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Home › Articles › Holiday: Spring/Summer › My Father's Day

My Father's Day

By Julia Rosien

Pages:  1  2  

I reached my hand up, never doubting my dad's would be there. I spread my chubby fingers and grabbed with all the confidence of a cherished child. Dirt etched every fold and calluses creased the palm of the hand that waited just for me. No one mattered more to my dad than I did. Now, at 33 years old, I am the one to look down into eyes that wait with anticipation.

grandfather The backyard where I ran naked is now my children's playground. They caper from swingset to maple tree, building their own memories with each step. Their grandfather joins in and pushes a little one on the swing or wrestles the older ones to the ground. Grandma tells him to be gentle but he pretends to ignore her. They're children, after all, and he is their grandpa. My father and my children run and play with the same freedom of innocence.

My father's energy doesn't last as long as his grandchildren's though, and he accepts the coffee Mom brings him. He sits on the deck and watches his best friends playing. I watch his eyes and know he would give anything to have their stamina, to be able to keep up with them. We chat and he listens as I talk, but his eyes never leave the children. Captivated and enchanted, he is as powerless to say "no" to them as they are to him. Their bond is unshakable.

"Gampa! Gampa!" Grace's squeals of delight snare my father's attention. Her curls take wing as she turns, taunting him to catch her. Dad leaves his coffee and me alone and takes up the gauntlet. Like two fairies, visible by some magical oversight, they are oblivious to the rest of the world. Of course, he catches her and to Grace's exhilaration, he lifts her high into the air and spins her around. Her shrieks fill the air and her brothers soon intrude to make their own spot in all the fun. Grandpa doesn't mind and within moments they are all on the grass rolling, tickling and giggling about absolutely nothing about absolutely everything.

father and daughter I remember my own childhood. Dad's energy knew no limits; we did everything together. I treasured my rides on his shoulders, although he told me I was much too big a girl to be up there. The world bounced as he walked and I sat there confident in his love and adoration. My small fingers curled themselves into his hair as I listened to him sing our favorite song. "My Name's Not Julie."

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