Apparently March is a great month for us to observe the parental contributions for which we are so thankful. The last stop in the grandparent birthday homage for the first quarter of the year is today, March 26, on which day we are thankful for my father, or Papa.
I would like to be able to balance the tables and say similar things to what I wrote about my mother 24 days ago, but the truth is, a relationship with a parent of the opposite gender is different. My mother experienced a love for her father that is similar, so I think she understands. My experience with my father is different. And while I work very hard to keep myself from donning the rose colored glasses I do not wear in the relationship with my mother, it is much harder for me to view my father in the realistic terms that I view my mother. I think he may wear a cape and change in telephone booths at times. And, that is a reality for which I am thankful and do not feel compelled to push for much change.
I often read the assessments of women at work, or listen to the stories of women I know personally, or watch Dr. Phil and witness women who are forever changed by the men in their lives. Typically, these women share some commonality in that their father either relinquished or failed to protect his little girl and her development into a woman either totally or in part. I have struggled with the fact that I have always been treasured by the men in my life (with a few moments of humility injected from my brother, of course) and that my father is the author and sustainer of that sort of treatment. It seems unfair for me to have such a protector, while other women never know that comfort. Yet, it is something which has formed and continues to form me, inside and out.
Today is my father's birthday. Like my mother, his physical appearance cannot come close to betraying the actual number of candles which should appear on his cake. However, he is, indeed, old enough to be a Papa. On this day, I would like to take a moment and enumerate a few of the things for which I am so thankful that my very own daddy will have a place of honor in the development of the next generation.
1. My father limited my choices at times. Growing up, my only choice I can remember for what would happen in June 1998 was military or college. In a family and hometown where working at the local grocery store or "making enough to get by" was an actual plan for what to do after high school, my father decided his children would have a different expectations. He, himself, never went to college. However, my father is a rare example of someone who wants more for his children and will sacrifice himself to provide it. I never, for a moment, wavered in my knowledge that I would go, achieve, and become everything I could. My father authored that message and saw it through the bitter end.
2. My father wanted me. My mother always wanted children, but my father wanted lots. He said he wanted a house full. He said he was never afraid that he would end up with all girls, either. He was up to the task! When my mother had uncontrollable blood pressure and developed the toxemia and preeclampsia that caused my early and traumatic arrival, my father was there... practically with a catcher's mitt. Balancing his breaking heart at his wife's pain and devastating illness with his new love for me, he fed me as my mother's body and doctors sorted her out. For the first 4 days or so of my life, my father fed me and was my primary caregiver. Legend has it that my 22 year old father fed me a full 8 ounces for my first meal. (Apparently, he wasn't concerned that I did not inherit his metabolism.) When my mother wanted to defy odds and reclaim breast feeding as a means of naturally sustaining me, my father was the only person to jump to her defense and her side, finding nursing coaches and other supports to override the many professional and personal influences discouraging her. From the first hours, my father has been protective and demonstrated how much he wanted the role of father.
3. My father has never loved his job. That's not to say he never enjoyed his work... two of his best friends, who are ranked among family in our life due to their closeness to us, are the result of his work environment. However, my father has never had that kind of job that I get the privilege of seeking and returning to school periodically to prepare for. Yet, my father has never called in sick or gratuitously missed days. Instead, he's maintained my family's needs as his priority and goes, earning bonuses when others cannot, earning promotions when he does not want them, and impressing nearly all who work with him. His work ethic is impressive. Realizing that his work ethic is motivated by his love for me and my family is humbling.
4. My father has never driven a fancy car. Or had a pimped out stereo. Or ever prioritized a hobby above us. Even when he could afford to participate in any of those activities, he has never wanted to. My father has made loving his family a hobby. When money was tight, he never dreamed of using family resources to entertain himself. Now that money is a little freer, he takes pleasure in coffee, beer, and beef with his family. Working under the hood of a car or gathering small parts for things he finds entertaining can't compare with being with Emory outside in his garden or snuggling Elizabeth for my father. Or shopping with my mother. Or bringing massive amounts of meat to our house and letting us cook them. While I understand and support other men who have such interests and would never disparage it, my father is a man who is different. And it is something for which I love him endlessly.
5. My father works with my mother. My brother and I say to a fault at times, as they very rarely, if ever, showed a crack in their united front - which made teenage shenanigans difficult to get away with! There was never a "but, Mom said..." moment for us. Dad was ALWAYS in sync with her or deferred on answering until he was able to be in sync with her. However, this cooperative spirit only worked to our benefit. Not only were we kept from teenage foolery, but we also reaped the benefits of 2 people who collaborated since high school in conspiring for something more. We got the benefit of Europe. We got the benefit of a mother chronically available to us. We got the benefit of no student debt at the end of our undergraduate degrees. By working together, our father lead our family to "better" with my mother at his side.
6. My father believes strongly in his beliefs. Out of anything I write about my father, this one is the one that is most difficult for me to be thankful for, as I find myself still struggling with my personal belief standards. My father, however, holds fast to his and does not move. I am happy for the consistency that sort of belief brings. I am happy for the times he allows healthy conversation to exist around them. And, I am happy to know that his beliefs are those which will maintain the next generation as dearly to him in his energy and exertions as my brother or I ever were.
7. My father is ripped. While this statement sounds superficial at the outset, the truth is, my father has 16.9% body fat. While he is experiencing some other health issues related to the increasing digits of his age, my father is diligent in taking care of himself. He goes to the gym daily and works out. With a bulging disc, he still manages to weight train so as to keep himself in good shape. When we went to Utah last fall, hiking in Zions National Park was par for the course for him, as he can handle the strain. I saw my beloved grandfathers fall victim to their healthful inattention: one to congestive heart failure, one to lung cancer from smoking. Knowing that our son will have a model of health that stands a great chance of dancing at his wedding makes me so encouraged for our family's future.
8. My father has seasonal affective disorder. And he won't talk to anyone about it. And he insists that just repeating "stop it" to himself is therapeutic enough. While I do not take lightly mood disorders (as is evidenced by my professional life) I love that my father is a throwback to the era when "digging in" and "pushing ahead" were actual prescriptions. As my husband and I come from "Generation Me," it's a nice reminder that sometimes, it's not about us and how we feel and seeking fulfillment. Sometimes, it's about faking it until you make it and making sure those you love are with you at the finish line. I still want him to be happier during the winter, but I love that his swaying emotions or moods have little or no bearing on the essence of his interactions with us.
9. My father guards our heritage. He can recall the warmth of the Italian family and reminisces regularly about his plethora of aunt, uncles, cousins, and relatives. Usually, the stories involve food, the smell of food, or the anticipation of food. He is the one who makes the Pizelle cookies at Christmas. He is the one who ordered THIRTY POUNDS of Italian cookies for Bobby's wedding and had them brought here from New York. He's the one who had standards for my wedding dress, that it maintain the sparkle and excitement of the Italian expectations. He's the one who makes Chicken Picatta by the truckload for us and loves anything pasta or antipasto. He's the one who wants to trek back to Italy with us, to walk again the province of Molise, from which his grandparents left. He's the one who expects us to maintain the pride and work ethic and devotion and hope of the men and women who came here and wanted more, earned more, and passed on more.
10. My father is still my daddy. While the teen years proved as awkward as any, my father has always made a concerted effort to be around. And, while my mother has evolved from a mommy to a Ma!, my father is still my daddy. Nathaniel even mocks me for this truth at times, but I don't care. He is my daddy. And, I know that as much as he's endeavored to live out the "daddy ideal," he'll live out the "Papa ideal." I've had the benefit of watching him do it with Emory and Elizabeth, who he loves and dotes on with abandon. As my brother and I hold special places in our hearts for our own Papas, knowing that I get to pass on to our little boy a "Papa" so worthy of the title thrills me... but, he's still my daddy.
I am sad for women who cannot list reasons, arbitrary or real, that their father is their protector, sustainer, and "daddy." I am not sure who I would be without this man. I am truly better for having his DNA, his influence, and his expectations. And, the next generation stands to benefit as well.
Thank you, Daddy! And Happy Birthday, Papa!
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