My father and I have a strange father/daughter relationship.
After hearing some very sad news about the death of a friend's father-in-law this past weekend, and with Father's Day looming on Sunday, I took a moment to reflect on my own father and what it would be like without him.
I'm pretty well aware of the fact that I, and my siblings, are spoiled rotten. Without my dad, I don't know where I'd be. I wouldn't be driving, that's for sure. My dad's promise to give his old car to his first child who passed their driver's test was the main reason I actually went through with it a year and a half ago. My siblings still don't know how to drive.
I wouldn't be here in Bonnyville. Not only is a vehicle pretty necessary for a reporter, so is some degree of university education. My father started a savings plan for my post-secondary education when I was still in elementary school, and when it wasn't enough, he somehow came up with the money to finish my English degree, and then again when I went back for journalism.
I wouldn't have travelled the country and the world with him and the rest of our family, posted from one military base to another. A lot of people ask me how hard that was, but honestly, it makes more sense to me than growing up in one place ever did.
I wouldn't have had the courage to travel by myself without my dad. We flew from Edmonton to Halifax when I was 18, the first time I'd been on an airplane since I was old enough to understand how high up we were, and his wisdom has seen me through more flights than I ever thought I'd be brave enough to take.
From Edmonton to London and back, and even down to Miami and back, and countless trips to Vancouver and home again, my dad's wisdom kept the panic at bay.
“You're already on the plane,” he said. “There's nothing you can do now but sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Everything I am and everything I do I owe to my father. (And my mom too! But hey, it was just Mother's Day, Mom! Give Dad some credit.)
So Friday, after I heard about Kelly's father-in-law, who had been fighting cancer for a long time, I wondered when the last time I told my dad I loved him was. I couldn't remember and don't know if I ever have.
I called him on Father's Day and said, “Happy Father's Day, I love you,” all in a rush, and there was an awkward pause.
“Uh,” he said. “Back at you, kid.”
There are many ways people show their fathers they love them and ways their fathers show they love them too. Some do it with frequent declarations of love, with hugs and kisses and long phone calls and un-asked-for advice. Some do it with gifts and memory books. Some do it by checking your oil before you leave home and shouting about the sad state of the air pressure in your tires.
I shouldn't need Father's Day to remember to tell my dad I love him. I shouldn't need to hear of a friend's tragedy to think about how lucky I am to have him in my life.
I'm lucky enough that there's still time for me to fix all of that.
So Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you.
