Fathers’ Day (September 1 in Australia)

On Friday, August 29, Ann and I went to a “Father of the Year” breakfast awards celebration put on by Brophy and the local Rotary Club. (Brophy is the non-profit community based organization through which I am doing volunteer work.)

The breakfast alone deserves special mention, as it consisted of baked beans, sautéed mushrooms, broiled tomatoes, sausages, hash browns, bacon, scrambled eggs, croissants, and fruit salad. I passed on the cold cereal course though.

The father figures being recognized, or the nominations from their children, were quite nice too. There were about 1000 nominations from area schools, with award winners selected in four school age ranges. The winning nomination stories from the son or daughter making the nomination were presented, along with children and their respective winning father, grandfather, or uncle being nominated.

The nominating stories were all unique, and they reflected individuality, but they also had in common expressions of being felt loved, cared for, and respected as an individual. They also for the most part included a reference to, or appreciation of, a fun or quirky parental attribute.

There were plenty of politicians present and speaking too. (Two mayors, a local minister of state parliament, and the state prime minister. A few school principals too.) Their ingredients for success, and the father gifts they memorialized, were the benefits of learning how to work hard and of being respected, and after that “everything else will sort itself out.”

I wandered back and forth between memories of my father, and of my fathering of my daughter.

My father did not learn how to say, “I love you” to me until well in to his elder years. I loved him, but it was not really until the being there with him and connections of his dying years that we felt close.  He did have a way of hand squeezing an I love you message though, something I was able to squeeze on to my daughter.

A strong father figure memory I carry with me from an early age is being at the beach in Stone Harbor, New Jersey, and building sand castles. Building sand castles, learning how to make dribble castles, with Bill Wood. Mr. Wood, of the Woods who lived next door in our hometown, and who would visit along with his wife most every summer. Dad and mom would be as one, off walking the beach, a cherished memory and love of another type that was beautifully modeled for me.

You can be sure my daughter learned from me at a very early age the complexities and nuances of building dribble castles. One of my special vivid memories with her is that of fun and quirky chasing and laughing through a maze of hay bales at Pumpkinland. She knows well the value of what it is to be included.

My daughter has learned, is learning, much more about hard work on her own than from me. But she learned of hard play, respect, and inclusiveness on my watch. And from her mom.

Kate is a life learner and teacher. 

I celebrate being her father every day.