This was written pre-Alex
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Growing up in the Texas Panhandle, you quickly learn the expression "If you don't like the weather, stick around for 30 minutes and it will change." In my travels, I have learned that saying isn't unique to the Panhandle. Many of you know exactly what I am talking about. For those of you who are acclimated to more consistent and predictable temperatures, let me offer a couple of examples to help illustrate the concept.
Here in Oklahoma, earlier this spring, the weatherman announced we set a record high in the upper 80s for the day. In his next breath, he issued a freeze warning for the very next day.
I find a lot of humor in that alone, but the fact that I had recently installed one of those smart learning thermostats, made it that much funnier. It is suppose to use the outside weather and learn your normal preferences and habits to automatically create a programmed thermostat schedule. It's a neat device. It's blue when it's cooling, it's orange when it's heating. I discovered when it's thoroughly confused, it stays pitch black and won't come on.
Several years ago, I was travelling in Australia with a guy who grew up about an hour from my hometown. Sitting around with the locals, we were exchanging information about our respective home areas. The conversation was dominated by agricultural types, so naturally the question of rainfall came up.
"How much rain do you get in Texas?"
My friend answered, "In our part of Texas, we get about 14 inches of rain a year. And you ought to be there the night it comes."
An exaggeration to be sure, but not by much. Just over a week ago, parts of our area received up to 13 inches of rain in about 12 hours. A week after that rain, the weatherman announced that official drought conditions were about three weeks away. If you do the math, that takes you from devastating floods to drought in one month.
Hopefully you are getting a feel for the unpredictable weather I grew up with. Add to that that what I am about to say was from an era of meteorology from the dark ages compared to the technology bonanza of today. But when I was a kid, I dreamed of being a weatherman, because I knew of no other job where you could be wrong by so much, so often and not get fired.
In my travels, I've learned that joke isn't as unique to me as I originally thought either. But maybe in it's overuse, there is a bit of truth there.
What other job can you have that you so often miss the mark and not only do you not get fired, they put you on billboards and coffee mugs and send you to schools to talk the kids and they treat you like a rockstar?
Well, I am glad you asked, because there is at least one other such job. Being a dad.
Consider the number of dads there are in the world at any given moment. Let's call it 2 billion dads plus or minus a billion. (Disputes of that estimate can be e-mailed to googledidn'thaveagoodanswerinthetopthreeresults@justguessed.com)
Now consider the number of "World's Greatest Dad" t-shirts, caps, bumper stickers, ties, coffee mugs, iPhone covers, tape measures, suspenders, ice cream bowls, license plate holders and other such items. That number is about 5 billion.
I'll grant you that a great many of those items are on the shelves of Stuckey's gathering dust and that some dad's have three or maybe four of such items. But no matter how you slice it, there are a lot of dads out there laying claim to the top title who have no business doing so.
Or do they?
This phenomenon had always intrigued me. But like most things about fatherhood worth knowing, I learned about this one from one of my daughters this time from Ella.
One car ride, Ella unexpectedly announced to me, "You are the best dad in the whole world."
With those billions of t-shirts in mind, I replied "There are a whole lot of dads in this world."
She pondered that for a very short time and rephrased slightly. "Well. You are the best dad in the whole world for me."
The addition of those two words at the end added a lot of meaning. Of course, I appreciated the compliment. But beyond that, it drew everything into focus. It's not about being the number one dad of all the dads. It's about being or trying to be the best dad for your kids.
Maybe all those shirts are exactly right. Maybe they just need a little asterisk on them to indicate "for my kids". You don't have to actually be the best dad in the world for your kids to think you are. And that is a good thing, at least in my case.
Sometimes I expect too much and sometimes too little. I let things that should be low priority interfere with quality time. My lectures are too long and too often my hugs are too short. And yes, I plead guilty to having on at least one occasion having yelled "answer me!" only to interrupt her answer within the first syllable with "be quiet when I am talking to you!"
Too often my work or other of life's frustrations erode my patience and Ella bears the brunt. Too often I say "no", not to protect or to teach, but to make things more convenient for me. Too often I am lost in the past or worried about the future and missing the now. Too often I append my praise with unneeded critiques for further improvement.
And despite all of those flaws and many more, I am rewarded with my daughter's love and adoration every day.
Sure, I also think there are a lot of things I do pretty well as a dad. But like the weatherman, we dads are afforded a lot of mistakes and latitude along the way.
Compare expectations for dads compared to moms. I can volunteer at school for one of Ella's events and I get tons of comments about "it's great to see a dad get involved". I get that praise just for being there. Meanwhile, if a mom shows up with store bought cookies for the whole class, she gets made to feel bad because they weren't homemade…with eggs from her own hens…with options for gluten free…served with organic milk…from the free range dairy three counties over...and still warm from the oven.
Another exaggeration? Sure. But again, not by much.
Yep. Thank goodness, the bar for dads isn't as high as what moms get subjected to. Of course, that isn't pressure put on the moms by the kids. It's by other moms. I've seen how tough some moms can be on each other. I suspect the makers of Valium have a major stake in Pinterest.
Maybe some moms could feel a bit better hearing Ella's "best for me" lesson, too.
I need to be clear here. I'm not saying the job of being a dad is unimportant. Clearly the impact a dad has on a child is huge.
And I'm not saying being a dad is a piece of cake. Not the least of all for the reason cited above. We share the weighty burden of helping grow and guide our children's spiritual, physical, emotional and educational lives. We become overnight role models, which isn't an easy transition for most of us who have plenty of kid-like behavior in us.
We often fall into the role of referee and with that the associated treatment. Dad's regularly get underestimated (which is also why we so easily get credit). And when we do tread into children's activities involving only moms, we have to navigate gender issues and associated complications. That is a whole book unto itself.
And it's hard finding and trying to keep things in balance like knowing when to push and when to protect. Or knowing when to fix and when to let them solve.
Is there anything that makes a dad instantly feel more like a hero than protecting their child or fixing something for them? Maybe not. Is there anything that can make a dad feel more helpless and ineffective than not being able to protect their child or fix something when it is most needed? Certainly not.
And because of that, Father's Day will always be bittersweet for me. For all of the joy I take from being a dad and as much as I like to envision myself wearing a SuperDad cape, the memories of watching Colby battle and later succumb to her disease, remind me how helpless I can be. For all the smiles created from the cherished memories accumulated so far, missing the memories that should have been causes pangs. Being a dad has brought me the greatest joys in my life and the deepest sorrow. Father's Day is and will always be a reminder of both.
But more than the bittersweet, the biggest emotion Father's Day brings me is appreciation. I hear Usha and Ella whispering plans and gift ideas to make sure I feel special on Father's Day. They put in a lot of effort in figuring out what to get me - an admittedly tough person to get presents for.
But they should rest easy. They can't top what they, along with Colby, have already given me - the gift of fatherhood itself and the wisdom to cherish it. They have given me the opportunity to try and be the world's best dad*. That not only makes Father's Day special, it makes everyday special.
Thank you, girls.
* for my kids
------------------------
Growing up in the Texas Panhandle, you quickly learn the expression "If you don't like the weather, stick around for 30 minutes and it will change." In my travels, I have learned that saying isn't unique to the Panhandle. Many of you know exactly what I am talking about. For those of you who are acclimated to more consistent and predictable temperatures, let me offer a couple of examples to help illustrate the concept.
Here in Oklahoma, earlier this spring, the weatherman announced we set a record high in the upper 80s for the day. In his next breath, he issued a freeze warning for the very next day.
I find a lot of humor in that alone, but the fact that I had recently installed one of those smart learning thermostats, made it that much funnier. It is suppose to use the outside weather and learn your normal preferences and habits to automatically create a programmed thermostat schedule. It's a neat device. It's blue when it's cooling, it's orange when it's heating. I discovered when it's thoroughly confused, it stays pitch black and won't come on.
Several years ago, I was travelling in Australia with a guy who grew up about an hour from my hometown. Sitting around with the locals, we were exchanging information about our respective home areas. The conversation was dominated by agricultural types, so naturally the question of rainfall came up.
"How much rain do you get in Texas?"
My friend answered, "In our part of Texas, we get about 14 inches of rain a year. And you ought to be there the night it comes."
An exaggeration to be sure, but not by much. Just over a week ago, parts of our area received up to 13 inches of rain in about 12 hours. A week after that rain, the weatherman announced that official drought conditions were about three weeks away. If you do the math, that takes you from devastating floods to drought in one month.
Hopefully you are getting a feel for the unpredictable weather I grew up with. Add to that that what I am about to say was from an era of meteorology from the dark ages compared to the technology bonanza of today. But when I was a kid, I dreamed of being a weatherman, because I knew of no other job where you could be wrong by so much, so often and not get fired.
In my travels, I've learned that joke isn't as unique to me as I originally thought either. But maybe in it's overuse, there is a bit of truth there.
What other job can you have that you so often miss the mark and not only do you not get fired, they put you on billboards and coffee mugs and send you to schools to talk the kids and they treat you like a rockstar?
Well, I am glad you asked, because there is at least one other such job. Being a dad.
Consider the number of dads there are in the world at any given moment. Let's call it 2 billion dads plus or minus a billion. (Disputes of that estimate can be e-mailed to googledidn'thaveagoodanswerinthetopthreeresults@justguessed.com)
Now consider the number of "World's Greatest Dad" t-shirts, caps, bumper stickers, ties, coffee mugs, iPhone covers, tape measures, suspenders, ice cream bowls, license plate holders and other such items. That number is about 5 billion.
I'll grant you that a great many of those items are on the shelves of Stuckey's gathering dust and that some dad's have three or maybe four of such items. But no matter how you slice it, there are a lot of dads out there laying claim to the top title who have no business doing so.
Or do they?
This phenomenon had always intrigued me. But like most things about fatherhood worth knowing, I learned about this one from one of my daughters this time from Ella.
One car ride, Ella unexpectedly announced to me, "You are the best dad in the whole world."
With those billions of t-shirts in mind, I replied "There are a whole lot of dads in this world."
She pondered that for a very short time and rephrased slightly. "Well. You are the best dad in the whole world for me."
The addition of those two words at the end added a lot of meaning. Of course, I appreciated the compliment. But beyond that, it drew everything into focus. It's not about being the number one dad of all the dads. It's about being or trying to be the best dad for your kids.
Maybe all those shirts are exactly right. Maybe they just need a little asterisk on them to indicate "for my kids". You don't have to actually be the best dad in the world for your kids to think you are. And that is a good thing, at least in my case.
Sometimes I expect too much and sometimes too little. I let things that should be low priority interfere with quality time. My lectures are too long and too often my hugs are too short. And yes, I plead guilty to having on at least one occasion having yelled "answer me!" only to interrupt her answer within the first syllable with "be quiet when I am talking to you!"
Too often my work or other of life's frustrations erode my patience and Ella bears the brunt. Too often I say "no", not to protect or to teach, but to make things more convenient for me. Too often I am lost in the past or worried about the future and missing the now. Too often I append my praise with unneeded critiques for further improvement.
And despite all of those flaws and many more, I am rewarded with my daughter's love and adoration every day.
Sure, I also think there are a lot of things I do pretty well as a dad. But like the weatherman, we dads are afforded a lot of mistakes and latitude along the way.
Compare expectations for dads compared to moms. I can volunteer at school for one of Ella's events and I get tons of comments about "it's great to see a dad get involved". I get that praise just for being there. Meanwhile, if a mom shows up with store bought cookies for the whole class, she gets made to feel bad because they weren't homemade…with eggs from her own hens…with options for gluten free…served with organic milk…from the free range dairy three counties over...and still warm from the oven.
Another exaggeration? Sure. But again, not by much.
Yep. Thank goodness, the bar for dads isn't as high as what moms get subjected to. Of course, that isn't pressure put on the moms by the kids. It's by other moms. I've seen how tough some moms can be on each other. I suspect the makers of Valium have a major stake in Pinterest.
Maybe some moms could feel a bit better hearing Ella's "best for me" lesson, too.
I need to be clear here. I'm not saying the job of being a dad is unimportant. Clearly the impact a dad has on a child is huge.
And I'm not saying being a dad is a piece of cake. Not the least of all for the reason cited above. We share the weighty burden of helping grow and guide our children's spiritual, physical, emotional and educational lives. We become overnight role models, which isn't an easy transition for most of us who have plenty of kid-like behavior in us.
We often fall into the role of referee and with that the associated treatment. Dad's regularly get underestimated (which is also why we so easily get credit). And when we do tread into children's activities involving only moms, we have to navigate gender issues and associated complications. That is a whole book unto itself.
And it's hard finding and trying to keep things in balance like knowing when to push and when to protect. Or knowing when to fix and when to let them solve.
Is there anything that makes a dad instantly feel more like a hero than protecting their child or fixing something for them? Maybe not. Is there anything that can make a dad feel more helpless and ineffective than not being able to protect their child or fix something when it is most needed? Certainly not.
And because of that, Father's Day will always be bittersweet for me. For all of the joy I take from being a dad and as much as I like to envision myself wearing a SuperDad cape, the memories of watching Colby battle and later succumb to her disease, remind me how helpless I can be. For all the smiles created from the cherished memories accumulated so far, missing the memories that should have been causes pangs. Being a dad has brought me the greatest joys in my life and the deepest sorrow. Father's Day is and will always be a reminder of both.
But more than the bittersweet, the biggest emotion Father's Day brings me is appreciation. I hear Usha and Ella whispering plans and gift ideas to make sure I feel special on Father's Day. They put in a lot of effort in figuring out what to get me - an admittedly tough person to get presents for.
But they should rest easy. They can't top what they, along with Colby, have already given me - the gift of fatherhood itself and the wisdom to cherish it. They have given me the opportunity to try and be the world's best dad*. That not only makes Father's Day special, it makes everyday special.
Thank you, girls.
* for my kids