I have just wrapped up my third father's day, though I really only count two real ones. The first one, in 2006, came two months after Tate arrived on April 17. My first go 'round at fatherhood has begun successfully, mostly because Tate has been blessed with such an astounding charisma.
This child of mine can bring levity to any room.
In fact, this morning she made me laugh at the irony of the day. She kicked and screamed her way to the car. We were headed to Starbucks and then to church. Daddy had to discipline her, and so she pouted for half the trip. Then she warmed up to coyness, and finally she was asking to "snuggle daddy" as we walked into Starbucks.
We stopped at my grandparent's house on the way home. Tate loves her "Pop-pops," and he, at almost 90, is enthralled by her.
I tried to install a portable air conditioning unit as a gift to my father, who is now fully dependent on oxygen to survive. As with all mechanical adventures for our family, it was a debacle that ended with me back at Best Buy to purchase a different unit. That installation was only a minor debacle! (My buddy Stence will be happy that I used the word 'debacle' twice in one sentence)
The evening is ending, the U.S. Open still going and the Boston Celtics coming on shortly. My daughter is sleeping, my wife is making t-shirts for her students, and I am firmly planted on the couch, thankful for my father and my own fatherhood.