I remember as a small person evenings spent tag team reading through a dozen Roald Dahl books with my dad while I walked on his back. And the thrill that came when he pulled out his guitar, plugged into his amp and played along with songs on the radio. And my favorite memory from being really little...curling up on his lap with my head on his chest to feel in my ear his low, even voice as he spoke with other adults.
My dad was a great dad with little kids. He was patient, he treated us like our thoughts and opinions mattered and I know that for me, he made me feel like I could do anything. I knew my dad was very smart and not a very expressive man so when he vocally thought something I drew was good or something I wrote was good or something I thought was good...I believed him; because I knew he was proud of me. I have wonderful memories of being a kid and now looking back, I know both my parents did an amazing job teaching us from childhood on that while the world isn't full of fair, if we use our brains and are thoughtful, we'll be able to navigate well and I hope so much I can be that kind of parent someday too.
But older kids were a little bit more tricky for my dad. Partly because he has no patience for smart-assery (and Clifford teenagers were all smart-asses to some degree). But partly because by the time my younger brothers and I trickled into teenhood, various problems were weighing on my family. From my perspective, it seems that years of financial insecurity were feeling heavier to everyone and particularly to my parents' marriage. When I was 14 the genetic kidney disease that runs in my dad's family started to work away at his kidneys and the slow deterioration seemed to affect my dad in more ways than just physically. He seemed unreasonable and tired of people. It was easy to fight with him and we all did. His kidneys failed completely a few years later and there was a time of dialysis 3 days a week until a kidney transplant my senior year of high school. His health got better, but I was mad at my dad all the time and my brothers were mad at my dad all the time and everyone was enough mad all the time that when I was 19 things were messy and my parents got divorced.
And while divorce is a sucky thing, when it happens, it can be the best thing for a family and it was for mine. For a while I didn't make any effort to see my dad, I only would when it involved Elizabeth, who was young enough still to be shuffled back and forth between parents.
But my dad made an effort. He showed up to things and called just to check in. He apologized but didn't force or expect an acceptance which seemed to give the breathing room necessary to heal our relationship as well as fractured relationships with my siblings too. He gave what he could and left the rest up to us.
I'm always impressed when I think about that now since things are so different from where they once were. Because for years my dad and Elizabeth and I (and Aaron now too), go to breakfast together every Saturday for hours on end. Because every now and then I've called or shown up unannounced, overwhelmed and on the verge of tears and his low, even voice manages to comfort me like it did when I was little. And because in the temple on my wedding day my not very emotional dad cried like a baby and hugged me tight...and having known the bitter, it made that sweet all the more special and amazing to me.
My dad is human and I know my dad is flawed, but my dad is my dad and I'm grateful on Father's Days and all the other days too that he's around and in my life.
