In the Name of The Father? (Sunday Meditation #30)

I arrived home yesterday evening to be shocked by the sight at the end of my street. A ferocious thunderstorm felled an old tree in my neighbor's yard, two doors up the road. I say "in" the yard but it was really out of the yard and completely into the street. The tree was so tall it actually hit the adjacent house across the pavement. The sight made me blurt out "Wow!" with wide eyes. It really isn't something you see every day.

What it sparked me to thinking was about deep change, about how the confounding circus that is life can uproot your expectations and imaginings before you think to reach for the battens. This is how I felt about this Sunday, Father's Day in June 2013. The notion that I am a dad still knocks me flat now and then. Just like the fallen tree that now occupies a big chunk of my imagination.

I guess I cannot entirely escape that "Imawhat?" feeling, even now when my daughter is on her way to her ninth birthday. If we are trees, she is a sapling, I am mature growth, my own father old growth (and impressive).

A father? Me? It is a miracle and a puzzle. I often wonder what it is I did to deserve such a lovely, good child, and what I can impart to her that someday she will look back and say "He did have wisdom."

Mostly, I worry and pray that I will not totally screw up this fatherhood thing.

I keep that from her. She has no need to know how scared I am, how much I worry that I will fall from grace in her eyes. This seems to be part and parcel of the Fatherhood Gig, to my mind. A constant drumbeat in my heart and soul that is hammered out by this desire for my child to understand the good parts of me, and improve upon them in her own life. I think of her and the life before her, and the specter of failure on my part sends a bolus of ice water through my veins.

It is true, I am my own worst enemy and critic. I judge myself by standards I do not apply to others, because I know how unfair and unforgiving they can be. Thus I generate most of the pressure on myself to get this right, but it puts everything I think and do in a blinding, actinic light shining in my head. Nothing escapes scrutiny, nothing is to small to analyze...or criticize.

Harsh, but true. I am learning to overcome myself. This I believe is necessary if I wish to be the good father I want for her. Others have pointed this out to me, and I know they speak the truth.

Ah, enough self-mortification. It is Father's Day, after all. Looking past the commercialization and cheap sentiment that too often seems to cloy such occasions, I know there is something of note for us to acknowledge. The terrors and ecstasies of being a dad are things I would not willingly trade for anything on this mortal coil.

In the indigo haze of deep twilight, I look down the street at the fallen tree. All things must pass, I reckon, but the tree reminds me that we are all possessed of strengths we may not know we have. I think of my own father, who I am lucky enough to still have on this planet, and the things he taught me. His life was not perfect, we both know this, but through him I learned many things about being a man and father.

Seeing myself through my father's eyes, I know I am blessed by my daughter. She is student, she is teacher. I have much to give and to learn. It is to know and understand, on Father's Day.

On The Occasion of Her Majesty's Blessing

Last night, and after dinner, there were brownies being prepared for the oven. The cleaning up of the kitchen was in progress. I was possessed of the small luxury of sitting down and browsing my email and social media outlets. With a full belly, and friendly banter laying down the soundtrack to a pleasant domestic scene, contentment was in the air. I arose from the computer, intent on getting a drink from the kitchen.

My daughter came bouncing through the doorway. She wore an apron that was long enough to be a dress on her frame, having been engaged in the making of the highly anticipated brownies. The smile on her face lit up the room. I stopped and smiled back. Her hands were behind her back and she had an impish gleam in her eyes.

"Daddy, I have an early Father's Day present for you!" she chirped.
"An early Father's Day present? What is it?" I said, sort of expecting a lump of brownie batter.

She stepped forward, bringing her arms around to wrap me in the fiercest hug Wee Lass has ever given me. She grinned and growled, making as if she were going to lift me off the floor. She shook me with a giggle.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"

She was looking up at me with that smile like a cross of Mona Lisa and the Cheshire Cat. She hugged me tight again, then let go to scamper off back to the brownies. I reckon the grin on my face would have lit up a room or two after she let me go. The warmth in my heart was proof positive of the gift I just received.

I'm a blessed man, jewel o' my heart, because I get to be your dad. Happy Father's day, indeed.

Because Bird is the Word

The night before Father's Day, I was winding down from a relatively busy day for a weekend.  Chores were done, belly had been filled (spicy home-made bean and linguica burritos, if you are curious) and I had the luxury of some quiet moments with no agenda.  As is often my wont, I began to follow the inscrutable exhortations of my soul.

In this case, it meant a session on the interwebs and time in on the good ol' iTunes store, from whence I purchased some music.  What music, you ask?  Well, I'll tell you:

Stone Rollin', the new album from Raphael Saadiq and...the single of "Surfin' Bird" by the Trashmen.

I know, I know...you're probably wondering WTH?  How does that even tie together?

Honestly, I'm not sure.  I hear things and I jot them down on scraps of paper and napkins and stuff, so I won't forget.  The end result, especially when it comes to music, is usually eclectic mental flotsam.

Anyway, Stone Rollin' is an excellent album, Saadiq has talent and skill to burn, and discussion of it is a subject for another post.  "Surfin' Bird", well...it got me to thinking about Father's Day and my Big Bro, and how much I miss him since he passed away in 2009.

When we were kids, we heard "Surfin' Bird" on the radio, and we got a lot of hilarity out of it.  This was long before Family Guy got a hold on it (which, BTW, is one of the funniest things I've witnessed on television).  Big Bro and I could both do a credible imitation of the vocals.  Admittedly, that may not be much of a stretch, but we were good at it.

Hearing it again brought back some of the life he and I shared, so long ago.  It made me a little nostalgic for the silliness we could get into, and thinking of him made me think of what he was as a son, brother and father (to my nephew).  Big Bro was an imperfect person, but he had a big heart and an translucent soul.  He tried his best, straining against his limitations, to be the best dad he could be given the circumstances.

And we loved him for that.  Still do.

Happy Father's Day, Big Bro.  You still are the word.