I want to say “Happy Fathers Day!” to the two Dads in my life. First? To the man pictured above: My Dad. The older I get, the more of him I see in me. This is both good (see: love of maps, enjoyment of the outdoors, and dedicated parenting) and bad (see: the need to pick up every “pretty” rock I find, my aversion to dusting, and a slightly corny sense of humor) but I’ll take it all. I do feel the constant need to apologize to him for been a jackass in my tweens, however. And although he’ll deny I ever was – I do recall not sitting near him when we went to a movie together. And if that’s not jack-assy, I’m not sure what is.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Feel free to be too embarrassed to sit next to me the next time we see a movie together.
Next, of course, is to my glorious husband – who is both a father and a step-father – and has risen to both challenges equally. My favorite quality about him is that he quickly drops all hopes of dignity when asked to do something by his kids. He has done everything from pretend to be various Sailor Moon characters to wearing a 1980s-era women’s skort outfit for the sake of stepfatherdom. And to make his step-son smile. (It’s just really hard to say, “No” sometimes, isn’t it?) (And no – no pictures of either.) (Well – there are, but if I showed you he’d divorce me by Tuesday.) And as a father? He’s changed poopy diapers and taken puke-patrol. He’s picked out cute (although possibly mismatched) outfits and blown-dry hair. He plays in the kiddie pool and rocks baby dolls. He has proven since the day I met him that he understands there is a certain amount of masculinity sacrificed when being a Dad – but what he doesn’t know – is it makes him look so much stronger when he does.
Happy Father’s Day, Babe. No one rocks the skort suit like you do.