My Dad Can Beat Up Your Dad

Oh you betcha this is a Father's Day post, because I can't imagine how lacking my life would be without some great guys who go by that title whose influence reaches far and wide into my life.  So if you don't want to read sappy tributes to them, keep moving along...

My husband is a fabulous father.  I have long suspected that my parents believe if not for him, my children would be unruly brats.  He has a perfect balance of fun and firmness.  He loves them and encourages them in a way that will give them an advantage in life not possible without him.  And part of the reason he is the way he is:  his dad was a terrific dad.  Always there for him, always involved in what he was doing, always pushing him to be his best.  They are friends today.  Jeff values his dad's advice like no one else's, and Jeff's dad is proud of him like he is of no one else. 

And then there's my dad. I grew up with 2 sisters, no brothers. My father is one long suffering man who for years rarely got the bathroom, closet space, spare change, the telephone, free time, or peace and quiet.  He endured instead lots of crying, girl fights, driving lessons, raiding of his closet and wallet, and general onslaught of female hormones.  And endured he did, quietly and patiently, with an occasional backhand raised (but never swung) when he had it up to his eyeballs.  I can't believe all the sacrifices he made.  I remember bugging him to go out in the backyard every day in sixth grade to show me how to throw like a boy.  And every time I begged him to play catch he did. Even though 2 years later I threw like a girl again, if I threw at all.  He put long hours into securing the fact that from a young age his girls could fish like boys - baiting hook and taking fish off hook included. He took us out on long hikes and taught us all about tracks and leaves and that kind of nature stuff.  He was scary enough that boys only came around to date us if they were very, very serious about us.  He once took a day off work to accompany me on a day trip to a college where I was trying out for a music scholarship.  I butchered the audition.  He didn't lie about it, ("Yeah, that was pretty bad,"  I think were his words.)  And I knew the instant I set foot on that campus there was no way I'd fit in there, and I told him so.  In spite of that, it's one of my favorite memories of my dad and I hope he doesn't regret using a precious vacation day for it.  He put aside a day for something that was important to me, even though he didn't understand why. It was a long trip and we were able to spend hours talking about subjects I can't even remember.  But I do remember that his take was, "So you screwed up the audition - life goes on."  It was this tangible validation of his unconditional love for me.  

My dad has no sense of musical pitch. Oddly paired with a really nice singing voice.  So if he is singing without the correct tune playing behind him, he sounds great. When I was a little girl he would sing me "Daddy's Little Girl", and I thought he was the best singer in the world.  He would also whistle it.  He whistles through his teeth, not with his mouth in an "o", which I also thought was super cool since I did not inherit his overbite and so cannot do that.  Even though I'm over 30 and no longer believe my dad is the most musically talented person alive, I can still instantly conjure up the safe, warm, complete feeling I would get when that tune would pass his lips.  It signifies for me what childhood with a great dad is like.

It's going to sleep knowing that he loves you just because you're his kid.  And that you can call him in the middle of the night to chase away the bad stuff in your dreams.  And that you better not punch your sister in the stomach or you're in big trouble. 

And yeah, my dad probably can still beat up your dad:)