Father’s Day has come and gone again with one key difference – me being a father this time through. Sullivan’s mommy got us a bag of toys and we made some cool space-robot-looking hats and I got to hang out with my dad and grandfather at lunch. All in all it’s a fine little made up holiday (that happens to fall on a weekend you notice; let’s not give the dads an extra day off, mind you.)

It occurs to me I have no recollection of anything I ever gave my father for Father’s Day when I was growing up. I do remember the fact that he always turned the holiday around for my brother and me. He gave US gifts. Nothing big, just puzzles or a little book or something, but it was his reasoning that without us then he wouldn’t even have had the chance to be a Father so he celebrated us as much as we might celebrate him.

And now that I’m a father, I get it. My dad was using Father’s Day to celebrate all he had learned by being a dad. Everything that life throws at you, everything you think you know, everything that comes and goes and is a part of you forever even though it was just the tiniest moment at the time … that’s all father’s day. That’s what you get for being a dad. There’s the happy times and the fussy times and there’s great joy and sadness and everything in-between.

I can’t remember anything I did for my dad on Father’s Day. Don’t remember any ties or socks or wallets or even handmade macaroni pictures though I feel certain there must have been some. Perhaps we made him a card or bought something from Target or even took him to lunch (that he probably paid for.) It’s pretty much the story of life. What my brother and I gave my dad every father’s day was the chance to remember what a long, strange, wonderful trip it had been and how much more there was yet to experience.

I get that now. At least, I get the beginnings of it. I figure the rest comes as you go.

Incidentally, there are many new pictures in the gallery. Visit from the Leberknight Grandparents, Father’s Day photos, and much more!