Everybody had a father when I was a kid. My dad, Carl, left for work early in the morning and got home after I went to bed. On the week-ends, he hoisted me on his shoulders so that I could touch the kitchen ceiling. He was hopeless at ‘Old Maids’ and ‘War;’ I always won.
Daddy shoveled coal into the furnace, and lit the hot water heater. He was the only one strong enough to push the lawn mower and open the upstairs windows. When Bessie died, he used his tools and brought the old car back to life.
He didn’t make us eat our spinach or do our homework.
Daddy wasn’t much for hugging. His face turned pink whenever Mom kissed him on the cheek and called him, ‘Sweetie.’
He never once told me he loved me. Yet, I was his favorite person in the whole world. My sister thought she was. Imagine!
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My husband once called me during an important meeting to tell me that our baby had ‘messed his jeans.’ “Are you coming home soon?” he whined.
Father’s Day is not for celebrating ‘perfect’ fathers; they’re as rare as ‘perfect’ children. It’s a time for celebrating the things that fathers got right. My sons knew their dad didn’t like to play ball in the backyard. They also knew he was never too busy to talk with them or to help with homework.
It was no secret that John dreaded family vacations. But that was okay with the kids because he loved reading to them and sharing books with them.
John grew up in a big, boisterous family of ten, where saying, I love you, fighting, hugging, and teasing were as mundane as waiting in line for the bathroom. His tolerance for practical jokes endeared him to his sons.
Who could forget that peaceful autumn evening in our family room? The soft chirping of field crickets floated 
through the open window beside my husband as he sat reading Truman Capote’s, In Cold Blood.
Suddenly, blood curdling screams pierced the night air and came shrieking through the screen. John catapulted from his chair, his book flung to the ceiling. “What the…!?” When he finally touched down, his eyes were wide, and his face, pale. Muffled laughter drifted through the window.
“I won’t forget this; I owe you big time!” John warned, wagging his finger as his three giggling sons headed off to bed. When they were out of sight, he laughed and said, “Boy, they got me this time.”
There was revenge on trash night when John salvaged a neighbor’s discarded mannequin torso from the pile at the end of the road. He dressed the plastic temptress in a kerchief and one of my blouses, and placed her in his son’s empty bed. He turned off the light, regretting that he wouldn’t be around for the payoff. The following morning his son accused him of taking ten years off his life.
“Serves you right for staying out so late,” was John’s response.
There was always retribution, whether it was making eerie wild animal sounds outside our bedroom window in the wee hours, or surprising their father by jumping out of the closet when he opened the door.
One thing is never a surprise. My husband’s phone conversations with his boys always end the same. “I love you, son; you take care now!”
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When our middle son stumbled into fatherhood twenty-three years ago on my forty-ninth birthday, he and the 
baby’s mother were not married. Not quite what we had envisioned for our grandchild. These things happened in other families…
When the time came, we went to the hospital and waited.
Finally, after assisting through a long labor, our awkward college junior with a 
two-day growth of stubble, emerged from the delivery room wearing scrubs. Giddy with excitement, the new father stood before me.
“Happy birthday, Mom,” he boomed, hugging me tightly. “I got you a beautiful granddaughter.” His father and I tried to share his joy — while blinking back tears. With the mother’s family standing only feet away, the new father indulged his ill-timed, quirky sense of humor as only he could. “Next year I’ll get you a boy!” he told me. His was the only smile in the room. Not everyone has a sense of humor.
By the time the young couple were married, and had a second beautiful daughter, our carefree, outdoorsy college student had morphed into a doting father and devoted husband. Even his in-laws were impressed.
We watched as he adeptly fed babies, changed diapers, and bathed toddlers. He took his daughters on hiking trips, to father/daughter dances at school, and coached girls’ softball teams.
John, Carl and the Rowe boys
Tears still come to our eyes when our grown granddaughters take their father’s hand in public or sit on his lap at family gatherings.
As I said, with a few essential ingredients, the recipes for successful fatherhood are endless…
Happy Father’s Day 2010
6 Comments
I truly can not wait to have g-kids…all my kids are in college, I find myself single now and hoping to find a gentleman with the sense of humour like your son. He is truly funny and good hearted.
Awesome stoy and I love that old photo of Mike, Scott and Phil with their dad.
Your stories always leave me with a smile.
“God took the strength of a mountain, The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun, The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature, The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages, The power of the eagle’s flight,
The joy of a morning in spring, The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity, The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities, When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it … Dad”
Happy Fathers Day!
Hmmm…messed his jeans huh?
Some things never change.
Thank You Mrs. Rowe-)
Mrs. Rowe, you are quite the writer! I enjoyed reading this very much and forwarded it to my father! Thanks!
Thank you, Mrs. Rowe. Being a father is a real blessing.