I spend a significant amount of time working at being a good parent. I wonder if I am doing enough and I wonder if I am doing too much. I think most parents do the same thing.
This week I received one of those gifts that let me know that I am on the right track. My daughter had an in class writing exercise to do in one of her college classes. They were given writing prompts as they were writing and what follows below is simply a flow of words off the top of her head.
To me it is a gift of words that assures me that I doing OK as a dad and that my daughter is doing great as a human being.
My father is an absolutely hilarious human being. Some may describe him as “ridiculous”, some may describe him as “caring”, and others may describe him as “rude”, but that is precisely what I love about him. He always has some sort of joke (most of the time it’s lame) to fill a void in a conversation. He has the ability to make me laugh hysterically, until I have tears in my eyes. No joke. I can always count on him to make fun of me; to call me out when I am being dramatic, which is often (I have my grandmother’s genetics). I see my father sitting at our kitchen table, typing away (oh, he is awful at typing so it is a wonderful sight to see) on his beat up laptop with duct tape on the edge to stop the screen from freaking out every five minutes. It’s a funny thing; how much he and his laptop have in common. Not the freaking out part, because I honestly can’t remember the last time my father yelled at me, but the part about being a bit different, being a bit “quirky.” I’m not sure if I’m explaining this similarity well, but it is a GOOD thing. Anyway, I see my father there in the kitchen, in his old boxer briefs (pants are always optional in our house), with a hole in the ass because he hasn’t bothered to buy a new pair in about three years (that is so typical dode), and one of his white v-neck t-shirts that Wendy bought him for Christmas. He’s probably typing up another inspirational post for his blog; what he does best.
It’s difficult sometimes to figure out what my dad is thinking about. He is a very complex man. He has strong emotions and he could be thinking some terribly depressing thought but I would never know because he would never let me know. That is what I love about my father; he only wants what’s best for his kids. And if he is having the worst day ever, he would never project that on us. He’s very strong. He can fall down ten times a day, but always manage to get back up and “keep on keepin’ on.” That should be my dad’s bumper sticker or personal phrase or something like that because that truly describes his personality and outlook on life. But anyway, he is thinking back to a time when we were little (us kids); I was maybe four or five. We’re all playing in the backyard of our Pleasant Hill house and he’s out there watching us, thinking “what did I do right? How the hell did I get blessed with the three best children I could ask for?” He has his silly dad grin on, thinking how, no matter what shit he was dealing with at work, or anything else, life couldn’t be better because he has us. Of course, we stressed the hell out of him, especially back then we were little, but he still feels blessed. I think, though, that he shouldn’t wonder how we happened, because it’s all because of him. Of course, the whole sex part, and him and my mom creating us, but it’s my dad that made us so great (my mom did too, of course, but this is about my dad right now). I don’t think parents realize that. They always focus on how great their kids are and what they did to deserve great kids (well, the good parents do at least) but they never really realize that a lot of it is thanks to them. They are what’s so great about us. I highly doubt that I would be as independent as I am today if it wasn’t for my dad ‘s ability to let us do things on our own; he knew that we would figure things out somehow without having his help all the time. I certainly wouldn’t be as resilient as I am today if it wasn’t for my parents’ divorce, I certainly can thank them for that! And I know for a fact, without a doubt, that I would not have the same ridiculous sense of humor if it wasn’t for my dad. Those things affect kids and I am really glad that I had my dad’s influence growing up, over anyone else. God, my dad is great.
