It's strange that here I am...a 37 year old woman with a husband and 3 kids and I find myself still needing my dad. I always knew I was lucky, it's easy to find examples of bad dads out there, but his influence has been kind of a life raft lately.
My male heroes have been face planting since history 101. As soon as you memorize the historical greatness of a man, a few years later you learn about his faults and poor choices. I don't expect people to be perfect. I can allow for faults and mistakes but it seems with men (some women) power and leadership leads to moral breakdowns and in so many cases these great men end up treating women like objects for comfort and desire. As a woman, a wife, and a mother, this is perhaps more offensive than other mistakes, and less tolerable to me than others.
Lately, a few of my greatest and longest standing heroes have done huge face plants. I held these heroes to a higher standard and my heart is broken. Even giving them the benefit of the doubt and trying to put everything in historical context leaves me feeling raw and wounded. It's personal to me. When you add to that wound global news about honor killings, kidnapping and rape of girls and women, how objectified I feel every day of my life....well sometimes a woman wonders if the male gender, if left unchecked, is just incapable of making good choices toward females.
But then hope floats on up to the top of my heart....
and I think of Darin, my sweet sons, my brothers, my Father-in-law, my Uncles, nephews, my Grandpas, friends husbands, men I work with at church, and of course, my dad.
And since it's Father's Day this post is about my dad.
When I was an overweight tween developing a great self loathing for my body, my dad (and my mom) only said positive beautiful things about me. When the media told me that the most important thing about me was to be physically desirable to men, and even my beautiful religion told me that to be desired enough to be picked by a man was my highest and noblest calling, my dad countered by putting skis on my feet, a racket in my hand, and all kinds of sports utilities under my direction. He taught me to find joy in what my body could do rather than what it looked like.
When I got conflicting messages from witnessing what boys and men liked (hello Cindy Crawford) and then being told I was suppose to simultaneously attract them but be pristinely pure and modest.......trying to find the delicate balance of keeping guy interested while being the moral gatekeeper of the relationship, my dad treated all women equally with great respect. He didn't have the all too common car/bikini girl calendars at the auto shop he owned (and I delivered auto parts for him so I can attest that was unusual). He didn't flirt with attractive women, while ignoring others, and in fact, he paid special attention to the widows in our ward. He never attached my worth with my attractiveness. While I was desperate to be thin and beautiful for the world I knew I just needed to be kind, brave, and hardworking to please my dad.
When marriages were collapsing all around me, and I wondered if a man could find happiness with a wife and family, my dad was faithful. He provided for us, he gave everything he could to make our lives safe, and give us wonderful life experiences. He made me feel like it was a privilege to spend time with me. Like playing catch on the lawn or wave running with his kids was the best time he ever had in his life! Even when we were grumpy, when we fought, when we were little turds, I still felt like he wanted us there.
My dad has faults. But they are faults that don't wound my soul. My dad has made plenty of mistakes, but they are not mistakes that make me feel like my sex is "less-than".
Because of my dad when it came time to be "picked" I knew what kind of man I was looking for.
And now my daughter has that kind of man in her life too.
Father's Day hike 2014
