Above and beyond the call of Daddy

Were you to ask me years ago, as I was first venturing out into the world as a young adult, from whom I learned the importance of love, decency, and kindness, I would reply without hesitation that my mother was the predominant teacher of that lesson. Out of the two, it was my mother who was more empathetic. She was also more patient, more involved with my daily activities, easier to talk to ... I could go on, but suffice it to say that for someone as emotionally demanding as I was, she was the parent with whom I could most easily relate. More often than not, if I wanted to talk about something or show off something that I had done, I would go right to Mom.

It never occurred to me then that I was shortchanging my dad (and my mom and myself, for that matter) by favoring my mom as I did. Then again, it never would have occurred to me to ponder if I was shortchanging anyone. I was a kid -- it was supposed to be all about me!

I guess I had the psycho part down pat, just not the analyzing.

Things have changed since then. I've gotten older, wiser, fatter ... and kids.

The process of raising a child helps the parent grow, too. If you're smart and/or lucky, somewhere around the time you start turning into your parents, you will start to learn all sorts of things about them.

As I've watched my kids grow -- as they've had their various encounters with the world -- I've often thought back to when I had similar experiences. And the more I think back, the more I appreciate the role my dad played.

For all those times that I went to Mom first, I cannot think of a single time where Dad showed the slightest bit of disappointment. While I'm sure that at least some of the time he was glad I was pestering someone other than him, I know now that a large part of it had to do with the type of father he is. It was the epitome of selflessness: whether I gave him credit for making my life better was unimportant so long as my life was, indeed, better.

Nothing put this lesson into focus for me more than my grandfather's death. Grandpa Ace was the center of my world. He was big and strong and fun. He could put my brother and I each on a shoulder and carry us around. He was kind and giving. He whittled wood down to make hulls so we could build boats. He knew everything about everything and made the world's best milkshakes. I thought my dad must have been so lucky having grown up with Grandpa Ace around all the time.

I came to find out that Grandpa Ace had learned a few things himself over the years, and that he was a much different grandfather than father. I found out that my dad had gone to great lengths to make sure he did not become the father he had. There was enough tension between the two of them that nobody would have faulted my dad if he moved far away and kept my brother and me away from his folks.

Dad did the former, but most certainly not the latter. My brother and I spent most of our summers with my grandparents and it was great. They came up to Alaska to visit us several times, too. And Dad, despite (or perhaps because of) his own difficulties, was seemingly at his happiest when we talked about how great my grandfather was. Fortunately for all concerned, my dad has turned into a great grandfather, too. My kids now go to Alaska for their summers, and I think they, too, will remember these trips among the highlights of their early years.

Inasmuch as he was a fun-oriented guy, Dad did an amazing job of keeping his priorities in order. Naturally, I didn't get it, so sometimes I felt his priorities were inverted. He would work late, work early, and sleep a lot in between. He still does, come to think of it. Yet the amazing thing about Dad is how while it seemed like he was always busy, he also managed to eke out a heck of a lot of time for us.

And boy did he know how to use that free time! He could really let his hair down (which is only appropriate, being that his hair has since let him down).

One of my favorite things about my dad is how much of a kid he is. While Mom made sure we had good clothes, Dad made sure we had good toys. He made sure we had more than that -- plenty to eat, a roof over our heads, yadda, yadda, yadda -- but the toys were what really stuck out for a ten year-old me. Shopping with Dad could be a rewarding adventure.

Dad is also quite the joker. Mom made sure we understood knew reverence, Dad made sure we knew irreverence. Between the two of them, my brother and I developed a wonderful blend of propriety and cynicism. Granted, I'm sure Mom had somewhat of a talk with Dad the day I told a certain joke to the pastor at brunch one Sunday. Tact, it seems, takes longer to master.

As the years have gone by, I've realized some important things. Some of the greatest lessons in life are not learned right away. Some gifts are so great that you can't appreciate them fully when you first get them (sometimes you don't even realize you've gotten them at all). Sometimes the greatest acts are those that go unnoticed. And sometimes the guy you’ve always thought of as a big irreverent prankster is an exemplar of love, respect, and fatherhood at its heart.

Today is Dad's 60th birthday. Dad, thank you for your amazing patience, love, selflessness, and, of course, irreverence. Thank you for providing an example of what I should strive to be as a father and a man. Thank you for giving so much (and for those certain times when you did not give).

Thank you for everything, Dad.
Happy Birthday!