My dad means the world to me.
We talk almost every day for at least a minute or two. I usually call him from my “office” a.k.a. the car as I speed towards an appointment, or on my way back from one.
We shoot the shit, and talk about the news. We discuss sports, weather, and family. I share the exploits of his grandson and my dreams for the future. He applauds my wins and comforts after loses.
My dad is there for me and I am there for him. I was the person he called to share his sheer joy at seeing the first hummingbird of the season. I was the person he called when he and my stepmom, Joice, decided to go their separate ways.
It wasn’t always this way though.
I didn’t grow up with my dad. He and my mom divorced when I was two. We pretty much didn’t have a relationship after that until I made it my mission to rekindle our connection.
When I turned 18, I made a commitment to reconnect with the paternal side of my family. I started with my grandmother who welcomed me back with open arms. I hadn’t seen her or my dad since I was 16 at my uncle’s funeral. Before that, I’m not sure of the last time I saw my Gram, but remember a really awkward, weird, forced (for both of us) reunion with my dad in Aspen, CO when I was around 12-years-old.
It wasn’t easy growing up without my dad or Gram, and I was determined to rectify that as an adult.
So, Gram and I became close again and on one of many weekend visits to see her on Long Island, NY, she broached the subject of seeing my dad again too. Lump in throat. She said he was coming East for a visit and wondered if I might be up for surprising him. After some thought, I agreed. This is what I had wanted although now that it was set in stone I was terrified. I wasn’t sure how it would go. I wasn’t sure how he would react, or even if he would be pleased to see me, but I had Gram’s support and with that I knew I could do anything.
So on a gorgeous, sunny, summer day in 1993, I drove down to Gram’s house. I remember shaking as I parked and got out of the car. I remember my wobbly legs as I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. I remember hearing my Gram’s voice ring out, “Johnny, will you see who’s at the door?” and holding my breath as I heard footsteps. I remember the look of shock and amazement on my dad’s face when he saw me. I remember the look of love in his eyes when he smiled. I remember then, and only then, exhaling.
That moment was the beginning of our relationship. We had a lovely lunch that day. The next year, he came East again and brought Joice with him to meet me. The year after that, they came East again and we celebrated my Gram whose Parkinson’s had really begun to take it’s toll on her being. The year after that, I got up the courage to go West for the first time and visit Dad and Joice in Colorado.
Dad and Joice
I wasn’t at all sure as I flew in how it would go. I wasn’t at all sure how we would get along, but I had Joice’s support and with that I knew I could do anything.
The night I arrived, they picked me up from the airport, and drove me home to their sweet cabin in Evergreen, CO. Dad gave me the tour. The kitchen, living room, and guest room were on the main floor, and downstairs were his office and their bedroom. As we descended the stairs, I saw an 11″ x 17″ photograph of me (around age 2) that I had never, ever seen before hanging at the bottom. I was dumbstruck. I had a hard time catching my breath. My dad had hung my picture where he could see it each and every day, multiple times a day.
The picture that showed me my dad’s love.
In that instant, the tears flowed as so much of the abandonment I’d felt for so many years was healed.
That trip was a beautiful trip. Dad and I had so many deep, honest conversations about the past. He listened to me. He shared his feelings and remembrances. He copped to his shortcomings. He apologized.
Those conversations are the precursor to the shoot-the-shit, easy-peasy, accept-each-other-as-is, love-one-another-as-we-are conversations we have today.
Those conversations laid the groundwork of trust and belonging.
Those conversations freed us both from the past and allowed us to come together in the present moment.
In those conversations, I found the courage to move to Colorado the next year and move in with Dad and Joice for six-months before finding my own digs in Boulder.
In those conversations, I realized that I had my dad’s support and his love, and with that I knew I could do anything.
I love my dad with all my heart.
I love my dad because of his heart.
It truly gives me great pride to have my dad in my life.
I cherish our relationship everyday.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
I love you.
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