(Here’s my quick caveat: this post isn’t about taxes. Not a word. I’m not even sneaking in the words “capital gains” or alluding to basis. This post is personal. But it still has a place here on the blog, I swear. You see, I get up every day and do the job that I do – this job that I love – because I have so many great men in my life that have made me believe that I can do anything. They made me who I am today. And this is my thank you. And it’s important. And that’s why it’s here. Enjoy.)
The summer before I left for law school, I had a big announcement to make to my parents: I was traveling to Graceland. In a car. With a boy.
I explained about the arrangements, the dates and that it was all paid for (I had a few jobs that summer). Then I braced myself for the inevitable lecture. None came. They both said that it was okay and I left, a bit puzzled but relieved.
I found out, years later, that after I left the room, my mom whacked my dad on the shoulder and said, “You were supposed to tell her no.”
That’s kind of the lot in life for dads, right? They often get saddled with the task of delivering the crappy news. Moms wipe teary faces, give hugs, and put cool Muppet band-aids on boo-boos. But dads? They tend to give the stern talking tos, mete out punishments and break the news that kids don’t want to hear.
I’ll admit that it’s true in my house. When my daughter was so sick with Henoch-Schonlein Purpura that she could barely walk, I went out on the porch to cry while her dad told her that she wouldn’t be able to dance for her big recital that day. When my other daughter didn’t get accepted to the magnet school she applied to (despite being first in her class, go figure), her dad broke the news. And when the Phillies did not earn a trip to the World Series last year, Charlie’s dad told him that it wouldn’t happen (hey, trauma is relative).
But here’s the thing: dads might be there for the stinky moments but their strength and resolve is why we love them. My dad, for all he was gruff and stern sometimes (his nickname at work was “Bulldog”) was also the guy that I knew would never let anything bad happen to me. I went to sleep feeling safe at night. And I developed this crazy sense of self – this feeling that I could do anything in the world – because I always knew that my dad would take care of me. All of those things that I did that my friends (and let’s face it, my family) thought were weird? Going away to residential high school? Leaving for college? Flying away to Europe for a year? Moving up north for law school? I knew I could do them because my dad let me think that I could.
I’ve seen the same thing in my own kids growing up. Kate, my oldest, used to take flying leaps off of the furniture and the window sills even before she could walk; she now climbs trees taller than buildings. And Ames? Yes, she’s the one who sang an impromptu version of Smashmouth’s “Allstar” at a friend’s wedding – in front of 150 people, most of whom she’d never met. And she’s the same girl who performed at the Philly 40 Under 40 in front of nearly 600 people. I’m usually the one fretting in the corner. But my kids put themselves out there – with no fear – because their dad lets them think they can do anything.
It can be a pretty scary world out there. And I worry for my kids. I want them to be safe and successful and happy. But I can’t simply create security because I said so (though that’s the answer for a lot of things as a mom). It is, as Helen Keller said:
Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.
So, a big salute to all of the dads out there for taking us on bike rides, for picking up snakes (gross) and bugs to show off, for swinging on ropes, for climbing trees, for sleeping in tents outside, for driving us cross-country – and down the street, for dropping us off at school on that first day, for letting us go outside without raincoats, for digging in the dirt next to us (even, ahem, when our gardens aren’t *exactly* what you were hoping to see in that space), for chasing fireflies, looking for shark’s teeth and skipping stones – for letting kids be kids.
For all of the dads that made their kids feel like they could do anything, for making life a daring adventure: Thank you!
