Honoring My Father

As Father’s Day approaches I think of the extraordinary man who I am fortunate enough to call my father.  Forty years ago, I can only wonder what he was thinking as he and my mother went through the paperwork and other legalities associated with adopting their first child.  I believe we were all brought together by no mistake!

When my mother crossed over late last year, my sister and I had the opportunity to go through the boxes of old family photos (slides, mostly).  In them were pictures I now cherish, highlighting the special memories time slowly erases from the mind:  Dad and me in the snow, decorating the Christmas tree, posing for family albums or snuggling with my sister and me in the magick of storytelling, his soft voice enthralling us for centuries of tales scribed by extraordinary authors.

While photos don’t remember everything, within the magick they carry, they spark memories from within us, waking up our appreciation, love, sadness and joy.  My dad is the best man I know.  In a profession sadly overcome with hypocrisy and political maneuvering, he has always lived his convictions and the lessons he shared in his sermons.

With degrees in philosophy and religion, he is a master practitioner of both.  I always loved hearing the deep debates between my parents.  Hours of discussion, argument and wisdom being passed back and forth.  These days I sometimes find myself fortunate enough to spark his interest in a topic or two.

We have not always agreed, nor will we, I suspect.  I have a very different life, in some ways, than I’m sure he envisioned for me.  But he is my father.  It is his strength and support that has held me together and lifted me up in the past few months, just prior to and since the birth of my daughter.  He has been my rock, my sounding board, my advisor and my home. . .exactly when I needed him the most.

At my daughter’s birth, he stood for hours in my apartment waiting for her to be born in our well-prepared environment.  Midwives, cameramen and close friends nearby, it was Dad who gave me the silent comfort I most needed.  When the hours of labor turned into days, he prayed with me and supported me, body and spirit, as I made the decision to go to the hospital.

When Maya was finally brought into this world (via emergency c-section), her grandpa cut her umbilical cord and supported her as she was brought to me.  In the subsequent days, he slept on and off in my hospital room, doting on his newest grandchild and on me as well!

For a month he stayed with us in my apartment, doing the 3:00am walking and rocking, attending every doctor visit, doing laundry, fixing meals and hosting the numerous people who came by to visit and see the baby.  We missed him terribly when he returned home!

My father has done more to show his love and support for me than I could ever have dreamed.  His sacrifices, gifts and love are only words describing his generous and humble nature.  He is so much more than that!

Thank you, Dad.  Thank you for accepting me, for loving me, for supporting me.  Thank you for being my Dad and Maya’s grandpa.

Happy Father’s Day!