Some men know that they want to be dads – the-kind-who-are-always-there – dads. Today is your day. Some men know that they will never be as flummoxed as when an adolescent girl attenuates her irritation over nothing by intoning “D-a-a-a-a-d” with dramatic flair reminiscent of Sarah Bernhardt and Camille.
For every dad who first danced with his daughter by having her stand on his shoes (and there was a time when shoes were polished, but let’s not go there). The dad who threw pitch after pitch, went to every game, and in an act of incredible love and extreme foolishness continued to try to impart guidance and direction to ears and minds that were destined to follow their own path (as it should be).
For Andy, my favorite father-in-law and brothers-in-law, for David and Bill and Russ and Ben and all those friends of ours out there whose love for their children (and fur kids) is so palpable I can almost match the beat of my own heart to yours. It is a delight to honor you today.
And for the dad of all dads (at least in my eyes) – my own. Whether I was hanging upside down on the bunk bed pretending to be dead (I was eight, it was a gag – it didn’t work), looking for grapes in a bowl of Cheerios, walking to school with you almost every day for twelve years (and then commuting with you into the city), or watching the unadulterated mutual adoration between you and your grandsons – you were an amazing, involved, funny, smart, occasionally snarky, willing, curious, surprise-filled, loving dad. And I still think of you as ‘daddy’ – and you’ve been gone for nine years. But it’s your day too – and I miss you and celebrate you today.
A view of the demonstrations in Turkey that most of us will never see from a clos up perspective such as this.
Once again, timing proves to be everything. Lately it seems like a lot of people have started following the karma truck. I will confess I’m not convinced that all of these new passengers are real – something tells me the WordPress filters are going through some kind of crisis. And yet, today I received the loveliest message from someone new, and it was clear that she was neither a salesperson, corporate entity or accidental tourist. My delight in her arrival somehow tripped the ignition which lately has been reluctant to start.
In the ether, it is tough sometimes to separate fantasy from reality. Are we, in real life, what we project in our posts? I seem to follow those who I believe are as transparent as their defenses and sense of propriety permit. I have become friends with some who I have yet to meet, and I have every confidence that should circumstance and fortune collide, I would find them to be even more than my thoughts could have imagined.
Like Lori. We finally met this week. I recognized her instantly and she was more beautiful than any picture suggested. She has a giggle like a song, and a heart that beats with a rhythmic love that just draws the world to her. To be in her orbit was both exhilarating and comforting – for I was with someone I have known forever though I can’t remember where or when. I just know it to be so.
For twenty-four hours we talked, commiserated, wondered about people we have grown to care deeply for (despite not being able to identify them if we passed on the street – and you know who you are, which is a good thing), shared personal histories in more exquisite detail, cried a bit, laughed far more. My words are not doing this visit justice, yet I’m certain you get the gist.
Last week Bill @ drbillwooten.com was generous enough to include me as part of his WordPress Family. The coincidence of these two moments is not lost to me. We who write and read each other’s posts, who comment and delight, commiserate and comfort, find ourselves in a family of sorts. Perhaps it is not one that is standard issue, nor one that can be identified by pictures and get-togethers. But nonetheless, to one degree or another it is defined by connection and dare I say it, levels of love. There is no ambiguity despite the opaque wall of anonymity. Within these posts lie the magic of people I have come to love in a way that I need not try to define. I just have to acknowledge that it is there. And I do – with arms wide open.