Da Goddess

Dads are an interesting bunch, aren’t they? When you’re really young, they’re superheroes. As you get a little older, they’re heroes — just not as super. Then you become a teen and you think they don’t know anything. Somewhere along the way, you grow up and find yourself in need of advice and suddenly you turn to your dad because you figure he knows a little something about life.

I wish I could say that I always thought my dad was the best guy in the world. I’d be lying though. I was a typical kid and wasn’t exactly the most well-behaved during my teens, which caused plenty of friction in my family. However, I have to admit there were a few times when my dad really surprised me.

When I got caught by the cops sitting in a parked car with an open beer in my hand as a teenager, instead of freaking out, my dad said (in my defense), “it’s not like she was driving. And the police did say there was maybe only a sip taken out of it.” My mom was upset, but my dad kept his cool.

After a car accident (again, when I was a teen), my dad was the one who told me, “a car can be replaced; you can’t.” Sure, I didn’t drive again for a while, yet when it was time, he made me get behind the wheel and regain my confidence.

I’ve realized more and more over the last couple of years just how much more patience my dad had than I gave him credit for when I was younger. There was plenty of yelling, but there were plenty of times when there wasn’t. I don’t know how he managed to keep from throttling us kids. He managed…however he did it, he managed.

And now he’s a grandfather. What a grandfather he’s turned out to be, too. When Mojo was five years old, my dad’s 1966 Mustang (he’s only the second owner and still as the original window sticker) was declared to be Mo’s. They have a fun relationship, at times, reminiscent of the I had with him, but without all the pressure and expectations. Mojo’s really the reason my dad shines as he does. She’s everything his own daughters were, weren’t, might’ve, could’ve, and should’ve been in one person. She brought us all closer as a family and she especially brought my dad and I closer. I saw a different side to him, a side eager to please and amuse a child. That reminded me of those early years I had with him. They were similar, but not the same. So in a way, I got to eavesdrop my way back into a bit of my childhood whenever they were together.

Then LD came along and this young man brought out a different side of my father. He talked to my son like one would talk to a boy, but it was with a soft gentleness that I think he learned from granddadding Mojo. Still, there’s enough of a difference to the way they interact that says volumes about how they interact. Their relationship is different, as it should be. I see a man who opens up to this young man of mine and shares stories of his life, stories I never heard. Dad brings out the inquisitive side of my boy and I’m proud of what they come up with. There’s genuine encouragement there. And I know when I get stuck in the “but I’m a mom! How am I supposed to explain that to him, Dad?” “With facts, patience, and questions. Just like you would if you were telling a patient in your hospital. Take your time. He’ll listen. He’s a better listener than you were, have some faith in yourself. You can do this. It’s not really that much harder than it was with Mojo, so just roll with it.” And I do.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about my dad. I learned about what drove him to be the man he is today, to act as he had in the past, to respond as he responded, and to learn that I was still learning from him.

That’s pretty much what you want from a father, isn’t it? To learn that there’s still more to learn from him! Whether you’re a son or daughter, he has something to teach you. Lessons aren’t always easy. And they don’t always fit into your life the way you want them to, but he’s sharing and that’s pretty amazing, don’t you think? He could have walked away and left you to figure it all on your own, but he didn’t.

I wish I had a brand new old car to give my dad for Father’s day. Or could write him a book that would guarantee to make him laugh. Or to sing him a song guaranteed to bring tears to his eyes. Oh wait…I think I did that last one. My song, or songs, are my children. And they do bring tears to his eyes, to all of our eyes. That’s so much better than just showing up alone with a card.

I love you, Dad. I’m not the brightest kid. I’m not the richest kid. I’m not the greatest kid; I’m far from your favorite kid most of the time. But I am the kid with kids. And that makes our relationship special.

I love you. I hope you have an amazing day, Dad. Really. It’s summer and we’re all here and accounted for. We all must have been doing something right. And we all love you.

Roles have often changed over the year, but we’re still all here. And mostly, we’re reading an or two from this book on fatherhood. There, buried beneath other words and activities are words that mean everything to us. Hidden messages in books. Who’d have thought that? It’s a good way to compare stories and give you something to talk about. Doesn’t matter how we get to the talking, at least we’re talking. There’s lots to talk about, too.

Now, while I’m at it, I’d just like to say, I’m glad you’re my dad.

And because you’re mine, I walk the line.