A few weeks ago, somewhere around hour two of standing in the sun at Amusement Park Hades, watching grown children argue about whether the ride was worth the wait, I looked over and there was Hubby. Same sun. Same noise. Same bad knees. Not going anywhere.
He’s a fixer of almost everything — not the car, but the leaky faucet, the tiled shower, the furniture he’s built for his girls with his own two hands. He’s remodeled most of this house himself. And when he annoys the heck out of us, which he does, it’s usually because he’s fixing something we didn’t ask him to fix, including our feelings. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he says, like that explains everything.
It does, actually.
That’s what the good ones do. Daddys. Grandpas. Husbands. Brothers. Uncles. Friends. Each one fixing something, carrying something, showing up in his own particular way. None of them perfect. All of them trying, because they love us.
So on this Father’s Day: thank you. For fixing things. For taking care of us, whether we asked or not.
You knew better too.
-Pattie
Third Act With Pattie 