It’s over. Thank God. It’s the second Father’s Day without my dad, but this one was awful. Not that I spent many Father’s Days with my dad, or even sent a gift. It was a phone call holiday and often rushed. But with everyone posting this and that about their fabulous fathers, I felt lost.
So here it is. A day late, and for sure a dollar short, because I never said anything kind to him about his efforts. Dad, if you are reading, pay special attention to this one.
My dad sang Mack the Knife. But only when I was little. I’m not sure when he stopped singing it, but he would snap his fingers, tap his cool toe, and sing it. I have no idea if it was off key or not, but judging from my own sense of musical self, it most likely was off key. He seemed so sure of it when he sang it and he had a big smile on his face.
Flash forward to the sixth grade ballroom dancing class Father Daughter night. We went and he was a nervous wreck. A wreck I tell you. I realize only now that he cared very deeply about dancing with me so he wouldn’t embarrass me. Oh alright, if we are honest here, it was probably more about embarrassing himself, but he’s gone so let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He was nervous and made silly jokes that irritated me. He did the same thing walking me down the aisle. I told him to shut up.
And, so it goes. A memory re-written with new insight that intention matters. My dad, through all his difficulties with nurturing, had the best of intentions around everything he did for us.
Missing you dad. Love, C.