I stood at the kitchen counter, knife in hand, contemplating the best way to chop bell peppers for kabobs. My eyes drifted to the sliding glass door and I gazed outside at my husband, who was filling his new Traeger grill with wood pellets. The grill is used, my dad gave it to us last weekend because it attracted bears to his mountain home. We don’t have many bears here in the suburbs so we accepted the hand me down happily.
As I watched my husband fiddle with the grill in preparation for our Father’s Day barbeque, I thought about how complicated parenthood can be. We were having a classic Father’s Day by all outward appearances. We got up and took our kids to church. My in-laws would arrive shortly and we would sit outside and share food and conversation. My toddler gave his dad a drawing of an airplane (it looks like a spider to me.) My daughter gave him a new wallet, which he really needed. That’s where the classic Father’s Day stops for us, because we are a blended family and things are complicated for blended families. My oldest stepson is stationed in Florida with the US Navy, and we don’t know when he will be home again. My youngest stepson is with his mother for summer visitation. My daughter is grumpy because she’s here with us, instead of with her dad. My son Alex is with his dad, where he should be, but I still feel the sting of missing him. Our toddler is very mommy needy right now and doesn’t care if it’s Father’s Day. He wants mama. My husband wiped his eyes, and I don’t think it was because of the smoke billowing out of the grill. We are missing three of our boys and a family celebration doesn’t feel quite right without them.
My father parented with his heart. If I got a bad grade, he would sit with me and talk about how he wanted to be a scientist but didn’t work hard enough in college, so he ended up a banker. My father parented with his time. He showed up to everything I did. Every horrible piano recital, violin concert, track meet, and last in the district, always losing, painfully clumsy soccer game. He took me backpacking, which I didn’t fully appreciate until years later. My father parented with his resources. He drove the same truck for twenty years. He taught me to delay gratification and work hard. He saved and was never frivolous with money. However, if I wanted something, he would find a way for me to have it. He sent me to summer camp and bought me a used car. I never doubted I was loved, but when my father divorced my mom, something in me came apart. I spent most of my life trying to figure out how to marry a good man who would not leave.
My husband struggles with the notion of fatherhood. He struggles with how to reward, when to discipline, when to stand aside, and when to jump in. He struggles with feelings of failure. He doesn’t know how incredible he is. He doesn’t know that he is the answer to all of my prayers. He doesn’t know that these little half formed personalities that fill our home are watching him every day. They watch him work 12-hour days to provide for us. They watch him show up at all of their events and activities. They watch him as he takes them camping, hiking, or just to throw a ball around in the back yard. They watch him fix a broken pipe, lay sod, trim the trees, and repair the backyard slide. They watch him but they don’t see him struggle. They just see him being dad.
Today, on Father’s Day, he is doing exactly what a father should do. He is feeding his family. He is honoring his own father. He is loving a grumpy step-daughter, who wants to be somewhere else, even while he is desperately missing his boys. He is changing poopy diapers, taking out the trash, and pouring wine for his guests. I realize, watching him through the glass, he is the perfect kind of father for our messy, his-mine-and-ours blended family. He stops fiddling with the grill and slides open the door. Our eyes meet and I know I’ve found my way home.
Just Add Sugar and Stir 