It’s this weird thing where I’m perfectly fine to come on here and write in so much detail about my stomach problems and sex life and mortal fears and hangups but now–same as on his birthday–I can’t tell my dad, to his face, that he’s awesome or a stand-up guy or any of the standard appreciative stuff we oughta give voice to on father’s day—not because I don’t feel those things. My dad is very much my guy. We’re super close and almost the same person in lotsa ways. I just have a hard time giving voice to this kinda stuff. I’m the same way with my mom and brother and cousins and grandparents. I’ll write them a card and ask em to not open it until they’re alone. If it weren’t over the top and rude-seeming, I’d ask em to please also never mention it again.
It’s not like we grew up in a loveless home or anything. In fact, among my friends, it was considered weird that I kiss my dad on the cheek when saying hello and goodbye. Professions of love and support were daily, in all directions, and very sincere. It was a super loving household.
So why this reticence to be so candid about my affection or appreciation with my immediate family?
Spent the early part of fathers day with my dad and grandfather, both of whom I love dearly, and we had a nice time and afterward, alone in my apartment, I did some navel gazing about the consummate goodness of both dudes and then later in the afternoon I texted my grandfather, who’s also a stand-up model of a guy in terms of how he stepped up to the plate and met the various responsibilities incumbent on a parent–responsibilities involving a tenderness that was totally not his disposition.
Maybe I get it from him?