I thought all week about how I might write a poem about Father’s Day, and maybe it will come to me later in the day, but for now, I decided I will just talk about it, and perhaps provide my own insight into the phenomena of fatherhood. I am a father to two lovely children that I am so proud of in every way. I am blessed by their beauty, their genuine free spirit, and their passion for life. I find myself often humbled by how wonderful they are, and know I cannot take complete responsibility as my caring and focused spouse has provided such a strong sense of guidance for our children, and certainly me. Yet in additions, there are other reasons, and I need to get back to the father aspect of this writing.

When I was a child, I knew my father to be the bread-winner; however, he was the 50’s stereotype of the gone all week, and home for the weekend master of the house. He married a woman that worked all of her life in education, a smart woman indeed, so that generalization of the man doing all the work in the public eye, and the woman behind the scenes did not apply in our family. However, the genre of father and mother were clear in my eyes. I do recall the many moments of ‘wait until your father gets home’ putting me into a state of frozen anxiety, moving to, ‘we’ll keep this between ourselves’ on the notion of dad finding out about any number of adolescent misgivings I endured as a teenager. And there were many, but I digress.

My dad used to take me fishing when I was a kid. That is surely one of my fondest memories. He taught me how to work a stream, to find pools in a river, how to clean fish, and respect the land. We would start out early in the morning, 5 AM, and I would be asleep in the car by the time we left the driveway at first, but then I would wake and listen as he said, ‘this looks like a spot’ and would literally crawl his Plymouth across the gravel leading up to an old iconic bridge over a stream in anywhere Northern Wisconsin. We would get out of the car and step on the gravel with such delicacy to not make a sound, clicking the car doors in their engagement rather than full thrust slapping the metal. Our fishing gear in hand we would step along the steep side of a bridge and make our way to the river, the pool ‘where they are waiting for us’ being ever so careful to not shift rocks so they would avalanche to the water. I do recall on occasion where that very thing happened, and he would look at me and I would look at him, and we would both have knowing expressions that suggested we drive away and come back later. That’s what we did. That’s what I did with my father growing up, learning from him the patience, the grace, and the respect of nature and all of Her natural bounty.

My dad is beloved in his community of friends and family. Yet, I recall often a pained expression on his beautiful face, but as I get older, I no longer think it was pained as much as him always being alert to what can he do now to help the people around him have a better day. He was indeed a self-driven man, but around people a giving, thoughtful and delightful human being.

So today, as we recognize our fathers I look to my dad, and I am grateful for the lessons he gave me that I have and still can now attempt to instill on my own beautiful children and family. We are fortunate, we are granted the responsibility of raising a family together, and we do so with certain vigorous passion. I am thankful to be a dad, and grateful to have the tutelage that my father gave me in his own manner. I wish that upon all of the children of dad’s across the world today. Please know there are many rewards to our patriarchal society. We can recognize the fortunate freedom of knowing, for some, we truly were the apple in our father’s eyes.

Happy Father’s Day world!