With Father’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking a great deal about the fathers in my life.
I am fortunate to have the best father any girl could ask for, and then I married the Carpenter, my soulmate, the absolute best man to build a life and family with (oh stop it, let me gush about the guy).
I also have a small circle of male friends who are incredible fathers in their own right. Incredible men. Loving, kind, responsible men. They show up. They’re present. They understand the inherent value and integrity of their role in the lives of their children.
As I’m writing this, the Carpenter is building a pen for our daughter’s rabbits, so they can enjoy some outdoor time. Because he’s that guy. He’s that dad. He is the builder, maker and animal-lover that we adore.
It got me thinking that, as the matriarch of our little family, I have always secretly envied his role as dad. While we are very much a team, the Carpenter has the best role in this simply because he’s the dad. The jokester. The silly one. The strong one. The protector, nurturer, rule maker, the hard line. The moral compass. The foundation of our family. Because he’s that guy. He’s that dad.
As the breadwinner, his job took him away from home often, but he was paid fairly for his skills and we were proud of him. But he missed a lot. Doctor and dentist appointments. Teacher meetings. Play dates. Preschool duties. Field trips. Breakups and makeups. Sports registrations and calendar coordinations. Small talk. Bake sales, potlucks, no-luck situations. Many times, I wished we could change roles.
When the kids were small, he was the fun parent. He could make bodily function noises with subsequent odours and the kids looked at him like he was some kind of comedic genius, holding their noses and rolling in laughter. If I did it, I would be just gross. Unacceptable. Ew.
He could wrestle and throw the kids up in the air and catch them with one hand. Super man.
He could calm their fears and turn their tears to laughter. He was unafraid of parenting and just loose enough on rules to allow them to live and learn. He was not at all nervous that our kids would figure life out the only way they could: trial and error.
He could fix anything, solve things, build the outdoor rink, set up the drum kit, put together the bunkbeds with an Allen key and do math off the top of his head. He could read poetry using funny voices and the kids would scream with laughter. And while my car was the family taxi, that dude drove a truck. A company truck, no less. The man was a legend.
His rules were law, yet he didn’t need to enforce them with anything more than the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. Boundaries were firm, yet fair was fair. Forgiveness was granted without hesitation. His love was and is unconditional.
Without him this column wouldn’t exist, because the blessings of my life wouldn’t be as they are – my children, my love, our home and the life we have built together.
You’re that guy, Carpenter.
You’re that dad.
I am grateful.
