Skip to main content

A Good Dad

 A good dad takes his young daughter on early morning hikes in a wild field that would someday become a road. He guides his three young kids on bike rides on quiet summer Sunday mornings along empty sidewalks in a charming town. They stop midway to get donuts and chocolate milk.

A good dad brings his young ones to the office on Saturday afternoons and keeps gum in his desk drawer as a surprise. They sing together on their car ride to and from.

He brings a gold fish home for the one who is sick with a sore throat. 

Valentine’s gifts for them all.

Blows balloons for birthdays.

He is Santa.

And maybe the tooth fairy. No one could ever find out.

A good dad is a good husband-gentle. Kind. Thoughtful. Soft voices with his wife as they drive before dawn on the long road up to the cabin, their young ones stretched out in the station wagon-drowsy but excited for their adventure. 

A good dad says, “I trust them to make their own decisions.” And is understanding when the decisions are mistakes.

He’s there with advice. Solutions. A joke, and a compliment.

He teaches them how to play checkers and how to wake early to catch the sunrise. 

How to paint. Inspires writing. 

A good dad is kind to strangers.

Gives up his chair for his daughter. Is a role model to his sons.

He is generous. Hard working. And supportive.

A good dad reads books to his grandchildren on the back porch during the rain.

He gives them cookies for breakfast. Makes tipis out of sticks in the woods with them. He teaches them to swim.

A good dad visits his parents when they are ailing. 

Takes care of his wife when she grows old.

Celebrates milestones when his kids get older. 

And a good dad, when he himself has lived out his days, and can no longer remember how to speak words, utters “so long” with a single tear rolling down his cheek.

As his last promise to meet again-in some other place.


And then he leaves this word…better for having been in it. 

A good dad will always be remembered. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Good Thing?

  When I was a little girl, my mom and dad shared their appreciation for bluebirds with us. My dad put bluebird houses up in our yard, hoping to attract them. My mom needlepointed sayings with bluebirds on, and found small glass sculptures of the tiny birds to place around our house.   I think for them, those “bluebirds of happiness” truly did represent the peace and joy that was within the walls of our home.  When I grew up and moved to eventually land  in the house I now live in, I tried desperately to attract bluebirds. Put out houses. Bought a whistle. Bluebird food.  But…never one.  But over the past few years, with my mom passed and my dad declining, I would awaken many mornings to a soft hammering on my house. At the highest point on one corner of the outside in the cedar siding, a woodpecker was diligently creating a hole. Each time I’d see him working his way through the side of my house, I’d wonder how I was going to deal with this issue, for surely a hole made by a bird in o

Forget-Me-Not

  Back in the day… Before cell phones Before land lines were obsolete Before my mom died, She and I had a late-night code: one of us would call the other and let it ring only once (so as not to wake everyone as all the phones in the house would ring) when we had something to talk about.  The other would know to return the call. No matter what hour of the night.  We would’ve already spoken that day, and we were living only a few houses apart from each other so there’s a good chance we had visited too, but those late night calls-when the world settled down to stillness and silence…we would share what only mothers and daughters share.  It was such a simple gesture, those calls.  I probably took it for granted-the fact that my mom was just one ring away.  But those moments became some of my favorite memories.  My mom is gone now but still, I leave my cell phone ringer on at night.  I say it’s for emergencies  but I think equally so it’s for the non-emergencies-when one of my daughters feel

Teachers

  I remember the huge auditorium I sat in, on a fall afternoon at UW Madison. It was the introduction to student teaching. The professor stood  in front of the room full of college kids eager to have our “first classroom.” He said, “If you aren’t asleep by  8 pm  each night because the day of teaching has exhausted you, you are doing something wrong.”  I distinctly remember shaking my head and laughing to myself saying, “there’s no way…”  I made it through seven years of teaching elementary students before I became a mom. I taught in what would be considered for many reasons, a non-challenging district. During those teaching years,  I made it to  7 pm  on good nights before falling asleep exhausted.  Fast forward to now. I’m no longer in the classroom. But some of my most favorite people are-my daughter, sister-in-law, and friends teach young ones in the classroom. I hear some of the stories-the above and beyond that teachers must do these days to help these young kids learn, immersed