Everyday Dads

I grew up in a family of boys. As the only girl, I was the odd ‘man’ out always trying to be tough and at the same time hoping to be seen in the crowd. 

It was my Dad, not my Mom, who always had my back. It was my Dad who reached out when I was overwhelmed. He drilled me in math. He gave me his books to read. When I wondered ‘why’ about anything from the Bible to history or science, he answered my questions truthfully. And counseled me to keep the knowledge to myself around the nuns who taught by sending me to the coat closet for asking too many questions. 

I loved him and thank him for everything he did for me. Yet, he was a traditional man of his time. He traveled a lot. He did not help around the house. He was not an ‘everyday’ Dad. 

A new kind of Dad. 

I married a man who is the best kind of Dad I could imagine for my children. He’s been all in from the moment they were born. He diapered, rocked, bathed, fed, played and loved our children. He built them play sets. He read them books. He took them to work with him. 

Now my children have their own children. And my son has diapered, rocked and fed his daughter. Today on Father’s Day, he made her a delicious egg and potato breakfast. He got her dressed, took her shopping and played with her. 

 

This is my son-in-law’s first Father’s Day. His son is not yet a year old and yet, he has also been there from the moment that baby was born. And he’s diapered, fed, and rocked his son. Today, he set out his ‘Dad’s’ day dinner for his wife and himself while their son napped. 

Everyday Dads. 

My Dad was there for me and he was a good Dad for his day. 

But my children had a Dad who was there for them everyday. And he still is. 

Now, because my children had an everyday Dad, they are there for their children everyday, too. 

Out of the Darkness comes Light.

As I sit here, tucked under a cozy throw,  watching my granddaughter slumber in sweet peacefulness, I wish and want and hope. 

I wish for her to live a life in a world different from the one I have lived in. A world where all people are safe and respected in body, mind and soul. A country where everyone understands that everyone has the right to live free from abuse of any kind.

I want her wonderful, brilliant mind to be embraced, encouraged and utilized. A system of education and work where her talents and dreams are seen as not just valid but invaluable. A place where work and health and life are an integrated whole for everyone. 

I hope she will never know the pain of abuse. I hope she will be seen and heard and encouraged not to just do well, but accomplish more than anyone else before her. I hope she will have the power to choose her own path, her own life, her own love based on her own guidance system with the support of a good education, healthcare and economic system that values people over product and bottom lines. 

Enough now. There’s been enough darkness. 

While she sleeps peacefully on this cozy afternoon, I read the news and shiver, not from the cold but from the darkness growing across our nation. 

I’ve lived in a very different kind of world. (Yes, #metoo) A place where power meant pain. Physical punishment was not only accepted but encouraged. Where on Fridays, the nuns would use a belt on the week’s worst child and broadcast it over the school public address system. Where little girls were to be quiet, sit still and listen more than talk.

Graduating at the height of the feminist movement, I thought now, everything will change. Finally, women will have power over their own body, mind and life. Finally, there will be no more abuse or pain or inequity. I worked and got paid more than my mother did, but there was no big change. Yet, I was encouraged by even those small steps forward. 

Forward or Backward?

It seems with every news story, we are moving backward instead. Why? I’ve been asking and asking myself that question over and over in a desperate attempt to figure out how we are now where we are in this country. 

I thought, when I was 20, that the world was changing for women in a good way. Twenty years later, I prayed that the world would finally change for my daughter in a much better way. Now, I look at my granddaughter’s sweet, sleeping face and I see that the world hasn’t changed very much at all. 

And I’m angry. No. I’m pissed. This was totally unacceptable then and even more so now.  

Here is the truth: Those patriarchal men know their time of power and evil is ending. That is what these men really fear. 

Now it’s time. Our time to see beyond this darkness. It is our time to step into the light. 

And create a different kind of world. 

Look to the horizon:

The sky is dark and the stars blink bright. 

Softy, the celestial night lights dim as the world slowly turns from night to day.

The deep black sea turns grey as light pink dabs the clouds and blue fades up. 

Birds silent in the dark, begin to speak up and the first boat jets across the waves. 

Good morning, world. 

A new day has begun.

Snow Days. Happy Days.

As I sit on my window seat, I see the pale alizarin Crimson sun setting behind deep Payne's Grey hills with blankets of silver white snow draped over the rooftops. There are a few kids playing in the snow below reveling in the last of their 'snow day'.  And my sweet, silly Jilly runs through the yard barking with joy.

I love snow days, too.

I remember the glee in a free day off school. I didn't get many living in Michigan as a child but my Oregon children got quite a few. They loved it and I did, too.  Wrapping them up in layers of sweaters, scarves, hats, coats, gloves and snow boots brought back Michigan memories. I smiled seeing them slide down the hill. I helped them make snowmen and toss snowballs around. Soon they'd troop in dripping snow from their mittens with their friends for hot chocolate and cookies. 

Some of the best things in life are messy.

It was cold and white and sparkly this morning and I couldn't wait to sink into the damp, bright snow. My first wonderful sight was deer tracks leading from the street across my driveway to the huckleberry bushes. The other day, I was going to trim those bushes because they hung out over the driveway, but something made me stop. Now I know why. The deer were going to need some food and I had it right there ripe and ready.

Walking to the park was a wonderful sight.  

I saw the lake surrounded by white. Bridges over the lake and into the forest all shimmering.

My favorite willow tree snow covered.

Snow packed gently into the arches of the stone bridge and along with railings. 

Even crystal flakes made the fading pink roses shine.

Best of all was taking a snow day with my sweet granddaughter, Meyer.  Watching the snow swirling down through her eyes, brought back the wonder and the magic of snow days once again.  

  

Once Upon a Time...There Was a Willow Tree.

Once upon a time, two little children lived in a nice, little house with a play area to swing, climb, slide and imagine.   The little girl loved to make up stories and put on plays.  The little boy loved to play in the dirt.   He loved to sift it through his fingers and kick it up and dig in it.  Next to the play area was a patch of ground where the grass didn't want to grow.

Most people would see a bare patch of grass, but the boy saw dirt.   He saw a place to dig and build and explore.  Maybe he would dig all the way down to China.  Down and down and down he dug all through the summer and into the fall making mounds of dirt for his little, metal cars to climb and roads around the hole in the ground.  Soon, it was time to go back to school and the boy and his friend forgot about the hole in the ground.  But they'd dug so deep, water appeared in the hole.  All winter, the rains filled the hole higher and higher and the mud was too thick to play cars anymore.

One spring morning, the boy's mother was walking the dog around the neighborhood when she saw a curly willow branch on the sidewalk.  She'd always loved curly willow trees, but where would she put one?  Then she remembered the deep hole in the play area filled with water and she had an idea. She picked up the curly willow branch, took it home and put it in the hole her son dug.

The tree grew.  And so did the girl and the boy.  The play yard disappeared and a garden appeared.  Tomatoes and lettuce and curly willow grew in harmony for many more years.  Until one day, the curly willow's branches started to break, the trunk got thick and gnarled and old.  Just as the girl and boy had grown too old for the play area, the curly willow had grown too big for the yard, too.  And it was time to say good bye to the curly willow tree.

One day, four men arrived with a giant chipper, crane truck, ropes and chain saws.  In less than 2 hours, all that remained of the 20 year old curly willow tree was a stump.

It was time but it was sad.  So many seasons of growth had passed for the tree, and the girl and the boy and the family.  Even with the tree gone the memories remain, always.  Little feet running.  Muddy hands digging.  Princesses in a castle playhouse and pirates on swings.  Laughter and shouts and tears and cheers, now silent.

Though the tree is gone; there is a stump to sit on in a new patch of sunshine, as memories float down like fallen leaves and tomatoes grow.