My Dad and I have reached that stage where every day we have is a gift.
I have been totally blessed to have raised by a father who gave me the sun and the moon and then told me that whatever I did with my life was my responsibility. He provided the tools, taught me how to use them and then let me go. No matter the choice I made, Dad has been there, approving or disapproving as the case called for. But always constant.
Dad and I had a laugh today. I was telling him that I saw an elderly neighbor struggling down the street in the hot Florida sun, leaning heavily on his walker and obviously in distress. Long story short, he and his wife had locked themselves out of their house. I broke in to the house for them and the laugh came in as I was describing to my Dad what a sight my over ample backside must have been as I squeezed through their kitchen window.
I tell the story only because at the end my Dad said, “I’m proud of you.” I’ve heard those words before, a couple of times under far more noble circumstances, but each time my heart tightens. I’m proud of him, too.
Happy Father's Day.