Filling My Fathers Shoes

Some men are not meant to be fathers. Nothing can really prepare you for this experience and unlike choosing a career it is pretty difficult to just try it out to see if it's a good fit then move on if it's not. Some men just take to it instinctively and revel in every dirty diaper, dance recital and driving instruction along the way. Some take a while to adapt to the role but rise to the occasion and transform into the part as if it were in them all along. Some men try but like a pair of shoes a size too small it rubs the wrong way and he can't wait to get them off. This was my father. I was the youngest in the family and never really got to experience the time when my dad was trying to make it work. By the time I came along he had moved that ill fitting pair of shoes to the back of the closet desperately looking for some other shoes to wear-shoes that were nowhere in our home. I am not bitter about this anymore. As a parent I know that it takes a very special kind of person to raise a child.  My father wasn't meant to be Mr. Cunningham but I am glad that he tried or I wouldn't be writing this blog. And I am lucky enough to have two wonderful fathers in my life, two men that took to fatherhood, my father in law and my husband.  When I married Rob I thought I was just getting a husband and a few in laws but through the years I have gained a father, and although I still call him Tom, he is, in all ways, the father I never had. He is just what you think of when you hear the word dad. He is one of the smartest men I know and no matter what I have a question about-World Wars or recipes he always has the answer. He tells stories about his youth, the good and the bad, with vivid details. He cares for his children deeply. He fiercely protects his wife. And he glories in teaching my son everything he can, including some things that I could kill him for.

He has also been a great example to his son-my husband. As a new father it was obvious that Rob was out of his element, he was not prepared for this screaming, pooping machine that never slept. But as each year passed he grew more and more into the father that I had dreamed of as a child. He takes an interest in everything his son does-he corrects, he teaches and he encourages and praises too. He is not afraid to kiss him and tell him he loves him every night before he lays his head on his pillow. When he goes out of town for work he leaves little notes on his nightstand or at his place on the kitchen table so he is sure to see it as he eats his mini pancakes in the morning. He shows love and respect for me which will someday transfer into how my son treats the women in his life.
So, I am ok with the father I missed as a child because now I can truly appreciate the fathers in my life today. Those shoes in the back of my childhood closet have finally found the right fit and are getting plenty of use.
Happy Fathers Day.