It dawned on me the other day that I was Lainey’s age when my parents separated and not long after that, estranged from my father for many years. Though I don’t remember it all perfectly, what I remember paired with what I know about 8-year-olds and what I love about my dad tells me enough to know that the loss was devastating. We don’t talk a lot about those years very much other than some pretty funny surface jokes to dodge the pain and my dad’s forgive-all blanket: “You were young. You didn’t know.” But they exist—a murky lake, nearly dried up but never gone—in our past.
Somehow a very broken puzzle got glued back together many years later and our family–unique in bearing many fathers–loves each other and can freely celebrate holidays and graduations and birthdays all together in one room, understanding that these are the moments that matter most–love, family, being here for each other. “By the grace of God, you’re not all messed up,” I’ve heard. I’d beg to differ two things. A: we are a little messed up, but we don’t mind. And B: This enchanting grace of God didn’t pick us over other deserving broken families who are still broken and hurting, and it didn’t magically bring us all back together. We worked for that–all of us–with a lot of forgiveness and acceptance and choices to dig through the hard stuff, compromise, listen, show up. We’re still working.
I missed the fatherhood years Lainey’s heading into now, the vision of her falling asleep in Brett’s lap simply the preface of the many chapters to come of one of the most precious relationships there is–a child and her father. But the gap those years left open has been filled because we picked up where we left off. And this Father’s Day, I feel so incredibly grateful to know both the love of my own father and to witness the love my children have for theirs. From both of these relationships, I’ve learned a few things about strong fathers.
1. Strong fathers join you on the dance floor.
I went home to Michigan late last year to attend an event with my family, honoring my dad for his work. He broke his leg later that night–although he didn’t know it then–and ignored the throbbing pain to answer a call from us to dance. I now recall him initially turning us down, mentioning his leg hurt, but his kids were out there hamming it up, and he couldn’t let them embarrass themselves without him. So he joined us, hobbling out to the floor, limping through the songs, and well after most of the guests left the event, there we were–shaking it up, singing the wrong words, breaking it down, broken leg be damned.
And that might be what I love most about my dad as a father–he will always join us on the dance floor–literally, figuratively, passionately. In fact, many of our favorite stories about my dad have to do with a dance floor, one in particular involving his arms stretched out, flapping–a move we have trademarked as “The Eagle.” He’s turned our living rooms into disco clubs, pulled my kids out of bad moods with The Hustle across my kitchen tile, waltzed babies to sleep, evoked laughter with the cha-cha in the aisles of Costco and shown up continually, arms outstretched, ready to dance–this winter with a leg boot and a scooter thanks to three kids who danced his fracture into a 3-month injury. But that’s what strong fathers do. They answer your call. They show up for the dance.
2. Strong fathers play.
Next week, Brett and I will celebrate nine years of marriage, each rich but none of them easy. The most challenging moments of our marriage–the times we needed more communication, more love, more understanding, more recognition–have always been held together for me by watching him play with our children. Love and intimacy cannot survive alone on fathers playing, but watching the man you love act out a Barbie scene with your little girl can certainly strengthen the threadbare parts and remind you what you’re fighting for. Every day I am witness to this beautiful thing for which we fight. And I’m thankful for the way he makes the stuffed animals talk in funny voices and pushes little cars along the grout lines in our tile with motor noises to match. When we get caught up in the marriage game of pointing out who does more (of course, we are the only couple who has that argument ;o), I will always remember to let him know I appreciate how he plays. Because that’s what strong fathers do.
3. Strong fathers show vulnerability.
Real men cry. Real men admit their weaknesses. Real men don’t pretend they’re not emotional and know that their kids don’t expect them to be perfect–they only want them to show up. Real men use big strong words like “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” and they say them…a lot. Real men don’t get hung up on the past but focus on the present. How can I love good today?
So here’s to you, dads. To the criers, the dancers, the lay-on-the-floor-and-players. To the husbands, stepdads, father-in-laws, grandpas, biological dads, adopted dads. To the strong ones. Thank you for showing up. No matter what the past holds, what matters most is “How can I love good today?” We need you. We love you. We see you and appreciate you. Happy Father’s Day.
Some favorite favorite fatherhood photos in the header slideshow today. xo
And a special hug this weekend to those who have lost their fathers. May the best memories shine.
