“My dad can fix anything,” I once told my childhood friends. We were sitting on the front porch steps in
the shade of the kind of small triangular portico that went with so many houses
built in the 1950’s.
One ringleted 7-year-old curled a flaxen lock around her
finger. “Well, my dad’s the best ball
player!” she exclaimed.
“And my dad is the tallest,” another child asserted, his
black eyes flashing a warning to anyone bold enough to challenge such a claim.
No one did. But the
boastful game had caught on, as each of us by turns proclaimed the things that
set our fathers apart from lesser men.
Now, almost 25 years later, with Father’s Day fast
approaching, I have reason once again to reflect upon the singularity of my own
dad’s nature; he doesn’t fit the common mold.
Some things my father doesn’t do, may never do:
· coach a little league baseball team
· wear Bermuda shorts
· watch football games on holidays
· differentiate between women's work and men's
· come home from his job and put his feet up
· smell like Old Spice
My
dad doesn’t tell war stories (although he has some) or relish apple pie. He doesn’t own a golf club, read the Wall Street
Journal, or buy Florsheim shoes. He
doesn’t play the stock market. I’ve
never seen him jog.
But
my dad can and does:
· handle a canoe like a native American
· hike the socks off men twice his size or half his age
· ice skate backwards and walk on his hands
· pop popcorn every night
· work writing technical manuals for the repair of aircraft
· do anything to help anyone in need at any time
He’s not too proud to change a baby’s diaper or mop a
kitchen floor, and he gives coveralls the dignity of a uniform.
My dad works hard with his hands, and when he cuts,
blisters, or bruises them, he doesn’t complain.
I never know when he’s hurting, but he always knows when I am.
He’s not afraid to say “I’m sorry,” or “I love you,” or Can
I help?”
And when something breaks, even if it’s someone’s heart, he’s
always there.
My dad can fix anything.
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| Love my beautiful parents! |
