was family time. He’d look at the papers we brought home from school and admire our artwork. Sometimes after dinner we’d all ride bikes or my parents would sit in their lawn chairs watching us catch lightening bugs.
My dad was a carpenter. He had the rough hands of a working man, but holding his hand was one of my greatest joys. The memory of holding that strong hand helps make up for the major memories we never got to create.
Yesterday, one of the people I follow on Twitter posted a list of questions and asked his followers which question they would like him to answer – only one question per person. There were about 20 questions, but one caught my eye, “What’s your happiest memory?” That’s what I asked him.
His response was, “The moment after my son was born via c-section and they placed him in my arms.” This was his first child, and it was the moment he officially became a dad instead of an expectant father. It was real and the red-faced little human wiggling and crying was perfection.
I hope he shares that memory with his son often.
My son became a dad in a similar situation. Seeing my son with his son is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. I’m in awe of the excellent father he has become. When I see them walking together holding hands, I remember holding my dad’s hand and it makes me smile.
We measure time in increments and celebrate the passing of years, but we live it in moments - precious seconds that stretch into minutes and if we are lucky extend into a lifetime.
