Happy Belated Father’s Day

This last weekend, as I was working on some editing for my latest novel “The Godstone Decree,” I was startled by the sound of rustling paper. I know, I know, the sound of paper scaring a writer; ironic, right? Well, believe it or not, it did in fact happen, and before you write me off as a coward, let me explain.

You see, I was in a particularly engrossing section of my book, in full on edit mode, when from out of nowhere I heard a discordant rhythm. Like something from an otherworldly source, and, for a moment, I wondered if I was somehow manifesting this noise within my own head. Like I had somehow gotten so deep into the story that the very sounds I was imagining were coming to life. Yet, it didn’t fit; it didn’t track alongside the other thoughts bouncing around in my head. So, my lizard brain went with the only other conclusions it could make at the time. I am being robbed. A predator somehow got loose in my house. Demons have come to claim my soul.

Now, add caffeine to that simple cognitive complex and a house that is putatively asleep, and some weird things happen. When I realized that the noise was not just a one-off and the rustling continued—creeping ever closer—I battened down the hatches and prepared myself for danger. With what little courage I had available to me, I turned in my chair to face the danger. This ethereal threat that made a noise like the wailing lamentations of the damned.

There standing at the entrance to my office stood my ten-year-old daughter. In her hand was the source of this terrifying noise, a crinkled, recently painted, piece of paper.

Turns out, quickly slamming together a last-minute Father’s Day painting and then rushing it to dad before it’s even dry has a similar sound pattern as an A-10 Warthog as it starts up its strafing run. If you were there, your brain would have been as discombobulated as mine. Now, once my brain could wrap itself around the fact that, no, I am not being hunted by some new giant insectoid-like predator, I was able to comprehend what gift I had been given.

Dad, you mean the world to me …

The word ‘world’ replaced with a painted green globe. Truly, it was something special. One of those moments as a parent when your heart skips a beat; where you are challenged with emotion that breaks through the façade of strength you put on. Twice, did my heart race to dangerous levels that morning, and it wasn’t even full daybreak.

Fun anecdote aside, Happy Father’s Day! I hope all you dads had a great day last weekend, and that—like me—you had at least a moment or two of heart skipping poignancy.

I know its not easy … being a dad, and in fact I woke up on Father’s Day morning and I asked myself, am I a good father?

My half-asleep wife, roused by my stirrings, managed to mumble, “Happy Father’s Day.”

And well, I decided to try my question out on her. So, I asked, in all seriousness, “Am I a good father?”

She paused for a moment, weighing her answer. “Are you joking?” Came the reply.

Probably, the best response one could get. Like the very question could only be a joke; like it was never in doubt. Frankly, that might have been the best gift I could have got for Father’s Day, recognition.

Recognition that, although I am flawed, I was doing a good job at one of the hardest jobs imaginable, being a parent. So, on Father’s Day I hope all of you dads out there can answer that question like I did. If not, just remember that just showing up is half the battle.

As far as my own father is concerned, no one—and I mean NO ONE—could have asked for a better dad.

So, dad, I hope that you know that if you ever ask the question, “Am I a good father?”

The answer is simple, “Yes, it’s never been in doubt.”   

Thank you all for reading!

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