This is the 12th Father’s Day that I am celebrating with my husband and stepkids. It would take a novel to write out all the feelings I have about that, and to provide the proper history and background, but I’ll spare you and condense it down to this: I am still amazed and touched by how much they love each other.
I have watched my husband as the guest of honor at tea parties (complete with a proper British accent), run himself ragged playing tag on the playground, doctor countless injuries, nurse upset tummies and headaches and colds, and bake cakes for birthdays. I have held back laughter, listening to him play Barbies and spin outrageous stories, entertaining himself and the girls so much that even the boys had to join in because it sounded so fun.
I have seen him patiently teach the kids everything from tying shoes to riding bikes to cooking and driving. I have seen him dry tears and soothe broken hearts with just the right words.
I have seen his protective side, and I have almost felt sorry for the unfortunate soul who drew his wrath about his kids. I have seen him stern, dishing out a much-needed life lesson. I have seen him bursting with pride during an awards ceremony or a game, practically hijacking a microphone to announce to the entire world that that, ladies and gentlemen, is his boy or girl.
Our house, at times, is so noisy, I debate joining the cats in hiding in another room. Wrestling, laughing, joking, chasing, tackling, tickling, all at the top of their lungs…then later, peaceful snuggling and sleepy hugs, after finally wearing themselves out.
This kind of love is amazing in itself, but what makes it even more spectacular is how damn hard other people in the kids’ lives have worked to squash it. The kids have been lied to, insulted, raged at, put down, and blatantly punished for loving their father, and my husband has unflinchingly faced countless shameful assaults simply for being a crucial part of the kids’ lives. It speaks volumes to the quality (or lack thereof) of jealous cowards who rail viciously against a father’s love for his children, and their love for him. The only people who feel hate when they see love are shallow, pathetic assholes who, not surprisingly, are not much loved themselves.
We won’t worry about that garbage today.
Today is about the kids and their dad. Today I will laugh at them racing around the house, and I will tell them that it’s like having five kids, with their dad being the worst-behaved one, which makes the kids laugh and my husband say “Hey!” even though he knows it’s true. I will watch the kids get excited when it’s time for their dad to open his presents, and smile as they rush to tell him whose idea it was to get him each item. And I will hug him and tell him I love him, and I will be proud of what a loving father and person he is. I truly don’t know anyone who is as giving, or who has a bigger heart, than he does.
Sweat & Sparkle 