On Father’s Day

My Dad, my daughter, and the people who make up a life

Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads out there.

My Dad isn’t on social media, or the internet, really — something I often envy. I’ll no doubt see him on FaceTime later today.

He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years back and has bravely and pragmatically been doing what he can to mitigate and adjust to it. It’s really tough to see a family member endure a medical condition and not be able to help beyond encouraging words and internet research. But nowhere near as tough as it is for him.

But on Father’s Day, I’d rather focus on other things.

- His love for music of many genres and his extensive record collection sparked a lifelong passion for it in me. His eclectic tastes meant I knew all the words to “Raise a Little Hell,” by Trooper, “Legalize It,” by Peter Tosh, “Like a Rolling Stone,” by Bob Dylan, “Hell’s Bells,” by AC/DC, and “If Drinking Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will),” by George Jones — all before the age of puberty.

- Him giving me his old acoustic guitar when I was 15, which led to me playing in bands and some of the most meaningful experiences and relationships of my life.

- And, after many years of butting heads in my youth, as fathers and sons often do, restarting and rebuilding our relationship into one of a quiet, understated love (he’s still British, after all) and support.

Although we had our differences in my younger years, I’m very much like my Dad in many ways. My hermit tendencies. My love of politics. My need for order and love of lists (recently I discovered this was a coping response to ADHD, which I have and strongly suspect inherited from the Old Man). And when I look in the mirror these days, sometimes I swear it’s him staring back at me.

I’m also fortunate to be a Dad myself. I always think of Father’s Day as a day to celebrate and reflect on how lucky I am to have my daughter Emma in my life.

Although there were many tough years, struggling as a young Dad on my own, her appearance in my life changed everything for the better. I didn’t know I was capable of that much love for another person until she came along.

Because I’ve strived to be someone she can be proud of, someone who “walked the walk,” it made me a better man.

She’s turned out to be a really wonderful person. Kind, intelligent, creative, and incredibly funny. I’ve seen her overcome challenges in her life, filling me with respect and admiration for her fortitude and resilience.

In personality and sense of humour, Emma is the person I’m probably most like. We are father and daughter and of course share that bond, but I sometimes wonder if we knew each other in another life, as we are so alike that we can almost communicate telepathically — though neither of us ever stops talking. I often don’t need to ask her what she thinks about this or that because I already instinctively know, but I still do ask, because she has such a great way of communicating and telling a story.

As one gets older, these relationships mean more.

When we are younger, we take it for granted that these people are around. Now, in middle age, I realize the relationships with these people — my family, my close friends, the romantic partners: the people I’ve shared my life’s experience with — aren’t just part of my life story. They are the story.

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