There is so much less pressure exerted on Father’s Day than there is on Mother’s Day. I’m not sure exactly why, but I assume it’s because most Dads, like my Dad, are extremely forgetful and wouldn’t care if you forgot. Dads will go on their merry way and smile when you remember and laugh at the card you got from your 15 year old that said, “It’s said most girls marry men like their dads…if that’s true I’m on the lookout for a man who wears black socks with sandals.” It’s a total fashion disgrace.
My Mom calls my Dad The Screaming Marshmallow. As kids, when we got it trouble, it was my Dad who would warn us what he’d do when we were bad, but rarely ever did anything. His elephant memory would make him forget. So we’d get away with murder and then get ice cream afterwards (as long as mom wasn’t around).
My Dad made sure we went to church every Sunday. He has this weird I-have-to-be-twenty-minutes-early-to-everything syndrome, so we always had the best seats in the house (actually I don’t think anyone would have fought us for the front row seats truth be told).
My Dad can believe it or not can (kinda) cook. He use to always make this banana nut bread every Sunday and take it over to widows homes. He’d usually take one of us kids (probably to teach us a thing or two). Everytime we went over, these old ladies would know just who my Dad was and invite him in and they would chat for 15 minutes or so and he’d give them the bread. They’d always say “Thank your wife for the bread.” I asked my Dad why he didn’t say that he made the bread (it really was good) and he said it really didn’t matter who made the bread that he was just doing the Lord’s work.
I loved Daddy Daughter dates, those were awesome. We’d usually go out to eat. I remember we went out for my 9th birthday to this Mexican place and I got this cupcake at the end and got to wear a funny hat and was sung Happy Birthday to by all the waiters. It was pretty embarrassing, but since it was Dad, I also felt pretty special.
Now, our relationship is mostly phone based, I mean I am 3,000 miles away. My Dad is going pretty deaf (Mom said it happened when he was in Kuwait 2 years ago). Our conversations are hilarious. They’ll go something like this:
Me-I’m on my way to work.
Dad-You’re having a good day? That’s great!
Me-Yeah, it’s a good day.
Dad-What are you doing? Are you at home?
Me-I’m on my way to work.
Dad-What?
Me-I’M ON MY WAY TO WORK.
Dad-Work, oh, well I hope it’s great.
Yep that’s my dad, forgetful, black socks with sandals, I-have-to-be-twenty-minutes-early-to-everything syndrome, good servant, and going deaf. Which brings me to my next subject:
Steven. Well I really did marry a man just like my Dad. Steven’s forgetful, wears black socks with sandals, has I-have-to-be-twenty-minutes-early-to-everything syndrome, is a good servant, and is also going deaf (or maybe that’s selective hearing).
Steven is a great Dad, parenting is pretty much 50/50 at our house. He changes his share of diapers. He watches his share of girls. He has Moo, Baa, Lalala memorized (only occasionally needing some prompting from Seporah). He cooks a mean pizza. He cleans up toy, after toy, after toy. He puts the girls to bed better than I ever could. He also exclusively trims the girl’s fingernails (that’s one chore I do NOT do). He has so much more patience than their Mom does. He also takes care of their Mom and believe me, I would know, she needs it. And perhaps the most crowning achievement at the present moment: he helped Seporah use the potty for the very first time yesterday since starting potty training 6 months ago.
I probably don’t talk about Steven as much as I should. Yeah, Steven drives me crazy sometimes, but if he were ever gone, I don’t think I could do it. Because without Steven, I don’t have a clue how I would do this whole mom business. He really is the best Dad I could ever ask for for my children.
