I never doubted that the guy I married would be a good father- after all, I’d seen the way he’d drop everything for his friends, the patience he’d exude when our contractors would say things that were less than truthy, and the exuberance he’d bring to playing with our nieces and nephews (and yeah, our cats). But, still. Knowing those things and seeing them in action are horses of a different (2am) color. P.J. is an exceptional father.
He sleeps oh-so lightly, needing to be aware of the slightest cry for water or thunking of a smallish body onto the floor.
The energy he manages to yank out of the ether after a long day to host dance-offs, teach (G-rated) Tenacious D lyrics during bathtime, and carefully comb preschooler and Barbie hair alike…well, it’s just impressive.
And the way he looks into our kids’ eyes when they speak is a trait I hope they remember for all of their lives. (After all, it’s the thing that made me fall in love with their Dad in the first place.)
Yeah, P.J. is tied for first place in the whole World’s Best Dad thing. Because there’s this other guy…
He used to pick me up from middle school dances and late-night theatre rehearsals, and would listen and listen and listen to the most important issues in the world. Eventually he’d quietly offer up spot-on advice. (And I always heard him.)
This is the man who taught me some of the most important things in the world: Fettuccine Alfredo needs more heavy cream, watching a movie you already own on cable makes it more fun, and Chuck Berry is a jerk.
And the one who- from carting boxes of doughnuts to calling us on his way to chemo (even though he haaaaaaaates the phone) to scrubbing the pool for imminent visitors- never fails to make things special for his kids and grandkids alike.
I learned from the best what the best should look like. And then when I found the guy who’d stand up to the standards I now knew should be there, I married him. (With my Dad’s blessing.)
Happy Father’s Day, P.J. And happy Father’s Day, Dad. I wish there was a World’s Best Father mug big enough to encompass the accolades you both deserve. It’s just as well that there isn’t, though.
You’d both just fill it with ice cream.
Speak Your Mind