Today is Father’s Day, but like most days in retirement, just another glorious day.  I’m a father, step-father, grandfather, godfather, grand-godfather, father-in-law, father of the groom, pledge father, and fur father.  Hopefully, I’ve also been a father-figure to some and father-like to others.  I’ve had two fathers, one of which I never knew, two grandfathers, who I knew well, and two other grandfathers that may never have known that I ever existed.   My biological father was a putative father, and my adoptive father should have been awarded father of the year.  I’ve also had two fathers-in-law, but lost one in a divorce and the other to cancer.  I’ve been called both “father” and “dad,” but never “daddy,” “dada,” “pops,” or “papa,” like my friend-fathers are sometimes fondly addressed.

I’m pleased to admit that my son is a better father than I remember ever being.  I was far too absorbed in my career, as was my father.  I only knew the traditional male role, and accepted those narrow responsibilities.  Being only 22 years old, I was also never prepared to be a father, but have never regretted being one.  My son’s marriage made me both father of the groom and a father-in-law to his wife, giving me that second chance at fatherhood through grandchildren.  However, I’ve always lived too far away to take advantage.  Plus, I’m not always comfortable around children, and often find them annoying, especially on airplanes and at restaurants.  The older they get, the more I can relate, so I keep my distance and try to spoil them with Disney vacations and gifts.

For me, sports have always been the primary communication link between father and son.  It’s where most conversations started with my father, and continues to be the case with my son.  We go to sporting events together, and try to take the grand kids whenever possible.   I often show my love by writing checks; more learned behavior.   We are in the habit of saying “Love You” at the end of our conversations, something that only occurred in later years of my dad’s life.  At one point, I remember plotting a way to tell him how I felt, worried that he would go to the grave without hearing those words.

I got off to a bad start with my first father-in-law, concerned that he was not being truthful on an insurance payment due to my wife-to-be.   It was a misunderstanding that we eventually worked out.  The marriage didn’t!   When it came time to marry again, I properly asked her father’s permission for her hand.  It was a moment I will never forget, as pancreatic cancer took his life before I really got to share more time with him.   The second marriage was the first step in becoming a stepfather to two daughters.  I do feel that word “stepfather” has some negative connotations.  It’s not a very lovable word, so I try to avoid being one.

Tinker, Tally, and Frankie are my current furry children, although my fur-father responsibilities date back to just after college.  (see post #133). In college, while involved with the Sigma Chi Fraternity, I was a pledge father.  My “son” was blackballed from joining the house just after I transferred to another school.  He’s now the CEO of a major corporation, so I was glad to see he nicely rebounded from this Freshman set-back.  I was also honored to be the godfather to a college friend’s daughter, and I guess that makes me a grand-godfather after the birth of her son.  It only seemed logical that I should stuff cotton balls in my mouth and talk like Marlon Brando in this role.

For those into the Bible, Matthew 23:9 reads, “Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven.”  Father is a title of religious superiority, and the basis for the Catholic hierarchy.  Forgive me, Father, but who’s your daddy?  Who’s Father Time’s father?  He invented the clock, right?”  Consider this fine definition of a father by an author unknown:  “A father is neither an anchor to hold us back nor a sail to take us there, but a guiding light whose love shows us the way.”  Or, another uncredited favorite:  “A father is someone you look up to no matter how tall you grow.”

I would not be writing this if it weren’t for my biological father.  I don’t know the circumstances of why he never took responsibility for me, or if he honestly ever knew about me, for that matter.  He was a Marine, but not much of a father.  I was adopted in the first few month of my life, and given everything I possibly wanted.  It takes a special man to raise someone else’s son, and I’m proud to call him Dad. (see post #104)

Happy Father’s Day!