Thank You, Dad
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Happy Father's Day to my stud of a dad. (Newlitter, Wikimedia Commons)
I've been trying to think what it has meant for you to be a dad this past week. After all, if I'm writing a letter to thank you, I should probably know exactly what I want to thank you for.
Being a dad, to me, is, "Seriously? That shirt? Again?" and "Who told him it was a good idea to wear bike socks at all times?" It is dropping me off at school and embarrassing the bejeezus out of me. It has been twenty years of doing what's best for me, even if it wasn't always the easiest thing for you. It has been twenty years of you being so willing to sacrifice for Gavin and I that we don't even notice the sacrifice. It has been twenty years of, without a doubt, never being thanked enough for those things.
Being a dad has been watching me lose all nerve as the stick shift stalls (note the Bill Clinton-esque use of passive voice here) at a roundabout in England and the lorry behind us is less than thrilled. It has been seeing the wonder in my eyes every time South Africa gave us a new adventure, and the disappointment in them when I couldn't understand why you weren't getting me a lion cub for Christmas.
Being a dad has been listening to Brazilian soccer fans scream at the coach in Portuguese while laughing to keep the fact that these people are actually nuts from sinking in. Being a dad has been white water rafting in Idaho every summer. It was suffering through the same Modest Mouse CD I was obsessing over all the way to San Francisco and then back for our roadtrip. It has been driving the four-hour round trip up from San Diego just to have lunch with me every time you find yourself in Southern California.
Being a dad has been watching me attempt to eat my way through the world's supply of Doritos and then fight my way back from that. It has been listening to me spend years laughing at your shorts being too short and then adopting them myself. It has been more sun burns... well its been a lot of sun burns. It was the shortest hug ever the first time you dropped me off at USC because we all know men don't cry. It was the longest hug ever when I broke that rule and sobbed after I found out Drake died. It was seeing you well up and understanding how it would have torn you apart had it been me. It was spending an hour and forty-five minutes on the phone last Wednesday night even though the call started at 1:15 AM my time.
It may seem odd that everything I'm listing about you has to do with me, but how could it not? You have been uniquely tied to all those things. You have walked with me every step of the way, which is good because I may have learned to wander around on my own two feet a long time ago but there are plenty of days I'd have fallen down if not for you.
A lot of parents say they would do anything for their children. You have proven it. We always had an understanding that the day I left for school everything would change. There would be no going back, no living at home again. When I was 18, both you and my mom pushed me out of the nest. You knew that it was the only way I could ever be happy. You told me to go fly and have always been supportive of where that has been to (although I will give myself kudos here for that never having been anywhere that included the words "jail," "cocaine" or "illegitimate children").
Being a dad has been making the questionable decision of staying up until 2 AM BS-ing like I would with any of my fraternity brothers when you have to be up three hours later for a sixty mile bike ride. It has been making the road trip down to LA to get my bike down there the first time (still my bad on getting that stolen) a yearly tradition.
But really? Being a dad has been becoming one of my best friends. So I guess, all those other things considered, that's what I'm writing this to thank you for. I'm writing this to thank you for a relationship we share that few other fathers and sons do.
That and having the full head of hair that gives me hope I won't end up bald.
Love,
C.
