Father’s Day — 16 June 1984
My dad, as I understand it, would fall under the general heading of a “40s Man.” That is, he didn’t kiss or hug kids, never said “I love you” to them and didn’t have a whole lot to say or do with them unless they were in some kind of trouble.
I was an only child, my folks divorced when I was about twelve and I’ve never seen nor heard from my father since.
So when the time came for me to marry and have children, I was going to be different: In the delivery room, change the diapers, help feed ‘em, tickle toes and knees, hug and kiss ‘em constantly, break up fights, and say I love them out loud and often. Which I did.
Then came my divorce. Divorce court leaves you with about eleven cents. And with the geographical distance now between them and me, I’ve essentially become just like my dad.
What’s the point? Enjoy the while you can, dads. One way or another, you’re running out of time.
And all things considered, I think I miss most being touched. I got used to that.
