Monday, June 27, 2011

The F-Day

So, my Fathers Day post is late. I know. I have a calendar. The past week or so (as alluded to in my previous post) has been pretty insanely busy. I decided to blog during my lunch today instead of reading like I usually do (it's taking me a lot longer to finish my current book than it normally does...)

[This post was already late when I wrote that ^. I was going to find and post some cute pictures of the people mentioned in this post, but between being sick, attending a funeral (RIP Grandma Behrman!), stretching my time between family members, and general wifely/motherly duties, I got a little distracted. Forgive me.]

To be completely honest, Fathers Day has always been very bitter-sweet for me. My dad wasn't ever really around when I was a kid. My parents divorced when I was about 7 years old. Before that, he worked constantly (he was always on a ship -sea duty- in the Navy) so we never saw him. After my parents divorce, I saw him maybe once every five years. That's a long story that I don't really care to get into right now. Just know that I always felt like my dad didn't care about us. I dreaded Fathers Day and Daddy-Daughter Dinner Dates with our church group and similar occasions.

I did have a great father figure in my life, though. My grandfather. He is amazing. So intelligent and sweet and funny. He taught me how to tie my shoes and ride a bike. He taught us how to plant a garden and identify rocks. From him, we learned to appreciate great cheese, various pickled food items, and a good Western. HE is the man that I dreaded disappointing. HE is the one I turned to when things were just too hard to deal with on my own. He gave me a place to stay when I had to move out of my apartment in college. He was with me when I bought my first car and he taught me how to deal with salesmen. I love my grandpa so much!

Fathers Day is a little weird for me nowadays. I'm an adult now and my father and I have made up; we now have a great relationship and we talk often. My grandpa is still around and I visit him whenever I can. Fatherhood means something different to me now though. I have a son whose father has never made an effort to be a part of his life. It breaks my heart that, someday, my son may ask about who his biological father is and why he has never met him and what am I supposed to tell him? That he never cared - only pretended to? I hope Fathers Day SUCKS for Ray. I hope he thinks about each of his children and I hope it hurts, because he has no one to blame but himself for not being a part of their lives. I hope it's a rough day for him. His children deserve AT LEAST that.

Last Fathers Day was harder for me than this one. This Fathers Day, my son has a Daddy - an EXCELLENT one, at that. McKay is so sweet and kind and patient and loving and fun with Gabriel (with everyone, really). There is no other scenario that I could have dreamed up that would be better than the one I'm living. My son has a great example of what it is to truly be a man. He sees a man every day that is a responsible father and caring husband. He is a good friend, brother, and son as well. I am so deliriously happy that Gabriel will grow up with an example like McKay (who is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum as you-know-who) in his life.

I used to think, "Why me?" in despair, wondering what I did to deserve being in such a crappy situation. Now, I think "Why me?!" in pure joy, wondering what I've done to deserve such an amazing husband who is the best father in the world to my son. That's right--FATHER. He has done more for Gabriel than any other man on the planet and I am eternally grateful.

Yesterday while I was bringing some laundry upstairs, I heard a guitar. "Huh..." I thought, "McKay hasn't played in a long time." He used to play all the time. I loved it. So I peeked into the office and caught a glimpse of the very reason my life is so wonderful. There were my boys sitting together with a guitar playing music just enjoying each other's company. Gabe watched in amazement as McKay's skillful fingers picked and strummed out some pretty sweet tunes (if I do say so myself). McKay held Gabriel's tiny hand and showed him how to strum. Gabe's face broke out into a huge smile and he was delighted at the fact that he could do something Daddy did. Later that day after the guitar had been placed back on the stand, I heard some noise upstairs. I went up to see what it was. It was Gabriel. Strumming the guitar as best he could just the way Daddy had showed him hours before.

I love my boys.

I love my husband.

No comments:

Post a Comment