I felt this was warranting a 2nd entry for today, because it's Father's Day and these two men deserve so much more than a single blog entry, let alone a shared one!
Dear Dad,
To the man who raised an adopted child willingly, whole-heartedly and eagerly. Who put in long hours at the office, traveled globally for work and ceaselessly fought to provide for his family in whatever way was necessary: I may not have seen it then, but as a parent now - as an adult now, I see the raw energy that it takes day.. after day.. after day.. to grin and bear it when it seems sometimes like you might break. You did that for me, for Mom, for our family and because you are a true man of your word and commitment to put God and family first.
Growing up, you have loved me at my very worst, praised me at my best, and conditioned me along the way in between. You were present, involved, candid. You were my father before you were ever my friend, and no matter how much I pushed back, you never faltered, and proved to me what it meant to have a real backbone. You taught me boundaries, and what I deserved to seek for myself. You showed me what I'm worth, but instilled in me the humility that would ward off any false sense of entitlement. You demonstrated work ethic, and its rewards. I saw in you a solid resolve to focus on the big picture.
You [& Mom] groomed me to think on my feet, be open but aware and conscious of the world around me. You prayed hard that the seeds of discernment, humility and graciousness you both worked to plant would take firm roots in my heart and show their fruits through my life choices. You taught me to drive, and undoubtedly prayed feverishly that I would return unscathed, every time I left the house in your car. You dealt with insurance when I crashed into things. You were very open about consequences, and enforced them consistently. Little by little, you cut off my resources, until the point at which I was ready enough to embark onto the blank canvas that would become my own path. I hated those Franklin Covey seminars when I was 15; I still don't like them, but at least now I appreciate having had them. ;).
I existed nervously through the time you had Viral Meningitis. Through your double bypass heart surgery. Through the loss of your career; I watched you not only recover from that friend/coworker's selfish acts of secret betrayal, but come to later forgive him without stipulation. You denied yourself the satisfaction of reveling in the karma that came back to him, but instead showed him kindness, a firm handshake and that smile that we know means you are speaking from your heart. You forgave, and you moved on. You endured in ways that some people my age and older cannot. You were honest and open about your emotions. You rarely shed tears, but I remember clearly you crying when necessary and assuring me that true, unmatched strength comes with transparency and the ability to feel. When my Grammy - your mom - passed, you managed to pick 20-year-old me up from my brokenness in spite of just having said goodbye to your mother. You allowed me to grieve when I experienced loss, whether it was an audition, a pet, or one of our friends or family members. You shaded me from things I didn't need to see, yet didn't shield me from the realities of human nature and what we were capable of afflicting on other people, and vice versa. I learned to cope, negotiate, reason with and walk away from people when the time came, because of you.
You were there the day Sydni was born. You were the first man to hold her. The first member of our family that she met. She has been glued to you since then, and I will always say that is why. There is a bond between you and her that is unique; in all of the closeness you and I have, I still think there is a special depth to your bond with Sydni that will only be yours. I love that. You are a mentor, role model and friend to her. You are her Pappy. You are the one she runs to first for hugs. It's your lap that she finds when you're here, at the end of the night and she needs a safe, comfortable place to read stories, tell silly jokes, play Go Fish, or fall asleep. You encourage me to pursue my best self each day, for her sake. You've become a third father figure to Rob, and provide him added courage to do the same, for Sydni and for the children he and I hope to have in the future.
And you've shown me how to fight for my relationships, specifically my marriage. Beyond that, you have shown me the mercies of a true father: the kind that are not just sympathy, but of stern words as well, reminding me that in relational failure, the fault in some cases is shared. As I grew into my adult life, you and Mom have been open about your insecurities, your successes and the work you both have put into each other. I wouldn't even fill a handful of fingers counting the times I remember seeing you argue in front of me, but I remember hearing you both apologize to each other. You never kept score, and you made sure that I felt secure, always.
Dad, you're not a perfect person, and you've been very transparent about that. I love you even more deeply for your ability to recognize it and not project onto me the ways in which you may have failed in the past. You've gifted me the confidence to pursue my heart's desires, love freely and loyally, approach parenthood with the understanding that I'll never be perfect at this either... and that's okay.
I'm thankful for that, and for you, every day, but today just happens to be a good one to express it openly. There's so much I haven't said here, but the point remains that you are the foundation of who I am, and I wouldn't be where I am without you. Sydni would be a different person, I'm sure, without your influence, and as you were designed by God to be Mom's perfectly-imperfect mate, I know she appreciates you for who and what you are, too.
I love you, Dad - today is for the men like you. Cheers ♥♥
xo | cmd
