Pecans, Pinecones & Padre's

There is no such thing as a perfect parent.

Dead beat dads, absentee fathers, illegitimate children. The men who walked away and never looked back. Men who deny their children’s DNA through paternity tests. Stepfathers.

Happy Father’s Day.

There isn’t a day to acknowledge all the failed fathers. Because that is every day. For too many children. These fathers won’t get the funny farter cards, the grill tools, the gratitude, a fine bottle of bourbon. We celebrate the ones who put in the work, who withstood and did the right thing. They are as varied as their individual situations. Lets take a look at them.

• Men who stayed with their wives and kept their family ‘s lives together. BRAVO! You deserve a top award, but your trophy maybe an intact legacy. Your family tree has a better chance of having some strong branches and good roots.

• Those fathers who didn’t disappear after a breakup or divorce, honoring visitation schedule and child support orders. WELL DONE! It’s a hard knock life. Your children will have therapy later, but hey at least you are still in the game!

• Stepfathers who stepped up when another man did not or could not! YOU ARE THE BEST! This is tricky territory. Lots of unspoken rules and reg’s you have to navigate. In many cases you are flying blind. But you knew that, didn’t you? Yet you still signed up for the gig.

• Mentors. These men are a special breed. There is no woman, no marriage, nothing to gain, just a helpful heart who see a child in need. Think Big Brother’s Big Sisters, The Boys & Girls Clubs of America, Boy Scouts. Sometimes these men show up in churches, neighborhoods, schools etc. Many times they are uncles or other male family members.

And for all those men who tried and still didn’t measure up. There is something to say for at least giving a shit and showing up even it’s not picture perfect. It’s your day too.

For me, it’s complicated. I have a father who I speak with regularly. He loves me and I know it, but we did not share our lives together. Despite and maybe because of that I love him even more dearly. He is precious to me, and yet, there will always be that gap of growing up without a man in the home. Watching a man shave still moves me. I love hearing my husband’s shave tools. It’s a comforting sound.

As the first born, a lot of the man’s work fell to me. Starting the car on frigid morning at 6:00 am so that it would be warm enough for mom to drive us to daycare. Waking the boys up, putting their coats on…later picking my sister up from her after school job. I waited in the parking lot till ten pm on a school night, my pajamas and pink sponge rollers on. And later still taking the youngest to soccer practice and both of my brothers to their first Monster truck show.

I had to assist my mother in raising her children, so I appreciate men and fathers. And I had to raise a boy on my own for the first nine years of his life.

But of my own father, we made our peace years ago. When his father, my grandfather died and the only reason I knew was because my beloved aunt read the obits…I was livid. Out for blood as they say. The only man I had as a child was the WWII veteran with the perpetual cough and the smiling crinkling eyes who always had time for me. To my surprise, my father listened to my anger and agreed with me. He had not been present in my life and for that he was sorry. Satisfied, I decided to take what he could offer and we began our relationship. I was a 19 year old young woman who had managed to make something of herself, somehow. We had two wonderful years together until I married.

And then, it was as if he knew. He asked me lunch. We sat down, he wanted me to order fish soup. I was beginning to grow even thinner than normal. Patiently he waited. When he asked me how I was doing, all I could do was shake my head. Then I sobbed and sobbed….Not for me, but for my own two babies.

He asked me a few questions, then took out his checkbook and signed his name, leaving it blank. “I don’t care how much it costs.” We lingered and I tried to sip the fish soup, but I had what I needed. What he had given me was more than sustenance, it was security. My father had my back. Whenever I have needed him most, he answered the call.

So I cling to his voice over the phone. I know his inflection points, recognize the pregnant pause when he is about to say something he doesn’t really want to. I send him pictures of my life. He loves me and I know it. We tell each often during our conversations. We share our hearts and thoughts with each other, even if the words can be painful. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to share my life with you.” “I should have come and gotten you.” “I’m sorry that I moved on without you.”

When my father met my husband for the first time, he ran his hand over my man’s shoulders. I could see the unease in my fiance’s face. “Your built like an ox, son. I would hate to meet you in a dark alley.” They shook hands and I sensed relief in my father.

Father’s come in many forms of packaging, don many different types of hats, but I think the one thing all the great ones do is offer support. Emotional, physical, financial, however they can support the raising of children not just enjoy the making of them.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dudes trying to raise the kids, in whatever ways you consistently do. You deserve more than one day.