Happy Father’s Day to everyone out there, whether you’re already a father (hi guys, you’re doing a great job), on the brink of being a father (hey K, tell S I’m talking to him), or the product of a father, I hope you have a day filled with grilled meat where applicable, an acceptable substitution where not, and reflection on the male influences in your life or your influence on the world.
I didn’t get to write on Mother’s Day due to personal circumstances (sorry ladies (and Mom), I’ll get you next year), but I couldn’t let Father’s Day go by without an acknowledgement to fathers everywhere and to one in particular in a specific location.
Yes, I mean my father.
My Dad is the sort of person who usually has a glint in his eye from the joke that’s in its infancy stages and will make its appearance in a few minutes, when the setup is just right.
He got that from his father, who hid his jokes in a tiny snippet of a smile, which broadened and grew as he told them.
My Dad faithfully reads my blog and my books and tells me they’re good and swears that it isn’t because he’s my Dad (but I think he’s a little biased. I mean, come on, he’s a Dad). He encourages me with the fervor of an American Idol parent, but none of the delusion (I hope).
He’s spent his whole career setting the example of helping people in need, eschewing a far more lucrative lifestyle to stay in academics and serve populations with layers upon layers of problems. He never lectures or
opines, he just does, quietly.
He’s taught me to use a screwdriver, a drill, how to hold a flashlight, how to improvise in an emergency. How to see beyond the surface of things.
He’s taught me how to appreciate science-fiction. Where would I be without that?
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thank you for all you do, all you’ve done, and all you’ll do in the future. You’re awesome.