Okay, you know you’re too busy when it’s Thursday and you go to your blog to start a new post and you realize (after much “what the?” “where’s my post?” “why is my post gone?” and such fussyness) that you NEVER POSTED IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. So here it is:
I really became aware of Father’s Day today. Not that I’ve not noticed it every year, but I took the awareness to a new level. I intently checked out the father’s all around me today. Almost forgot to phone my OWN father, but pulled that off in the nick of time, even sounding like I waited ALL day to catch him at the right moment.
We celebrated my husband’s fatherness at Fuddrucker’s with The Little Boy’s soccer team end-of-season party. A few of the father’s showed up. A couple of the mom’s. This truly was one of the most distressing soccer seasons. Not because of the players. In that regard, this was one of the best seasons. We had some great soccer players on our team this year. No…it was the parents. The divorce rate was high for this team. The parent apathy level was even higher. Throughout the season, I have had to remind The Man that it was all about our son and the other boys, and not about the parent (lack of) involvement and apathy level, which was running pretty high. Since The Man absolutely, positively adores our children and all that is “sports”, he pulled it off really well. Which helped to heighten my Father’s Day Awareness. For all that he may irk me at times (just because I’m a woman and he’s not) he is the best dad.
Now, my dad was an awesome father, but The Man…he is amazing.
He had never been around any babies before ours, except to hold my cousin Emily…she was “the first” and they still, at 47 and 23, have this tight connection that the rest of us are totally excluded from. He held her (but only because we would shove her into his arms and leave the room) and fed her and fell head-over-heels-in-love-with-her. But it was another six long years before The Boy arrived. And I must say that God knew what He was about when He sent us a son as our firstborn. From sonograms and all, our first child was “a girl…85% sure” but 100% turned out not to be! When The Man saw The Boy for the first time, he laughed and laughed. They are pretty tight, those two. And eleven months and one day later, My Girl was born. Tiny and pink and just the sweetest thing ever and it was love all over again for her poppa. He tossed her around (after the first month or so) just like he did The Boy and she was surely Daddy’s Girl. He has coached her and supported her and disciplined her and loved her as much as The Boy.
And then the let’s-try-to-have-another-oops-I’m-already-pregnant child arrived. The Little Boy turned out to be quite the momma’s boy (and his momma wouldn’t have it any other way). But, unfortunately, The Man had to go away for 10 months just as The Little Boy was three. We saw him only once a month, if we were lucky. A very difficult age for a child to be separated from his daddy. Eight years later, they’ve gotten it all straightened out, but it took a bit of time. The Man went above and beyond to make sure this boy knew he was loved by his dad as much as the other’s.
Now I know that dad’s are all different. They have had different upbringings, they have different jobs, but I can tell you that it has been quality AND quantity time that has bound our children to their father. Sometimes it was more quantity than quality…as evidenced by our children’s frequent references to FFF…Forced Family Fun. And sometimes it’s been quality over quantity…a special outing or treat squeezed into a busy schedule. But overall, it’s been both.
Interestingly enough, as I’ve watched The Man grow over the years as a father and a husband, I’ve developed a new and improved relationship with my own father. I solely attribute their growth and mine to our own Heavenly Father. He is the One that I have an entirely new awareness of after this Father’s Day.