My Dad

Because he knows that with me, it never is about the right thing to say. It’s about listening, and then being silent.

Because he gentle, and patient, and kind.

Because after 25 years, he still has stories that I’ve never heard.

Because he shows me he loves me.

Because he knows who I am, through and through.

Because all I can be around him is me.

When I was all alone, and I couldn’t call, I tried to understand the person I was missing.

What makes him so different?

I came up with a long list of his qualities – rare things I see in him that set him apart. Driven, but only towards the things that truly matter. Patient, able to step out of emotions without leaving them behind or ignoring them. A willingness to give up on the things that would never happen, and to pursue the dreams that he could make come true. Considerate, even when no one else is.

But that isn’t what makes him different. Those are all excellent qualities someone can have. But it isn’t what makes him …. Him.

That is more in the way that he connects with people.

He is not a person to connect with anyone that he meets. He is too shy for that. But for those who are willing to let him, he will be the most understanding heart, the most stable crutch, the most loving friend. You can tell him anything – and I mean anything. Tell him a fault, and he will help you see how to change it. How to take that splinter in your personality and remove it, and replace it with something milder, better. He never tells you that he’s disappointed, because he never is; he knows you for who you are, and when your behavior is lower than his expectations, he explains how you’re worth more than that. How you are better than you acted.

Because he never gives a guilt trip.

As soon as you finish a conversation, it is done. He doesn’t remember all your mistakes, to use them against you or win an argument.

You can’t win, because he’s not playing.

The truth is, I have been trying, for years, to be able to write what I feel about my dad. To explain how much I respect and love the man he is, and how grateful I am to him that he loved us enough, even before we were born, to live in a way that makes him truly alive.

I tried once. That time I was alone, and far away.

But it didn’t work. I just ended up crying, because I missed him.

I guess the only thing I can do is tell you a few things I know about him, in hopes that you might begin to see just how incredible my dad is.

When I was 17, I was naïve. I was so excited to leave my house, to move out and live independently and not deal with the perceived tyranny of my parents. My high school graduation consisted of me walking in my cap and gown, a few pictures, and then leaving as quickly as possible. No tears, no heartfelt goodbyes. I was ready to leave my life behind and start something new.

When I got to college, it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. I came from a place where people knew and loved me, and where I could find people to love and new experiences constantly. I found myself in an unfamiliar state, with unfamiliar customs and rules, and unfamiliar and competitive people. It wasn’t about love; it was about who was better.

One day, I started to miss home. I started going through old pictures of my family – of us on easter Sunday, eating dinner on a Tuesday night, our camping trips to Yosemite.

And then, I came across a picture that completely and totally encompasses what I remember of my dad.

We were at Yosemite, sitting around the campfire. He was sitting in his collapsible chair, leaning back in his dockers and plaid shirt. He was wearing his blue and black windbreaker – the one that he’s had so long that I can’t remember a time when it didn’t hang on the coat tree – and sipping on a pepsi. It was such a simple moment, and yet, it was everything familiar and comfortable about him.

I started to cry.

You see, it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of you. What strangers, or friends, or teachers think of you. What failures you have, what mistakes you make, what humiliations you suffer. None of that matters, if you have a person you can go to that knows who you are completely, and still loves you.

This is already longer than I was planning on it being.

I guess the bottom line is this: my dad knows me for exactly who I am. He knows what makes me sad, what makes me laugh, what makes me frustrated, and how to make me smile. He knows my imperfections, my shortcomings, and my faults. And he still thinks I’m great.

So in the end, that’s what it is.

Someone who knows you completely, and still thinks you’re worthwhile. And admirable.