Daddy's Girl

Several months ago, during a trip home to visit my family in Pittsburgh, I witnessed my younger brother helping his daughter get dressed up for dinner. He had helped her wiggle into her red dress, pull up her white tights, and strap on her shimmery red shoes. As she was standing on a step stool, looking in the mirror, my brother quizzically brushed her hair, evaluating how to pin it up, away from her face. Inside, I imagine he wished Mom was there to work her magic, but outwardly, he confidently tied a rubber band into her silky blond hair and swept her bangs up with a little red bow. Their eyes met in the mirror and he told her that she looked beautiful. 

A couple weeks later, thinking back on that portrait of love and attention, I texted my brother and told him what a great dad he was. He humbly said that he tried; and that he an amazing role model to follow. Noted. We have share an incredible father.  

Thinking back on all the times my Dad did my hair as a little girl; brushing it one hundred strokes before I went to bed, tying it back in two french braids for dance recitals, and holding my crimping iron steady so I could turn my poker straight hair into a decadent 80s do; I realized that even at his young age, my brother must have been paying attention. 

***

As a woman, there is something inside you, a void waiting to be filled, that beckons many of us to become mothers. And in many ways, the bond you form with your children can be rather universal. It's starts at interconnected place deep inside, it is nursed through the early stages of life, and it is cradled in the soft lap and tender hugs you provide.

On the other hand, the role of a father or father figure is a little more interpretative. There are commonalities: love, patience, security, beers, tees, tools, suits and neckties that help color the character. But after that, each Dad seems utterly unique: distinctive styles of play and education, and varying ways of solving for the moments in life when Mom is absent. 

Every night, as I'm nursing Bobby to sleep, I hear Mary and Peter chasing each other, running around, and laughing uproariously in the basement. They are playing the Orange Ball or the Green Ribbon game. One of the two. Silliness leads to a more serious state as Mary asks her Dad to play tools. Peter gets out his tool box and challenges Mary to match a particular bolt to the right sized wrench. Nine times out of ten, she will find it. He asks her to identify the needle nose pliers and sort the sharp from the blunt. After that, I can hear them ascending two flights of stairs. 'Where's Mommy, Bobby? I want Daddy read me stories.' No longer does Mommy do bed time best. Daddy now has his own rhythm for Dr. Seuss' rhymes, key in which to sing Bobbidy Boop, and good night message to signal her eyes to shut. Last night as lightening flashed and thunder cracked, Mary told me that she wanted Daddy to keep her safe. Not Mommy. 

Watching Peter's Dad with his kids and grandchildren, I can see there are many aspects of Peter's parenting that he learned from his father. He has taken those nuggets, layered on his personality, and found a way to bond with Mary and Bobby that is his own. And there's no doubt that they will be smarter, more thoughtful, more discerning, and more adventurous children because they have Peter for a Dad. 

I can sense, that sometimes Dads doubt themselves. That perhaps Mommy knows where or how or what's best. But what I've observed over the years, is that the best Dads jump in, and figure out their own way of doing things. And it's those ways; those breakfasts for dinner, icy toboggan rides, dollhouse assemblies, calculus lessons, duets, stick shift tutorials, college tours, father daughter dances, and beautiful hair dos; that makes kids who they are.

Thank you to my Dad, for helping shape me into the woman I am today.

And thank you to my husband, for helping our kids become who they are meant to be.   

Lo.

We celebrated last night during a little cookout at our house: rotisserie chicken, salad, bread, and Rose; cousins running around in the yard; toasts to three wonderful fathers; and a raccoon crashing the party.