Happy Father's Day, to my Son-In-Law.
I remember as if it were yesterday, sitting on the side of a sandbox in a Brooklyn Heights playground, looking at my 10-month-old daughter and feeling my heart swell with joy. Nearly a year into first-time motherhood and I still reeled from the sucker-punch of love for this tiny girl. My mind's eye remembers staring at the precious curve of her head and thinking very clearly that I would never be able to give her up, no matter what Prince Charming came along.
Prince Charming, as it turned out, entered my life one Saturday when she was still in college. She brought him home to meet her dad and me with no more advance billing than he was the cutest "skater boy" ever. What I remember most, aside from the fact that our new puppy peed on his foot, was that he wore a small silver stud in his nose. And, that 10 minutes after meeting him, I wouldn't have cared if he were covered with piercings and tattoos. He was that special.
Fast forward 10 years or so and I am in a delivery room supporting one of my daughter's shoulders as he holds the other. The doctor keeps saying "push" and "almost" and "one more time" and we glance at each other expectantly. And then Baby Eva arrives screaming into the world and it seemed as if the gleam of his mega-watt smile bounced off the shiny linoleum floor. As I quickly took a few first family photos before leaving them alone, I saw him lean over, look at his new daughter's face and say, "Hi, Eva. I'm you're daddy."
Eva has a sister now and there is not a day that I am not grateful that a certain "skater boy" crossed my daughter's path. He knows and understands her well, and loves her purely and that is a huge prerequisite for being a good father. My own dad said once that the best thing a father could do was love his children's mother and the older I get the more I see how the two loves are woven together.
I was driving my granddaughters somewhere last summer when the John Legend song "All of Me" played on the radio.
"Oh, I know that song," Eva remarked matter-of-factly. "That's the song that Daddy says makes him think of Mommy." How grateful I am that she is growing up in a home where love is a given.
She is also known to tell her dad that he is in the doghouse, when she picks up on something that is bothering her mother. But isn't that part of a happy marriage? Nothing says love should be free of disagreements and there's no better context to learn this than in a happy home.
They see how he supports their mom's work as a writer which, for now, is far less lucrative than his own career. One Christmas, shortly after my daughter bravely left her last 9-to-5 job, he gave her business cards which stated her occupation as simply "writer." He is teaching his girls to follow their hearts.
He works the intense hours that are expected in his profession but they know he does it for them. "I love you, I'll miss you," my granddaughters chant as if it's a mantra when they say goodbye to him each morning. They know that even if he gets home past bedtime, they can count on him making their breakfasts in the morning. I'm betting they will remember "crazy eggs" and "Dad's famous pancakes" when they push their trays in the college cafeteria line someday.
His long work days also mean that on occasional Saturday nights he tells them that he's taking mommy on a "date night". There's a bit of whining, of course, and some negotiation on bedtime, but the takeaway is that happily married people cherish a little private time together.
A long distance grandmother, I savor the occasions when I am the "favorite" babysitter for an evening and can witness this strong family that has grown from love, pure and simple. And, while Father's Day usually congers up images of ties and barbecues and golf clubs, this year I will be remembering my unnecessary worries in a sandbox nearly 40 years ago.
Happy Father's Day, Pete.
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