Smile

For those of us lucky enough to know a great dad, Father’s Day ranks as a uniquely special day. In the hours leading up to last Sunday, Father’s Day 2011, images of the two special fathers in my life (my own, and my husband) who have helped shape the meaning of that relationship in my world brought a flurry of emotions. I am thankful for them and the role they have had in helping me become the woman and the mother that I am today.

As expected, that morning’s newspaper included stories honoring famous fathers who have placed their parental role at the forefront of their lives despite the often tremendous demands of being in the public spotlight. The stories are always heart-warming and, in a way, heroic. Later, as I ventured through the city with my husband and our son that day, observing the multitude of men who proudly wore the honorable badge of “World’s Greatest Dad,” it struck me that although we may not always read or hear about it, we are in the presence of someone’s hero every single day.

I was touched to observe men from all corners of the world proudly walking alongside their families, basking in the wonder of a child’s loving eyes. From the young father holding his toddler’s hand as they strolled along the edge of the pond hoping to catch a closer glimpse at the ducks, to the more mature gentleman walking hand-in-hand with his wife as his teenage son sauntered behind them with his hands stuffed in his pockets, they all seemed like strangers I had known forever. Especially touching were the generational families: father, walking alongside father/child, walking alongside child. Fathers helping shape the futures of each generation to follow.

In reminiscing about the fathers I have known including my own, my son’s, and husbands and fathers of family members and friends, I have come to realize that the virtues of that title are endless. They are also unique — to the individual and the relationships they nurture. Watching the evolution of a husband into a loving and guiding father is like watching the transformation of an artist’s sculpture in their unreachable quest for perfection, each chisel bringing more joy and a greater desire to continue their pursuit.

In the days since last Sunday, I have found myself re-living special memories of my father. The image of my father eliciting a giggling frenzy at the dinner table among his three youngest daughters, myself included, is what most often comes to mind. There are other equally sentimental moments about my father that I recall having experienced as a child. Often, it’s not until we mature and have some semblance of parental experience under our own belts, however, that we truly recognize the sacrifices and commitments that were made for our benefit. My father died more than a decade ago, but his legacy remains crystal clear. I know now, he was my hero.