The Luckiest Dad

Sunday marked the fifteenth time I’ve been able to celebrate Father’s Day as a father.  I wore my “#1 Greatest Dad” t-shirt, ate out with my girls, went to a movie, played games, grilled, waited for tornadoes and large hail to pummel us…the usual Father’s Day stuff.  Actually, we’ve had more of a father’s week; two-thirds of my daughters and I spent several days at the place I call home, returning to my house on Friday to meet the third daughter and spend the weekend shuttling Daughter One to a volleyball tournament.

I’ve known for some time I would post something for Father’s Day on my blog.  I’ve also known I would focus on my girls rather than fathers.  But despite having some pretty strong ideas of what to say, and using this past week to turn those ideas around in my head while enjoying my father time, I still don’t know exactly how I want to put my thoughts into words.  So I sit and think….and wait….and get the inspiration that this act of writing will be akin to the act of being a father – sometimes knowing the “what” but not the “how”.  In those instances I just go and I parent and I hope and trust that I’m making the right moves.  So it will be with these words.

Every dad says, or should say, he has the best kids in the world.  A case could be made for many of them to be right…until my three daughters are thrown into the mix.  At that point all other children can do no better than second place on the list of “World’s Best Kids”.  My daughters are far from perfect, each of them capable of making bad decisions and displaying undesirable personality traits.  But collectively I’d put my girls’ quality of character and intelligence and social skills up against any other offspring, any day.  And they’d win.  I never brag about my girls and am not doing so here; I’ve been told often enough by enough people how wonderful my girls are….well, there comes a time when you have to stop politely declining praise and just accept the praise as truth.  And the truth is, my daughters are the most remarkable people I know.

All three of my daughters display above average academic intelligence, they are athletic, they use good manners (in public), they have extremely strong, mature, and appropriate social skills, and they have huge hearts filled with love for others.  I’m proud of them for all of those traits and skills, but what lifts them to “remarkable” status is how they have acquired such skills while navigating life in a broken family.  They’ve recovered from the devastation of watching Dad leave home.  They take turns living with two extremely different people who aren’t always a joy to be around, but they’ve learned how to get along with those two difficult people who never could learn how to get along with each other.  They have endured the stress and added responsibilities of living in two different homes without complaint.  They have looked at what could have been a crushing event in their lives and decided to make the best they could out of it – and I daresay we adults rarely are able to do that.  Again, you go ahead and tell me my daughters aren’t the best kids in the world – I’m telling you, you’re wrong.  ‘Cause there’s even more…

As proud as I am of their strength of character I’m even more proud of how they have developed a unique version of self apart from all others, including each other.  Daughter One is the laid-back and thoughtful leader of the crew, the academe, the social butterfly.  The girl with the smile that rarely fades, whose world is filled with books and music and friends and texts and teams and clubs and activities.  Daughter Two finds solace in solitude, choosing her few friends carefully and putting family first when faced with the choice.  A lover of nature and Earth, she rarely misses a chance to fish or hunt or garden or harvest.  She displays a wide range of emotions, intensely at times, and can be the most and least compatible sibling…in the same day.  Daughter Three is the wild card of the bunch, the straw that stirs our drinks.  Unpredictable.  Unflappable.  Unstoppable.  She’s got the lyrics for every song and a comeback for every comeback.  She loves to be loved and she loves to show love, and I hope upon hope the day never arrives when she stops doing so.

It took far too many of my fifteen father years to figure out that Father’s Day, or any other day, isn’t about me - it’s about them.  They were so excited all weekend for me to open my Father’s Day gifts, but things and packages aren’t as important as their love.  They see my flaws and love me anyway.  They receive my reprimands and love me anyway.  They go without things and love me anyway.  They eat my cooking and….actually, my cooking has gotten pretty good so it’s reasonable to expect their love for that one.  As I have watched them grow and gotten to know them I’ve discovered the most important truth I’ll ever know:  The three greatest children in the world love me unconditionally; every day I have left in this life will be a happy Father’s Day.