So, here I am, a day late and running out the door for work, but I wanted to make a timely, if a tad late, post about Father’s Day.
I am not really someone who is dazzled by the new age man, the metrosexual male or any of that other re-wrapped crap.
But I do work with quite a few young men who are fathers. And one of the things I have learned from these men and seen in these men is that they adore their children, above all other things. In fact, they often speak more glowingly of their children than they do of their partners.
I grew up surrounded by sailors, who were often quite drunk, when they were around at all.
I have absolutely no clue whether my dad, and my friends’ dads, adored us this same way and just couldn’t say it or express it or find the time to spend with us.
And I confess, it never, ever crossed my mind that my dad would have worshipped me this way. And, because we have some shocking similarities, I was always my dad’s favorite, but I never thought that he stood in the engine room of whatever destroyer he was posted to at any given moment and bragged how my ball team won the game or what books I was reading or what delightful things I said recently.
I really have no idea whether these boys I work with are just part of a new, snaggy generation or if my dad and his peers did all the same stuff and I just never knew.
I just really, really like that those fellas adore their kids so very much.
It’s freakin’ lovely and it gives me some wee measure of hope for the future.