recognising paternal excellence
So it's, uh, Father's Day over here in the States (tomorrow, actually). I don't think I talk about my dad much because I don't get in huge fights with him and he's usually pretty busy so we don't get up to many interesting shenannies together (except when we went to England together, but I was too tired to blog about that when I got back).
But I'm pretty sure I have one of the best dads in the world. And I'm going to try to explain why.
As a really young child, we spent a lot of time together on the weekends, going on hikes, gardening, going to the hardware store or to his work to pick things up. I'm sure he was busy off his ass with his job, and we didn't have much money at the time so it was pretty damn important stuff, but he never let on if that was the case. He taught me how to use a computer, and insisted I learn how to type as soon as I learned how to spell. Later, when I was a bit older, he let me help him check circuit plans for mistakes. He answered all my questions about math and science, which were my passions in elementary school, and read me Tintin comics with character voices and sound effects, which I'm pretty sure left a deep mark on me and inspired my love for and desire to write comics. He let me use his computer and then brought me back an old one from his work for me, back in fifth grade. He taught me to ski before I could swim. He bought us tennis racquets and balls and played with me for years. He put a guitar in my hands long before I ever imagined I would learn to play.
Around the time I started middle school, he started getting busier at work -- I remember nights where I'd be up until midnight and he'd be up until three, then wake up at six thirty to drive me and my sister to school and go to work. We weren't spending much time together outside of those morning drives, so I suggested we take lessons in Tae Kwon Do. For five years we trained together, rose through the ranks, and eventually tested together for our black belts. He's still training, though I had to leave the studio for personal reasons.
In high school we clashed a bit because I wasn't doing as well in school as he thought I could, and he was pushing college really heavily, which I found extremely stressful. Looking back, his pressure for me to figure out what I was doing with my life was actually really beneficial for me -- not necessarily for doing well in school, but figuring out that I wanted to explore other options. And when I explained to him my reasons for wanting to leave school, he listened, and stopped pressuring me to do well in school -- instead turning his focus on helping me find out where to go from here, and then on getting me to Boston. And when I came out to him as trans and explained what that meant, he was instantly supportive, though he admitted to not really understanding the place I'm in. He reintroduced me to his friends that night as his son. I nearly cried.
From him I've learned so many valuable things. That no matter how much you fight or how little you see eye-to-eye on, family is family and if they need support you support them. That there is no substitute for hard work, and it will get you where you need to go. That the best way to deal with people is to figure out where they're coming from. That compromise doesn't mean giving in -- it means figuring out where your priorities lie. That when you love people, it's possible to disagree with them repeatedly without losing any affection or respect. That you shouldn't knock anything until you've tried it. That commitment means sticking with it even when things look bleakest, because if it's important, it's going to be hard.
It's been almost nineteen years we've been in this family together, and it hasn't always been great or even good, but I fucking love my father, and I couldn't ask for a better one. Happy Father's Day, Dad. And happy Father's Day to everyone else out there who's ever been a father to anyone. You're fucking amazing.
But I'm pretty sure I have one of the best dads in the world. And I'm going to try to explain why.
As a really young child, we spent a lot of time together on the weekends, going on hikes, gardening, going to the hardware store or to his work to pick things up. I'm sure he was busy off his ass with his job, and we didn't have much money at the time so it was pretty damn important stuff, but he never let on if that was the case. He taught me how to use a computer, and insisted I learn how to type as soon as I learned how to spell. Later, when I was a bit older, he let me help him check circuit plans for mistakes. He answered all my questions about math and science, which were my passions in elementary school, and read me Tintin comics with character voices and sound effects, which I'm pretty sure left a deep mark on me and inspired my love for and desire to write comics. He let me use his computer and then brought me back an old one from his work for me, back in fifth grade. He taught me to ski before I could swim. He bought us tennis racquets and balls and played with me for years. He put a guitar in my hands long before I ever imagined I would learn to play.
Around the time I started middle school, he started getting busier at work -- I remember nights where I'd be up until midnight and he'd be up until three, then wake up at six thirty to drive me and my sister to school and go to work. We weren't spending much time together outside of those morning drives, so I suggested we take lessons in Tae Kwon Do. For five years we trained together, rose through the ranks, and eventually tested together for our black belts. He's still training, though I had to leave the studio for personal reasons.
In high school we clashed a bit because I wasn't doing as well in school as he thought I could, and he was pushing college really heavily, which I found extremely stressful. Looking back, his pressure for me to figure out what I was doing with my life was actually really beneficial for me -- not necessarily for doing well in school, but figuring out that I wanted to explore other options. And when I explained to him my reasons for wanting to leave school, he listened, and stopped pressuring me to do well in school -- instead turning his focus on helping me find out where to go from here, and then on getting me to Boston. And when I came out to him as trans and explained what that meant, he was instantly supportive, though he admitted to not really understanding the place I'm in. He reintroduced me to his friends that night as his son. I nearly cried.
From him I've learned so many valuable things. That no matter how much you fight or how little you see eye-to-eye on, family is family and if they need support you support them. That there is no substitute for hard work, and it will get you where you need to go. That the best way to deal with people is to figure out where they're coming from. That compromise doesn't mean giving in -- it means figuring out where your priorities lie. That when you love people, it's possible to disagree with them repeatedly without losing any affection or respect. That you shouldn't knock anything until you've tried it. That commitment means sticking with it even when things look bleakest, because if it's important, it's going to be hard.
It's been almost nineteen years we've been in this family together, and it hasn't always been great or even good, but I fucking love my father, and I couldn't ask for a better one. Happy Father's Day, Dad. And happy Father's Day to everyone else out there who's ever been a father to anyone. You're fucking amazing.