An ode to Dad

Since Dad passed away, I start to feel a certain way around this time of year.

The commercials start talking about the Dad’s in our lives. The stores I shop at have Father’s Day Sales. People talk about what their weekend plans are going to entail. And on and on it goes. Sometimes, it can feel like a constant reminder of the hollow part of me that sits in my chest. The slow ache as I drove up to Bellingham the other day to sit with Judy (my Dad’s widow) over a lunch. The short stories we tell each other as the Bald Eagles soar over the Reservation which gently sits against the Northern Cascades. The emotional waves that come over me when a song about Dad’s slip on the radio. In the city he raised me in. Alone, not yet lonely. And yet, grateful.

Thank you, Dad, for doing the best you could with the tools you had.

Thank you for waking up at 2:00 am to stretch your tired muscles so you could provide for us by working a job no one your age should. Thank you for being a single Dad when Mom left and chose to shoulder those responsibilities. For finding me when Mom took me away without you knowing. For teaching me how to fish and not believing me when I caught my first one and yelled, ‘I got one!’ For buying us boxing gloves and fighting me on your knees when I was three feet tall. For the BMX bike in my favorite color. For teaching me how to take care of a dog. For coaching our basketball team. For hugging me when we won the Championship. For teaching me how to lift weights and to take care of my body. For the lessons on bread making. For the trips we took and the long drives you made. For waving to me ‘goodbye’ when you’d leave for a logging trip. For camping. For the deep talks over coffee. For the fights we had. For the lessons you taught me about being a man. For spending your time and money to watch me skate in the parking lot and on the ice. For the morning drives, car washes, and milkshakes. For the laughs. For being at my graduation and being the proudest Dad. For leaving for Alaska. For Kansas. When you had no other choice but to take the work. For making time for me. For the nicknames. For the commitment to live with us one week before you unexpectedly passed. For telling me you’re proud of me. That you love me. And for that final drive we took together down Chuckanut Drive.

Sure, the commercials, sales and weekend plans that people talk about have me longing and sometimes feeling resentful toward those who are still with. But ultimately, they make me happy. Happy that you were there. For as long as you could be. And you were the best. I love you.

Happy Father’s Day everyone. If you can, choose to enjoy the day. I think you’ll be pretty damn happy you did.