Tatty at the beach with his boychiks
We don’t really do much for Father’s Day in our house. My husband didn’t grow up with it (partially a cultural thing), and he’s usually working every Sunday anyways, and I’m lousy about remembering to get a card. However, since the internet is lit up with homages to all things father today, I’ve reflected on how appreciative I am of my husband’s fathering.
It’s true that a father is not a mother. Someone once told me that while women are, in general, anticipatory, seeing all the possible dangers which could befall our children and doing our best to prevent them, men are reactionary. They don’t always see the obvious (to a mother) effects from the cause. This is definitely true in our house, and the source of much frustration for me, as I can be rather rigid about order and the like.
However, my husband’s relaxed attitude and penchant for playing rather energetically with the boys is likely why is such a resounding hit with them. They LOVE playing with Tatty. He is a blast. He has a seemingly endless ability to run around, chasing one boy with another on his shoulders. For pushing them around the apartment complex’s courtyard in the Power Wheels SUV we inherited from a neighbor. For playing horsey and firetruck and mountain and whatever the boys imagine him into.
His bedtime stories trump mine, hands down. He invents long, meandering tales involving car chases, lightning, explosions, and other things that little boys find enthralling. He doesn’t think about the length of time it’s taking to complete this part of the bedtime ritual, rather, he provides incomparable entertainment and invaluable quality time with his sons.
He makes a killer cream of wheat (or farina, as he calls it) for breakfast. I’m sure the boys can taste the love he puts into the meal as he adds milk, honey, and vanilla to ensure that this otherwise simple breakfast tastes divine. He’s also been known to make delicious eggs for breakfast, and is always mindful of adding just the right amount of spices to the boys’ noodles, eggs, or whatever otherwise bland foods they prefer.
He isn’t shy about being affectionate with the kids. They all get lots of hugs and kisses and pats on the head and holding of hands. There will not be doubt in their minds that their father loves them very much.
He changes diapers. Even poopy ones.
While he does his thing in a decidedly male and non-motherly manner, that is his role as a father. A role he excels at. And I’m so grateful that he’s the father of my children, and I look forward to many father’s days in the future, regardless of whether or not we actually celebrate them.
Are you doing anything for the fathers in your life?
(oh my gosh, I just realized that I need to call my father, who definitely does celebrate Father’s Day! Yoinks!)
